Chapter 7

Aiden's POV

"You look a little tense there, brother. Maybe you should try a yoga class."

His voice cuts through the silence of my office while he entered and makes it his. He does not even bother to knock in. Never does. I lifted my head from the pile of reports on my desk, my hands already balled into fists under the table.

He had always been this way: barging into places where he was not invited, stirring up messes for the sole reason that it so amused him.

"I'm not in the mood, Damien," I replied, my voice flat, fighting desperately to hold onto the calm I know I'm losing so fast. "What do you want?

Damien spinned his back on me, striding over to the window to stare out into the cityscape. The smirking reflection stares back from the glass-like whole world is one big joke and I'm the punchline. Still got that signature smugness-the same look that infuriated me since childhood.

“You know, being the dutiful brother that I am," he said finally, turning toward me, his hands sliding casually into his pockets.

"Cut the crap," I snap, the edge already off my patience. "What are you really here for?

His smirk broadened, his head canting down just enough to square into my space. His eyes sparkled with that same frustratingly annoying humor-no more than the entire conversation had been a source of entertainment to him it seemed.

"Always so serious, Aiden," he told me melodramatically, before he sighs. "It's a wonder you don't drop dead from all that pent-up stress.”

My jaw clenched; my fingers tightened on the desk edge. This is what he does: pushes and prods, looking for the weak spot, waiting for me to snap. It was a game to him, and one I always seemed one step away from losing.

"You don't belong here, Damien," I said, my voice low, steady. "So why don't you do us both a favor and leave?”

He chuckled low in his throat, his head shaking as if I've just told him the funniest joke. "I belong wherever I want to be, Aiden. You know that."

I said nothing, not about giving him the satisfaction of knowing with every word, every smirk, he's chipping away at a wall of composure I've so painfully constructed over the years.

Most of all today, what I saw, the way he looked at her, at Tessa.

Damien's voice is softer now but still teasing. "Is that any way to speak to family? Come on Aiden, we're supposed to stick together. Isn't that what family does?"

“Family doesn't manipulate and destroy everything they touch,” I spat, unable to rein in the venom in my words. “So, no, Damien. We're not family. Not in any way that matters.”

His eyes flashed with something, anger, perhaps, or the barest hint of hurt, but it's gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by that all too familiar sneer.

That's cruel, even for you," he said, standing up straight, his voice light once more. "But it's cool. I'll let you get back to. whatever it is you do all day."

He turned to go but I just can't help myself. I have to let him know he can't win.

"Stay away from her," I said my voice sharp and colder than I intended.

I caught Damien's profile in the doorway, his back to me, and caught even the slightest tension in his shoulders. Subtle, but I caught it.

A moment of silence stretched between us, then he twisted his head just enough that a profile of his face comes into view again, his expression unreadable.

"Her?" he echoed, playing dumb. "Who exactly are we talking about, Aiden?

I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to rise to this bait. "Who?"

His lips quiver into a ghost of a smile. "Ah, your precious secretary."

Something in the way he said that raises my blood. There was something in his tone-something that I couldn't quite place-but the alarms in my head went off.

"I mean it, Damien. Leave her alone," I reiterate, the edge of warning tangling in my voice. “If you don't stop whatever game you are playing, one of you will end up leaving the company and I mean it.”

He laughed low and dangerous, and for that one second, the mask of playful indifference slipped. His eyes had gone hard, and something darker flickered in them.

"First, you can't tell me what to do and second, why are you so concerned about her?” His eyes bored into mine. “Do you like her?

I paused, asking myself the same question. She's a whore who threw herself to any rich man, why should I care what happens between the both of them?

“I don't, I'm just…”

“Lair, your face already said it all.” He laughed. “This is going to be fun.” He walked out, leaving me seething behind my desk.

The door clicked shut behind him, taking the tension out into the room. I sat there for another minute, stewing over every word and every glance thrown my way. Damien has never been one to back down from a challenge, and this most definitely is far from over. He would keep coming. He always does.

But the real problem, the thing gnawing away at my focus was Theresa.

Why in the name of hell had I even brought her up? Why in the world had I given him reason to think she'd been on my mind?

I slammed my hand against the desk. For one moment, it's a sharp sting, but it hardly cuts through the haze of the anger. I shouldn't care. Shouldn't give a damn what Damien thinks or does. And I sure as hell shouldn't give a damn about Theresa.

But I do.

I hate that I do.

I shake my head, but the image of her and Damien refuses to disappear. I run my hand through my hair; frustration bubbles up to the surface. Damn it, why am I even entertaining this? Thinking about this? About her?

“She's just my secretary. That's it. That is all.”

But why am I compelled this way, every single time she's in the room? Why do I catch myself staring after her when I should be working? And why does the mere thought of Damien being anywhere near her made my blood boil?

I slammed the file I've been staring at shut, and shove it aside. This makes no sense. None of this does.

I was disgusted, and I didn’t even want to admit it to myself. Theresa is not a woman I should be wanting. Not after what I have seen. Not after what I suspect. And I just cannot get caught up in whatever kind of twisted game they're playing.

But with the saying of it, I knew that I am lying. The fact of the matter is, no matter how hard I have tried to keep my distance, no matter how loud my head screams to give him the benefit of doubt.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number. The receiver picked up at the first ring. “Hello sir.”

“I want you to keep an eye on someone for me,” I said. “Report everything to me.”

“Alright, just send me the details.”