Sorry it took a bit too update, I am working on another story for a different show and it took a lot of time. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter and thanks to all of you who have been leaving reviews; it is appreciated more than you know!


Chapter 4

Gently closing her brother's bedroom door, Elena smiled slightly at his parting words, "I mean it, Elena. I am never, ever going to indulge again."

Having checked on him several times over the course of the morning, she knew he had been suffering greatly from his previous night's mistakes. Unfortunately, some lessons had to be learned the hard way, and this seemed to be among those lessons. While she knew she shouldn't laugh, she couldn't help but find some humor in his pledge of permanent sobriety – she wagered it would be two weeks at most before he'd try again.

She paused a moment at the top of her home's grand staircase, admiring the gleam of the freshly polished hardwood peeking out from under the imported Persian runner her mother had bought years ago. The hours Elena had spent oiling and buffing the focal point this morning had been well worth it.

As she descended, she was careful to hold the banister loosely to keep from marring its perfect shine with her fingerprints. It was the first thing visitors saw when they entered the home, and Elena believed that maintaining its splendor was necessary. It helped draw the eye away from the home's lack of decorative pieces. While pride dictated that she do everything in her power to maintain what was left of their home and belongings, the upkeep required generous amounts of time and physical labor on her part.

There were some positives to be gleaned from all the work, especially its ability to distract her. After last night she'd certainly needed to be distracted.

After her unwanted guest had left the night before, sleep had eluded her. Rather than enjoying hours of blissful slumber, she spent the night staring at her ceiling as her stomach churned with a whole new set of worries. Finally giving up on her vain attempts at sleep, she rose from bed before daybreak and began cleaning, hoping to keep her hands and mind busy this morning.

Unfortunately, while her hands had complied, her mind had been less cooperative.

When she had shut the door in the face of the bounty hunter the night before, she had every intention of putting the incident behind her. The man was clearly misguided, at the very least he had been given inaccurate information. There were few crimes whose penalty dictated hanging, and her father was not capable of any of them.

But why hadn't he come home?

Shaking her head to clear the blasphemy from her mind, she forced herself to refocus on the issue at hand. No matter how many times she told herself Damon Salvatore was wrong, the fact remained that he believed he was correct. His belief would be enough to ruin her family. Since her father's disappearance she'd done everything she could to hold them together, but now Damon's vile accusations had the power to destroy her tenuous grip on their security.

The thought elicited the sensation of an invisible fist clenching and twisting inside her chest, further coiling the ever-present tension there. Too many malevolent threats already loomed in her family's life, they couldn't handle any more. The bounty hunter's presence in town – and his ridiculous reason for being here – would bring even more difficulty for those she loved.

As Elena reached the bottom of the stairs and began rounding them, she came to the inevitable decision she'd been hoping to avoid. She would have to go see the man.

If her visit went as she hoped, she'd convince him to move on before word could spread about his reason for coming to Mystic Falls. Hopefully, people would believe he had made a brief visit to his brother and that was it. Her plan was to persuade him of her father's innocence. Shy of that, she hoped to reinforce his obvious absence. Why would Mr. Salvatore remain if the person he sought had been gone for a year? She'd have to ask – beg if necessary – that he keep his erroneous thoughts to himself, especially from his brother.

God, she hoped he hadn't already told Stefan why he was here.

With sagging shoulders and heavy steps she turned back around, intending to climb up the same stairs she'd just come down. She couldn't very well make a call at the Salvatore house wearing such a drab dress, so she needed to change. While she was upstairs maybe she could think up a reason for visiting the Salvatore estate; she couldn't afford to pique Stefan's curiosity.

She only went up two steps before she was halted by a series of distinctive knocks on her front door.

At least the heavy brass knocker still functioned; sadly the same wouldn't be said for the deteriorating porch steps for much longer.

Hesitating, Elena inventoried who could be on the other side of the door. No one had mentioned plans to call today. Her eyes flickered to the back of the house, hoping Jenna would pop out of one of the doors and say she'd answer it. When that didn't happen, she contemplated leaving the door unanswered. She looked a fright and unannounced visitors made her wary, they could be debt collectors.

The knock came again.

With a sigh, Elena prepared to answer. If it was a debt collector she'd have to deal with them at some point, it may as well be now.

A few short strides brought her to the door. Gripping the knob, she took a steadying breath before forcing a smile onto her face and opening the door.

What greeted her on the other side was momentarily perplexing. The man was strikingly handsome, something that surprised her; she hadn't imagined collection agents to be handsome. His crisp white shirt stood out against his black day suit and neck cloth. His dark brown hair was a bit too long for fashion and the small smile on his lips and his startling blue eyes were both entrancing and… familiar.

She slammed the door closed the second recognition set in.

Flattening her back to the door as if holding dogs at bay, her heart began to race. She almost hadn't recognized the elder Salvatore dressed so finely, he had looked entirely different from the night before. Not a single trace of the rugged, saddle-weary man remained. He was clean-shaven and dressed like a gentleman, transforming himself.

What was he doing here… and dressed like that?

She jumped at the sound of his condescending voice from the other side of the door – and his uncanny ability to read her mind.

"If you'll let me in, Ms. Gilbert, I'd be happy to explain my presence."

He waited a moment. No response came.

On the other side of the door Elena's eyes frantically searched the house, for what she didn't know. To make sure Jenna was out of earshot? To be sure Jeremy was still abed? For a way to go back in time and undo the fact that she'd just slammed the door in his face – again.

Hadn't she just decided she was going to face him and the trouble he brought head-on? As if that wasn't reason enough to display a modicum of civility, he was Stefan's brother!

Cringing, she rubbed her forehead. How the hell was she going to fix this?

"Ms. Gilbert?"

She turned, readying to open the door again and frantically searching her mind for a good excuse for her behavior.

"Ms. Gilbert, you have two choices. Open the door and we do this in private, or stay behind it clutching your chest like a scared little schoolgirl and I will continue to shout your family's business–"

With that threat she was instantly annoyed, her embarrassment obliterated.

Ripping open the door, she hastily jerked her head to the side, indicating that he should come in – and quickly. While the Gilbert home was a mile or so outside Mystic Falls proper, progress had brought more homes nearby and one of her neighbors might happen by at any moment.

With an arrogant smile and matching swagger, Damon slowly entered, assessing the home by daylight. It certainly was meticulously clean even if sparsely decorated. Having spent years in much less civilized areas – and frankly not caring anyway – he began walking into the nearby sitting room without waiting to be invited.

Biting back the urge to censure him for his rudeness, Elena followed.

Hoping he wouldn't notice the sarcasm in her tone, she stated, "Please, by all means Mr. Salvatore, make yourself at home."

He took the liberty of briefly wandering the room, curiosity an ingrained part of his profession. It wasn't as if outlaws simply turned themselves over to him, he had to find them. That meant learning all he could about them and the people who harbored them.

Increasingly frustrated with his lack of manners – and because she knew the sooner they addressed the issue the sooner it would go away – Elena began. "Now that you're here, sir, it will save me coming to see you."

That got his attention.

Turning to face her, he quirked a brow, "Really, you were going to come see me?" His eyes raked her body before meeting hers again, "Isn't that interesting?"

Elena didn't like the way his grin mocked as if he were implying something… unseemly. Had he believed her intentions in visiting were flirtatious? Before she could set him straight, he spoke again after a breath of laughter.

"I hardly see the need for you to bother with the pretense of calling me 'sir.' The inherent respect in the salutation rings false coming from your lips."

He could see her grinding her molars, willing her rejoinder to remain lodged in her throat. Her discomfort was obvious as she attempted an awkward forced smile.

"I was raised to be polite, Mr. Salvatore."

This time he openly laughed, "Ah yes, so I've learned. In the last," he checked his timepiece, "fourteen hours, you've slammed a door in my face. Twice. You are the epitome of politeness."

Clenching and unclenching her fists, she tried to contain her mounting fury. She needed to calm herself before responding. Jeremy and Jenna's futures depended on her reaching an agreement with this insufferable mule, she couldn't let him goad her.

What made it even more infuriating was the fact that he was right. She had been horribly impolite, even though he deserved it.

Swallowing what little pride she had left for the sake of her family, she responded. "For that I am sorry. I've been under some… strain lately, and your accusations last night pushed me over the edge. My anger was for many, but you were unfortunately the nearest target."

He looked at her through squinted eyes, assessing the honesty in her words.

Damon's mind flickered back to the numerous collection notices piling up on her father's desk, understanding how that could cause strain. He wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing her about manners when he certainly had none, nor did he care that she shut the door in his face. He much preferred honest emotion to reserved coolness.

He didn't have time to further analyze his motivations as she continued.

"As for a few minutes ago, well, the only excuse I have is embarrassment." She gestured toward her clothing as a slight blush pinkened her cheeks, "I am not exactly dressed for callers."

He took a moment to look her over once again, noting more than the curves of her body this time. He wasn't particularly knowledgeable about women's fashions, but he could tell her dress had probably seen better days. It was slightly faded and seemed a bit too big, like she'd lost weight.

Perhaps she truly was another victim of her father's rather than an accomplice.

When he felt something pricking at the back of his neck, he hoped it wasn't his long-lost conscience. He certainly had no use for such a thing.

Despite trying to remain unaffected, he found himself wanting to reassure her. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the notion. "Clothing is clothing, Ms. Gilbert. It serves a function, nothing more. There is no reason for embarrassment," his voice lowered, "certainly not with me."

The man was confounding; he appeared awkward in his reassurance yet he seemed completely genuine. And the way he was looking at her was… different. It made her feel… warm.

Breaking the momentary spell of her soft chocolate gaze, he shook his head to refocus as he remembered that her explanation had sparked a question. "Why did you answer the door?"

Her lids obscured her downturned eyes. She didn't like where this conversation was going. "I – I thought you were someone else."

His brows pulled as he studied her, noting her discomfort. "Who did you think I was?"

She swallowed nervously, remaining silent.

Not willing to give up, he tried to figure it out for himself. By her own admission she was embarrassed to be seen in her current state. Who would she be willing to show herself to if she considered herself to appear badly dressed?

His distrust returned instantly when he reached the obvious conclusion. She may very well be the actress he had feared.

The smile on his face didn't reach his cold eyes. "Let me guess, perhaps one of your debt collectors?"

He saw the shock on her face when her head snapped up, but he continued anyway.

"I must admit, that is a smart move, playing the disenfranchised innocent to gain sympathy. I almost fell for it myself."

The color in her cheeks now came from pure, unadulterated anger. Her words were clipped. "I have not in the past, nor would I ever 'play' anything, Mr. Salvatore. Your insinuation is insulting."

His smile turned patronizing, "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't, Ms. Gilbert."

Pointing to the door, she snapped, "Get out."

With a complete lack of grace – and an excessive amount of arrogance – he all but fell onto her grandmother's settee, tossing his hat to the side as he made himself comfortable and crossed his legs.

"Not yet. We still haven't discussed the reason I am here, and whether you're a talented little performer is of no significance. All I care about is finding your father, and you are going to help me."

He gestured for her to sit across from him.

He watched as her body practically shook with anger but she didn't say a word. He had her right where he wanted her. She was dying to strangle him, to tell him where he could go; but she didn't. She knew he held all the cards. One word about her father to the right town gossip and he could ruin her family. He was also Stefan's brother. If she wanted to get her hands on his brother's fortune, she had to play nice.

That annoying undercurrent of conscience pricked at him again as he realized something. She would have had no way of knowing a debt collector was going to pay a visit. That meant she couldn't have dressed that way purposely.

He felt no closer to determining her guilt or innocence in her father's web of deceit, but it was of no real importance. She was a means to an end and he knew of only one way to tackle problems such as these.

"I can see you're angry again, Ms. Gilbert. If it makes you feel better," he inclined his head toward the doorway behind her, "feel free to step out into your foyer and slam that door on me again. I'll just wait here until you're done."

It took every ounce of her restraint to keep from slapping him. She had never met anyone who inspired such venom in her. Instead she forced herself to calm, remembering that Jeremy and Jenna's futures were in this man's hands.

Once she was sure she was in control again, she finally replied. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Salvatore. I am sure we can reach an agreement of some kind."

Rather than sitting as he had suggested, she chose to stand, even moving closer to him in an attempt to appear unintimidated. Standing over him gave her a sense of power, even if she knew it was an illusion.

One corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk, "I am sure we can, and you'll have to get used to calling me Damon." When her features relayed her confusion, he elaborated, "It will be much more believable that way, Elena."

Choosing to ignore his use of her first name without permission, she inquired. "What will be more believable?"

With his penetrating stare locked on hers, his grin turned almost predatory.

Slowly he stood, reducing the distance between them to inches. He knew why she'd chosen to stand and he enjoyed deliberately stripping her of her false sense of confidence. Somehow he knew she'd stand her ground as he pushed her carefully constructed boundaries and he'd been right. She didn't move an inch.

Lifting his hand, he pulled one of her silky locks between his fingers, running them down its length. He needed to give his brother some credit, the woman was a breathtaking beauty.

"Well, my dear Elena, you are about to find yourself intrigued by me; maybe even smitten."

His proximity seemed to wreak havoc on her brain as it took a moment for his words to sink in. "Wh-What? I don't understand."

He was amused by her fluster, "Why don't we both sit down and I will explain it to you. Simply put, I am going to publicly court you… and you are going to like it."

Her jaw dropped as her brows pulled in confusion. Straightening her spine as if affronted, she didn't care how snooty she sounded. The idea was preposterous and made no sense. "I beg your pardon?"

That had been the wrong reaction. Damon found himself insulted. Did she think she was too good for him, even if it was all a subterfuge? The woman needed to learn a few lessons, starting with humility. For the time being he'd settle for seeing her rattled.

His eyes turned dark, heated. Something about them made Elena hold her breath.

"Relax, Miss Perfect. The courtship will be a ruse. I must admit, Elena, no woman has ever complained about my… attentions."

The deep timbre of his voice accompanied by the intensity of his stare was paralyzing. She stood motionless as he leaned in, his lips close enough to the shell of her ear that she felt his breath.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper, sending a shiver down her spine. "In fact, most women clamor for it."