Damon composed himself quickly, and he also chose not to reply to my question as he sat down behind the wheel.
I got in the car, smirking a little. “Why is it you want people to hate you, exactly?”
“I never asked anyone to hate me.” Damon started the car and began driving. “I don’t want to confuse them. I’m their boss. Not a friend. Not a romantic partner. Nothing.”
“No wonder you’re such a source of joy and happiness.”
Damon let out a little grunt of amusement. “I enjoy my work.”
“Is that why you stay late so often?”
He paused, as if he was deciding whether he wanted to continue having a candid conversation with me. “I stayed late tonight because my brother is an imbecile. He’s one of the top players at the most essential position in the sport with the biggest, most valuable market in the world. He should be like a big ass tree with money growing on it. Instead, it feels like I’m always trying to pull his dumb ass out of trouble.”
“Anything I can advise you on? As your personal assistant, of course.”
“Your job is to get my coffee and take care of my dry cleaning. Putting out fires is above your paygrade.”
“Try me.”
Damon sighed. “Chris is too busy partying and chasing women. He has also dipped his interest in the world of drugs recently, which has his coach thinking he’ll wind up getting kicked out of the league before long. They’re threatening to let him walk after this season. Even if another team picks him up, it’ll tank his value. And that’s all assuming his coach isn’t right—that Chris isn’t one failed drug test away from getting kicked out of the league.”
I stared ahead as we drove through the torrential rain. Admittedly, I wanted to impress Damon with a good idea. A solution.
“What about some kind of babysitter? No, better than that. Pay someone to pretend to be engaged to him. Make sure she knows she’s supposed to keep him away from all the bad stuff. No drugs. No other women. Convince his coaches that he’s settling down and he’s a new man.”
Damon’s strong hands flexed on the steering wheel as he sat in silence for an agonizing minute. “That’s actually a good idea. It’s much better than the plan my brother proposed.”
He liked my idea? I made sure I didn’t smile like an idiot and clap my hands. Instead, I sat calmly like the kind of person who regularly has great ideas.
“Good. I’m glad I could be helpful. What was your brother’s plan?”
Damon surprised me by smiling a little. “He wanted to bribe his coach.”
“He really suggested that?”
“My brother has only ever had to focus on football. When it comes to the game, he works his ass off and he’s smart as hell. But everything else? I worry about him.”
I thought about that. I couldn’t quite picture Damon worrying about anything but himself. Then again, I guessed he had left his big fundraiser to personally drive me home. He could’ve called Dick and asked him to take me home instead, but he’d made sure to do it himself. Maybe I really didn’t understand the real Damon.
We reached my brother’s place a few minutes later. Damon surprised me by getting out of his car and walking me to the door.
“Do you want to come in for some coffee or something?” I asked. I wasn’t exactly sure why I felt like extending an olive branch, so I figured it was probably self-preservation. If I could manage to stop my relationship with Damon from being a constant sparring match, I could comfortably enjoy the salary. No more fear of getting fired or driven to quit hanging over my head.
Damon arched an eyebrow. “Coffee? It’s past midnight.”
“Decaf?”
“No. Thank you, but it wouldn’t be wise.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “What, worried you’re going to fall in love with me and violate your sacred code of being a grumpy asshole?”
“Believe what you want, Tinkerbell. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
For some reason, I found myself smiling and biting my lip when I closed the door. Whatever this was, I needed to stop it. Dangerous didn’t even fully capture the stupidity of the spark I felt in my belly.
13
Damon
I typically managed to avoid my parents, but they eventually pushed hard enough that I had to relent. Unless I wanted to formally cut ties with them, there was no avoiding it.
We were sitting beneath the hanging gardens of a quiet little bistro on the West Side of Manhattan. My father was an aggressively round, red-faced man who had one purpose in life—convince me that I was handling my business wrong. My mother’s driving motivation was to get me married and produce an army of grandchildren. Together, they were exhausting.
I checked my phone while we waited for our food. I’d texted Chelsea half an hour ago to ask her to bring me something ridiculous she’d have no hope of accomplishing. I told her to get Tia Klein to meet me here, and with the minuscule time window she had, it was nearly impossible. It was Thursday, and I’d already started to recognize a pattern in my own behavior. When I was pissed or frustrated, I tended to take it out on Chelsea by giving her some sort of impossible assignment. Unfortunately for her, that pretty much meant she was constantly bombarded with tasks.
I felt a little guilty when I saw she still hadn’t texted back. I had to admit I was projecting my anger at my parents on her, and she also gave me a legitimately good solution to help with Chris’ problem Monday night in the car. But I’d let my guard down too much, so I’d been trying to remind her where we stood ever since then. Maybe I was also trying to remind myself.
Besides, I wasn’t going to go soft on her just because she was accidentally useful for once in her life.
“I’m just saying,” my
