Chapter Four: A Personal Stake

I took my seat at my desk, trying to pretend like I wasn’t still thrown off by Damien’s presence. The morning’s chaos had faded, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was brewing.

"So, what exactly are we looking into with this Thompson project, anyway?" I asked, trying to sound as though I had a solid grasp on what I was doing.

Damien leaned against the desk, now entirely comfortable in his own element. "Well," he began, "We’re digging into the depths of the Thompson family’s finances, scandals, and a little bit of dirty laundry. Think of it as a treasure hunt, but instead of gold, we’re finding secrets."

I glanced up from my computer, a little stunned by how casually he spoke about something so... big. "I feel like I’m supposed to be scared right now," I said, voice flat.

Damien’s grin only grew. "You should be. But don’t worry. I’ll be your guide through the dark, twisted world of corporate corruption."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. Just what I need—another guy acting like he’s a tour guide to my emotional rollercoaster."

As the day wore on, it quickly became clear that I was going to have to do more than just pretend to care about the Thompson project. Damien was a force—the kind of person who made everyone feel like they were both under a microscope and on stage for a performance. Every word that came out of his mouth felt deliberate, like he was carefully crafting the perfect line for an audience. Meanwhile, I was just over here trying not to spill coffee on my shirt.

He slid into the chair across from me at lunch, uninvited. "I was hoping you'd join me," he said, glancing at my salad like it was a missed opportunity for a pizza.

"I’m already sitting," I muttered, spearing a piece of lettuce with unnecessary force. "And I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to be up at 5 a.m. tomorrow for some ridiculous early meeting about 'revenue projections.'"

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Revenue projections? Sounds thrilling. Does it come with a side of existential dread?"

"Every time," I replied, deadpan. "It's a classic."

He chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice—a sharpness I hadn’t fully noticed before. "You’re not wrong about that, though. Sometimes the whole corporate world feels like one big treadmill, and we’re all just running in place."

I put my fork down and studied him. Was he actually being... real for a second? "So you do have a heart under that suit," I teased, half-sarcastic, half-curious.

He smirked again, his lips twitching with something mischievous. "You don’t have to be an asshole to climb the ladder, Adrianna. But it helps."

"Ah, so that’s your secret? The power of sarcasm?" I grinned, trying to play along, but I could feel that same unsettling energy creeping back into the conversation.

"You’re catching on." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But I’m not here to talk about revenue projections. I'm here to talk about you."

I froze mid-bite. "Excuse me?"

"Your amazing ability to pretend like you’re just another cog in the machine. Newsflash: you're not." His eyes locked onto mine, steady and intense. "The Thompson project? It’s not just business. It’s personal."

My fork dropped. A loud clink echoed in the otherwise quiet breakroom.

"Personal? What the hell does that mean?" I managed to say, even though I was already bracing myself for something I wasn’t prepared for.

Damien sat back, his posture cool and collected as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. "I think you know more about the Thompsons than you're letting on. And I think you’re not telling me everything."

I swallowed, suddenly feeling very small in that breakroom. "You really know how to make a salad feel like a hostage negotiation," I muttered.

"Just trying to make sure you're paying attention," he said with that same devil-may-care grin. "Trust me, Adrianna. This is going to get much, much messier than we thought."

I stared at him, trying to process everything. But all I could hear in my head was the sinking feeling that I was now tangled in something far beyond my control.

As the lunch break came to an end, I found myself staring at Damien like he’d just told me he was secretly a vampire. "Personal? What the hell does that mean?" I asked, suddenly acutely aware of the tension between us.

Damien leaned in a little, his voice lowering to that confident whisper again. "It means the Thompson project isn’t just some corporate story. This? This is a war. And it’s one I know you have a stake in."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "I’m just here to do my job, Carter. I don’t need your conspiracy theories."

He flashed a smirk that made me want to smack him upside the head, but there was something about it that held me in place. "Oh, it’s not a theory. I’ve done my homework. You’ve got your reasons for being involved in this—reasons you're not talking about."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. He was right. I had my reasons, but damn if I was going to let him get the satisfaction of knowing them.

He sat back, almost relaxed, and drummed his fingers on the table. "Here’s the thing, Adrianna," he said, voice suddenly casual, like we were discussing a coffee order instead of a corporate war. "You and I? We’re in the same boat. Eric? He's part of this, and so are we."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

Damien’s gaze flickered around the room before returning to me, sharp and calculating. "We team up. We solve our common problems together. You get the answers you want, and I get what I need. We can both come out on top, if you're willing to play along."

"Play along? You mean, get involved in whatever mess you’re creating?" I shot back, my sarcasm sharper than ever.

Damien leaned forward again, a glimmer of something darker flashing in his eyes. "Look, I know you're not just some reporter who goes along with whatever the higher-ups say. You're more than that, Adrianna. And I think you know you’re about to walk right into a firestorm. So, you can keep pretending to be above it all, or we can actually do something about it."

I swallowed. Damn him. His offer sounded like the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, but there was this tug, this nagging feeling that maybe he had a point. Maybe I didn’t have a choice.

"What's in it for me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He gave a half-shrug, his lips curling into a grin. "The satisfaction of seeing this train wreck go down in flames. And I promise you—this will be a spectacular crash."

I shot him a wary look, unsure whether to slap him or laugh. "You’re unbelievable."

"That's why you like me," Damien teased, standing up to leave. "So, think about it. You have my number."

As he walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. Whether I liked it or not, I was already in the thick of things.