Page 88 of Dirty Little Secrets
He’s silent for a loaded beat. “Whether you want tobelieve it or not, darling, not everyone who works in pharmaceuticals is a monster. Some of us are trying to help cure people. And not just temporarily.”
“Don’t mention that to your board,” I joke. “You might find yourself without employment.”
Quinton doesn’t laugh. “My mother died of cancer, Emery, and no amount of money will ever bring her back.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. That was insensitive.”
“Well, now you do,” he says, clearing his throat. “Speaking of my mother…” He pauses. “My family and I host an annual memorial fundraiser in her name. I was wondering… I washoping, perhaps, that you’d like to attend with me.”
I blink. “As your date?”
“As a friend,” he says, tone sweet, almost too sweet. “Wearefriends, aren’t we, darling?”
We’re something. But I can’t figure out what. “I suppose,” I hum. “In the loosest of terms.”
He chuckles lightly. “I’ll take it. So? Is that a yes?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “When is it?”
“Christmas Eve,” he says, a hint of longing in his tone. “That’s when she passed.”
My heart hurts for him. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
Quinton lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, darling. It means a lot to me.”
“Of course,” I say softly. “But don’t expect me to make small talk.”
He chuckles. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Well, I’ll let you go, darling. Don’t work too hard now, okay?”
“Goodbye Quinton.”
“Oh! One more thing—You have a passport, correct?”
“What?” I ask, frowning. “Yeah, I do, but?—”
“Splendid,” he coos. “Have a good evening, little Emery.”
“Why—” Quinton hangs up before I have a chance for a follow-up question.
My temples pulse as I lean back into the chair, my mental battery drained. A knock on the door jerks me upright. Damon leans against the frame, smiling at me.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Wear a warm jacket tonight, Miss Jones,” he says, licking his lips. “It tends to get cold where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
“You’ll see.” He tosses me a coy grin. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Trust him. I want to trust him. I should trust him. But it’s hard. It’s so fucking difficult. When you trust someone, you give them a little piece of your heart. It’s theirs. Whether they manipulate your heart or protect it? That’s the risk. That’s the risk with trust.
Is the risk worth the reward?
THE HIDEAWAY
DAMON
The full moonsits high in the sky, the cold wind whipping through my hair as I pace back and forth in front of the corporate helicopter. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. This is it. Tonight. I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to step away from the trauma, the guilt, the relentless agony that comes from regret.
