Page 21 of Mutual Desire

As the elevator doors slid shut, Damien ran a hand down his face.Jesus Christ. One run-in with the guy — well, more like three, and he was already walking around like a disoriented idiot. This was not a good sign.

Damien stepped off the elevator on the right level this time.Finally, he spotted a frosted glass door with Nick’s name etched onto a small plaque beside it. Relieved, he pushed it open and stepped inside.The office was modest but tidy, with a desk stacked neatly with files and a small bookshelf in the corner. Damien dropped into the chair opposite Nick’s desk, letting out a long breath as he leaned back.

The quiet gave him too much room to think. His mind replayed the events of the evening—the reception, the conversations, Nabokov. Always Nabokov. No matter how hard he tried to push the man from his thoughts, he kept coming back, like a song stuck on repeat.

Damien shook his head, forcing himself to focus on something else. He pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly through messages and social media to pass the time. The minutes ticked by slowly, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the room.

By the time Nick finally walked in, Damien had grown restless. Nick’s bright energy filled the office instantly, his grin wide as he shut the door behind him.

“Sorry I took so long,” Nick said, dropping his bag onto the desk. “Mr. Bettman had way more questions than I expected.”

“No worries,” Damien replied, standing and stretching his legs. “How’d it go?”

Nick gave a thumbs-up. “Pretty well, actually. He seemed happy with everything.”

Damien smiled faintly, but the weight of the evening still pressed on him.

Nick clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, enough work talk. Let’s go get some shots!”

Damien blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “Shots?”

“Yes, shots. You’ve been a rock for me today, D. Now it’s time to celebrate. My treat.”

Damien hesitated for a second, then let out a small laugh. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Together, they made their way to a bar nearby, Nick leading the way with his usual enthusiastic stride. Damien followed, grateful for the distraction, though a small part of him couldn’t shake the weight of gray eyes still lingering in his mind.

* * *

The After Five was more upscale than Damien had expected, crowded with guests dressed sharply, most of the men sporting suits. It was definitely more restaurant than bar. At least that made him feel like he wasn’t underdressed. Scanning the room, he spotted one of the few unoccupied tables at the very back. Nick headed to the bar to order, leaving Damien alone to claim their spot.

Damien dropped his bag on the chair beside him and settled in, surveying the scene. Indie music played softly in the background, and the patrons’ low conversations created a steady hum. He noticed Nick at the bar, leaning casually against the counter and laughing with the bartender as if they were old friends. It looked like a lively conversation—one that Damien was clearly not part of.

With a sigh, Damien unlocked his phone and sent Nick a quick text:Take your time huh.

No reply. Of course.

Damien’s gaze drifted, landing on a red-haired woman a few feet away. She kept glancing at Nick, her interest blatantly obvious. Nick, oblivious as ever, was too absorbed in his chat with the bartender to notice. Damien considered texting him again, warning him about his admirer. But then again, if he did, Nick would forget all about him and leave him alone to fend for himself all night. Nope, alcohol first. Good Samaritan duties could wait.

Damien exhaled, his patience thinning as Nick’s laughter continued to echo from the bar. Just when he thought he might have to physically drag Nick over, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Dimitri in the group chat, leaving Damien completely disappointed. Craig, unsurprisingly, hadn’t texted him. He checked the time, starting to regret coming out at all when—finally—Nick approached, a tray loaded with at least twenty shots.

“You’re insane,” Damien muttered, shaking his head with a half-amused smirk as Nick plopped the tray down on the table.

Nick grinned, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair and loosening his tie. “Scared of a few shots now?”

Damien took one, downed it, and winced. “Unlike you, my car’s not safely stashed in some fancy underground lot. Can’t exactly get wasted tonight.”

Nick responded by knocking back three shots in a row, unfazed. Damien watched him for a moment, but his mind wandered, unbidden, back to the presentation—and to Nabokov. Their tense conversation kept playing over in his head. And then, once again, to Nabokov.

“Listen, D. I know I’m incredibly hot and all, but there’s no need to stare.” Nick’s playful tone brought him back to reality.

Damien shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“Seriously, man,” Nick continued, his grin softening. “Thanks for today. You nailed it. I owe you.”

Nick placed a hand on Damien’s, his sincerity cutting through the typical bravado. For a brief moment, Damien’s chest tightened with a mix of pride and uncertainty. He couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling about Nabokov, the weight of responsibility that lingered over their earlier encounter.

“I’m surprised you can string words together after three shots,” Damien teased, trying to steer the conversation away from the tension building inside him.

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