The resort building was two stories and made from thick wood—kind of like a massive log cabin with balconies. The interior was all greens, golds, and tans, with a polished reception area where we had to check in.
Damien walked like he owned the place, probably because Daddy Dearest did own the resort. What must it have been like to grow up in a family where your future was completely ensured? No worries about where the next meal would come from or how you would afford hospital bills or even regular bills. Like rent.
I raised my chin, forcing myself not to think about it. I wasn’t the jealous type. Dad had always told me that hard work was the key to success, and I still believed that. I had to. And I wouldn’t let Damien, or his father, make me feel any less than them just because of their financial status.
“You’re tense,” Damien said, into my ear. “Relax. You’re engaged to me now. You own everything and everyone.”
“Unlike you, Damien, I don’t aspire to own people and things.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, itching to step away from him and storm off, but that wasn’t part of the deal. We had to play the perfect couple. “Bottom line, you haven’t changed. You’re still the spoiled, selfish—”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you don’t like me,” he murmured into my ear, sending hot breath and shivers down my neck.
We stepped up to the reception desk, and the woman behind it lit up like a friggin’ Christmas tree the minute she laid eyes on Damien. She was blonde and wearing a blouse at least a size too small, her breasts straining the cotton.
“Mr. Woods!” she cooed, nearly falling over herself. She stood up and straightened her uniform shirt. “You’re here. Your father said he was expecting you.”
“Right. Room for two,” he said. “The best suite you’ve got.”
“Of course,” the receptionist said, her blue eyes turning cold as she took me in. “For two. The last time you were here… it was for one.”
“The last time I was here, I wasn’t engaged,” Damien said and planted a gentle kiss on my temple.
My heart fluttered. Get it together! He’s a dick.
“Engaged.” The disappointment was palpable. “Well, congratulations Mr. Woods, and uh, Miss…?”
“McCutcheon,” I said, offering her a smile. She looked at me like I’d just handed her a steaming turd on a plate. “Soon to be Woods too, though. Feel free to call me Mrs. Woods.” That was just because she’d pissed me off.
“That’s what I like to hear.” The approval hadn’t come from Damien.
An older man, shock of silver hair, tall, handsome but with eyes as cold as dry ice, approached. He wore a suit that’d probably been handmade, and each step was purposeful. Powerful. He was who Damien would be in forty years. Though I wasn’t sure Damien would ever be this aloof, if that was the word for it?
“Mortimer,” Damien said.
That’s what he calls his dad?
“Damien.”
The Woods men didn’t shake hands but gave each other the barest of nods.
“You made it on time for once,” Mortimer said and then turned to me. He swept a gaze over me, his eyes narrowing. “I know you.”
“Hello, Mr. Woods.” I extended a hand.
Mortimer studied it like I’d offered him a spitting viper. “You’re that girl. The poor one.”
I snatched my arm back to my side. “That is my given name. The Poor One, Bringer of Plague.”
Mortimer didn’t so much as twitch a lip.
Damien’s grip on me tightened. “This is Hazel,” he said. “And you’ll speak to her respectfully, Mortimer. She’s my fiancée.”
“You know I’ve never understood your sense of humor, Damien.”
“It’s not a joke,” Damien replied and slipped his hand onto my hip. His fingers bit into my skin.
Mortimer was silent for what felt like an eternity. The receptionist stood by, holding the keycard for our room now, her eyes alive at the prospect of witnessing a fight between the two Woods men—giants in their own right.
“Is there a problem?” Damien asked.
A sigh from the patriarch. “I suppose not. I’ll expect you both at lunch. Wear something that costs more than a dollar.” The last part was a throwaway comment directed at me. By the time I’d opened my mouth to retort, Mortimer was already in the elevator at the end of the hall.
No wonder my father had disliked him. Dad had only ever had great things to say about Damien and his brothers, but Mortimer… he’d always clammed up at the mention of the guy’s name.
“Isn’t he delightful?” I asked. “I can see why you’re so desperate to be a part of his business.”
“I’m not,” Damien replied, softly, only so the receptionist wouldn’t hear. His tone was full of grit and darkness. He let go of me and accepted the key card for his room then walked off a few paces. He paused underneath a brass chandelier. “Coming?”
“I haven’t gotten a room yet. I’d like one with a view, please,” I said.
Damien quirked an eyebrow. The receptionist let out a giggle.
Oh shit. Of course. We’re staying together. Just like an engaged couple would.
I blushed red hot.
“She’s old-fashioned like that.” Damien grinned at the receptionist, covering for my slip-up. “But, honey, you don’t need to worry about that now. Nobody expects us to keep our hands off each other so close to the wedding.”
And I’d thought I’d been blushing before.
I followed Damien to the elevator.
The doors slid shut, and I relaxed against the metal bar at the back of the cage. Though, could I be relaxed? I was still trapped in an enclosed space with a man who made my insides writhe. Jesus, would I ever get a grip?
“You need to get your
