“That’s the one,” Damian confirms with a grin that’s somehow both cool and detached and yet, full of so much heat it scorches my insides.
Mr. Cunningham nods. “Very good. Well, I’ll let you young folk mingle. It was good seeing you, Damian. I hope our paths cross more frequently in the future.”
The tension in Damian’s shoulders only eases when Mr. Cunningham strolls away.
“Oh, you hated that, didn’t you?” I whisper.
Damian shoots me a sidelong glance. “Oof, I hope it wasn’t that obvious to him.”
I chuckle. “I doubt it. I just know you.” And I could see how his polite veneer was masking an obvious disdain.
“You do,” he agrees with a dopey grin, using the arm around my waist to pull me in so he can press a soft kiss to my lips.
“He seemed happy to see you, though,” I note when we separate a moment later. “That’s a good sign, right?”
A thoughtful crease forms between his brows. “As far as my dad’s board of directors go, Mr. Cunningham actually isn’t all that bad. If any of them are going to be forgiving, and more importantly, be onside with our proposal, it would likely be hi—” Damian breaks off mid-sentence, his eyes enlarging. “Shit, incoming,” he mutters.
I follow his distracted gaze to his mother, who now crosses the room toward us, clad in a midnight blue evening gown, a flute glass in one hand.
My stomach twists at the sight of her. I haven’t seen either of Damian’s parents since that trip to Guadalajara, and though Lenore was kind enough to me, I can’t forget the look of concern in her eyes when she questioned me, or the careful hope that had replaced it when we said our goodbyes.
It’s been seven weeks since then—seven weeks in which she could have changed her opinion of me. Will I find that same apprehension in her eyes again? That doubt?
Or will I find something new?
To my relief, a genial grin splits her face as she approaches us. “Damian,” she says, punctuating his name with a kiss on the cheek. Then she turns and takes my hand. “Lexi. It’s wonderful to see you again. You both look lovely.”
I flush at the compliment and pray she doesn’t look too closely at how high my hemline is. “Mrs. Navarro.”
She clicks her tongue. “Lenore, please,” she corrects me, and the warm smile that follows immediately sets me at ease. “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves?”
“Immensely,” Damian deadpans.
I bite my lip as Lenore gives her son an admonishing look, but then an amused smirk creeps across her face, washing the tension away.
“I’m sure this is all a bit boring for you both,” she muses, glancing around the crowded room at the other partygoers—at the Hallazgo employees and their plus-ones—some exchanging pleasantries in small groups, while others sit at their assigned tables, partaking of unfathomably overpriced champagne. With a sigh, she turns to face us again. “This scene is hardly popping, is it?”
Damian chokes on a startled breath. “Popping? Mother, please don’t try to be cool.”
She ignores him, reaching out and touching a hand to his shoulder. “I know, why don’t you take Lexi on a tour of the grounds? Show her what we have to offer here.”
I peek over at Damian, who looks torn between asking Lenore if she’s suffering some kind of mental break and happily accepting the chance to escape this dull, so-called party unscathed.
“Uh, okay,” he says after a beat of hesitation. Unlatching his arm from my waist, he holds it out for me to take. “Shall we?”
I nod, threading my arm through his, and we’re just about to leave when Lenore’s voice stalls him in his tracks.
“Damian, I’m—” She falters, swallowing hard, then gives a slight jerk of her head. “We’re…glad you came.”
Damian responds with a kind smile, though the other half of the “we” she’s referring to is nowhere in sight, likely off entertaining his guests (or the board) instead of acknowledging the effort his son is making, not just by being here, but over the last few months in general. Even without saying a word, I can see that Damian feels his father’s absence, even if he struggles to physically be around him. One glance at his expressionless face is enough to tell me how empty it makes his mother’s sentiment…and how much he worries about what that absence might ultimately mean for his future—not just in his family, but at Hallazgo.
But Damian doesn’t voice those worries, even though I know they’re there, buried just under the surface. Not to me. Not to his mother. There’s a fleeting moment where I think hemightsay something—acknowledge the weight of her words, the absence of his father, the complicated mess of it all. But he just stands there, expression unreadable, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the space she left behind when she finally walks away.
The evening air nips at the exposed skin of my legs, and I huddle deeper into my coat as Damian guides me along the pedestrian path away from the conference hall, where the Christmas party is still in full swing, the snow crunching under our heels. Ican smell the threat of another impending flurry in the frigid breeze that assaults my nose, but since snow never lasts long in Newport due to our proximity to the ocean and the high salt content in the air, I try to appreciate these moments for the short time they last, letting the cold sting my cheeks, breathing in the crisp night, and reveling in the silence and fresh clarity the winter chill brings to my mind.
“So, anything in particular you want to see?” Damian asks, gesturing to the buildings flanking each side of the path.
I’m not sure what I expected when Damian invited me to his family’s company Christmas party—someplace domineering and impersonal, I suppose. Certainly not this beautiful campus with its sleek, glass-fronted buildings, well-groomed greenery, and pathways that are lined with embedded lights in the stone to safely guide those who walk them at night. I anticipated something colder, more sterile, but there’s an unexpected warmth to it all, like it was designed not only to be worked at but lived in. Like whoever planned this place wanted it to feel like a home to its employees.
