LOS ANGELES 2016
Her lips were soft and inviting against his as she sighed, then whispered, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Elena."
Smiling, she folded her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his again, putting more passion into their kiss … or trying to. "Liam!"
"What?"
"Kiss me."
"I did."
"I mean, really kiss me," she said and growled sexily. "You are allowed to kiss sexy, you know, even though it is Christmas."
"Elena, please." Nervously the man glanced around the dancefloor inside the restaurant. "Somebody might see us."
She removed her arms from around his neck and blew out a gust of air. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Liam, you are so damn proper! Nobody is looking. And if anyone is, who would care if we are out here necking?"
Time to change the topic, Liam thought. "Do you like your bracelet?"
Temporarily distracted, she replied, "Of course I like the bracelet. What woman wouldn't? It's beautiful."
Raising her arm, she shook the heavy gold bangle around her wrist. "I'm glad you let me open my present tonight instead of waiting for Christmas Day."
"This way you can enjoy it over the whole holiday."
"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."
"I still sense that you are disappointed."
Elena Gilbert looked up at him through her dense lashes and made a softly spoken confession. "I thought you might give me my engagement ring for Christmas."
Before he could say anything, she rushed on. "But it's not as though we have already picked out rings. Who knows? I might not even want a traditional engagement ring. I will probably flaunt convention and choose something radically different. Maybe a coloured stone instead of a diamond."
Liam cast his eyes down to the black lace cocktail dress she was wearing. The dress was sleeveless and the hem flirted with her knees.
He smiled weakly. "Nobody ever accused you of being conventional, Elena."
"Thank heaven for that." A movement of her head sent her mane of dark brown hair swinging over her shoulders. "I'm glad you like my dress. I thought I would like to look a bit sexy tonight."
"Well, you look sexy tonight."
"Thanks. Why don't we go to the veranda so that we can have some private moments to ourselves?"
He frowned. 'It's cold outside."
"It's not that cold. Come on."
Taking his hand, Elena had dragged Liam to the balcony doors on the other side of the restaurant, and spirited him outside for a breath of fresh air on the long, wide veranda of one of the fine dining restaurants in Los Angeles. The place was strung with twinkling Christmas lights. Inside the restaurant behind them, an enormous Christmas tree, arranged by a decorator who favoured lace, pearls, and butterflies, commanded attention from one of the wide windows overlooking the veranda.
Though the temperature was relatively mild, Liam hunched deeper into the collar of his dark suit coat and slid his hands into his pants pockets. This belligerent stance never failed to irritate Elena who thought it made him look like a sulky rich kid. It usually meant he had something unpleasant on his mind that he dreaded discussing.
"Why did we need to be out here?" he asked, frowning. "It is freezing out here."
"You need to toughen up, man," she teased. "Winter is my absolute favourite season. Spring is overrated. It's soggy and the trees are still bare from winter. Summer is nice, but it's all the same. There is snow in winter which makes it exciting. Unfortunately, it does not regularly snow in the urban city of Los Angeles. We have snow in Mystic Falls every year. It is so beautiful. I have always dreamed to get married during winter when there is snow everywhere. Speaking of which," she added on a burst of inspiration, "Valentine's Day would be such a romantic date to get officially engaged. Even better than Christmas."
"The fact is, Elena, I'm wondering if we are not jumping the gun to announce our engagement."
The statement caught her off guard, but instantly captured her full attention. "What do you mean?"
Liam cleared his throat. "Well, you know I'm always interested in the academic medicine. Academic medicine can be an uncertain business. Competition for research grants is fierce, and there is constant pressure for innovative ideas."
"I know you have to put in those extra hours for research. I work odd hours in the ER too. If you are worried about money, that's not a problem. The pay for the ER physician is pretty good."
"I'm not worried about money. Academics are now paid on the same pay scale as the clinical colleagues."
"Then what are you worried about? Lighten up. It's Christmas!"
He glanced at the line of cars crawling past the restaurant. "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Elena."
Her wide smile faltered. "Apparently not, but it must be something terrible. You look like you are about to throw up. Don't torture yourself any longer or keep me in suspense. If you have got something to say, let's hear it."
He scratched his head, he coughed behind his fist, he shuffled his feet. "I have given this a lot of thought lately, and…"
"And?"
"And I don't think… It's not that you are…Elena, we are just not…"
"Not what?"
He floundered, opening and closing his mouth several times before blurting out, "Suited. We are just not suited to each other."
Having said that, his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled a deep breath. By all appearances, he had relieved himself of a tremendous burden.
Dumbfounded, Elena stared at him. She couldn't believe her ears. She had been dating Liam exclusively for more than two years. It had been understood that they would get married when Liam got into academic medicine. The semester was ending, and she had been expecting an engagement ring and a formal announcement of their impending marriage during the holiday season. It was preposterous to think he was dumping her. Her! Elena Gilbert! Surely she had misunderstood.
"You can't mean you are breaking our engagement?"
He cleared his throat again. "I think we ought to think about it some more."
"Don't beat around the bush, Liam" she said testily. "If you are dumping me, at least have the guts to come right out and say so."
"I'm not dumping you. Exactly. Mother thinks—"
"Oh, 'Mother thinks …' Mother thinks that I'm not good enough for her little boy."
"Don't put words in my mouth, Elena."
"Then spit it out."
"Mother thinks, and I agree, that you are, well, a little too rowdy for me."
"Rowdy?"
"We have different interest."
"Different interest?"
"I like classical music but you absolutely hate it."
"I don't hate classical. I'm just not into classical music."
"Elena, be fair," he protested.
"Fair be damned. I'm mad."
"You have got no right to be."
"No right?"
"If you will think back, I never officially asked you to marry me. Did I?" he asked uncertainly.
"Of course you did!" she cried. "We talked about it all the time. Jeremy and aunt Jenna…"
"Will be delighted if it never comes off," he interrupted. "Your brother think I'm a wimp. Your aunt only tolerates me because she is nice to everybody. Your best friend Caroline shakes her head with what appears to be disapproval every time she looks at me."
"You are imagining all of that," she averred, though she knew he wasn't.
"Well, whatever," he said impatiently, "I think we need a rest from each other."
Her anger gave way to hurt. "I thought you loved me."
"I do."
"Then why are we having this conversation? I love you, too."
He looked earnestly, miserable. "I love you, Elena. You are beautiful and sexy. You are the most unpredictable, fascinating woman I have ever met. You make my head spin. You are exuberant. You like pushing people around, bending them to your will."
"You make me sound like a longshoreman!"
"I don't intend to. You have got a zest for life that I can't match. I'm tired of trying. You are spontaneous and impetuous. I'm methodical and careful. Your politics are liberal. Mine, conservative. All things considered, I would say our differences are irreconcilable."
"Opposites attract."
"I'm beginning to think not."
"This is all crap, Liam. You are trying to sugar-coat it, aren't you? You are lining up your justifications. If you are going to jilt me, at least dignify it by not being so mealy-mouthed."
"Don't make this harder for me than it is," he complained.
Hard on him? Elena formed a fist as though preparing to sock him. "You don't love me anymore. Isn't that what this is really about?"
"No. Everything I said before is true. I do love you, Elena. But, damn, it takes so much of my energy just keeping up." He gave a helpless laugh. "We are so different."
"I haven't noticed you complaining about our different personalities before," she said coolly. "In fact, you told me that you are intrigued by who I'm and what I stand for."
He had the grace to look chagrined. "I deserved that. The fact is, Elena," he said, sounding dispirited, "I want to devote the time and attention to my studies that they demand. I think we should take a break from each other and give ourselves time to reassess the situation before we jump into marriage."
He touched her for the first time, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "When you have had time to think about it, I'm sure you will agree with me. I'm no more right for you than you are for me. You might believe you love me, but I think you have only talked yourself into it."
She jerked her shoulders free. "Don't start doing my thinking and believing for me, Elena."
This must be a bad dream, a nightmare, she thought. Soon she would wake up, call Liam, and tell him about the bizarre dream she had had and warn him never to make it come true.
It was too real, however, to be a dream. Holiday lights twinkled all around her. She could hear carols playing over the stereo system inside the restaurant. She could feel the pressure of tears behind her eyelids. Humiliation had a brassy taste. She had always been the one who told admirers when it was over. If there was any breaking off to be done, she was the one to do it.
Liam, even tempered and ambitious, had been positively crazy about her. She couldn't believe he was dumping her. Why several months ago, he had pleaded with her to share an apartment with him, which she had declined to do. After sulking for a few days, he claimed to love her all the more for her strong moral fibre.
They rarely quarrelled. He had his moments of pique when he could stubbornly take a position and refuse to give way. Like now. When backed into a corner, however, he usually surrendered to her stronger will.
"To tell you the truth, Liam, I'm not big on postponements. Either you love me and want to marry me, or you don't." She tossed back her hair and confronted him challengingly. "Make up your mind. It's now or never."
He looked pained as he studied her determined expression and the belligerent angle of her chin. Finally, he said, "If you put it that way, I guess it's never, Elena."
That knocked the wind out of her, though she managed to maintain a proud posture. Such bald rejection was inconceivable. He couldn't do this to her!
When he had time to think about it, he would regret it. He would come crawling back on hands and knees, begging her to share his bright future as a successful dermatologist. Until then, she would be damned before she would show him how much he had hurt her. Not a single tear would he see.
Defiantly she said, "That's fine with me. I'm leaving now."
"Now?" he exclaimed. "We have ordered dessert. You didn't drive here tonight."
"I will manage."
"Look, Elena, why don't we finish dessert and then I will drive you home. We can still be friends. I still want to be friends."
"Go to hell."
"Don't behave this way," he pleaded.
One of her brows arched malevolently. "What way?"
"Like a high-strung brat."
"I'm a high-strung brat? And you claimed to love me!"
"There's no reasoning with you when you get like this." Liam cursed beneath his breath and turned away from her. "If you want to leave by yourself, go ahead." Righteously indignant, he went through the door.
"I don't need you to drive me home!" she called after him. The door was decorated with a wreath that in Elena's opinion was extravagant to the point of vulgarity. So was the Christmas tree in the living room. Where were the Santas and candy canes and tinsel they decorated with at her home?
She glared at the gaudy artificial tree through the sparkling windowpanes. The lights placed at precise intervals along its perfect branches began to blur. The tears that had threatened before now filled her eyes, making the shiny decorations look crystalline.
As her initial anger abated, she began to feel the impact of what Liam had done. Someone whom she loved, whom she believed had loved her, had rejected her.
All that he had said could be paraphrased in four simple words: "I don't want you." She might be beautiful and sexy, but the bottom line was, he didn't want her. Her zest for life, as he had called it, was irksome to him.
What was she going to tell everybody? How could she hold her head up when word of this got around? What would her own family think?
How could Liam do this? She loved him. They were perfectly compatible. Couldn't he see that? She liked to manoeuvre; he would rather be maneuverer. He plodded; she was good at prodding. He was so stolid, he needed someone exuberant in his life—to quote him.
He must be suffering from temporary insanity, she decided. He would come around. Eventually. Her guess was that it wouldn't take too long. He would miss her terribly. Without her, his life would be dull and colourless.
When he did come slinking back with his tail tucked between his legs, and his pride a big goose egg caught in his throat, she would be slow to forgive him for hurting her this way. He had ruined her favourite season of the year. She would never forgive him.
Elena rushed out of the fancy restaurant, her vision blurred with unshed tears. She was so gutted that she stepped off the curb distractedly, startled when a strong, masculine hand grabbed her arm.
Her head jerked around and she tilted her chin to look up—way up—at a man she had never seen before.
"The traffic is busy tonight, and I was afraid you were going to keep walking. You look like you are in another place. It's hard to believe you didn't hear the traffic. You must be really distracted. I hope I didn't scare you. I'm sorry."
Honestly, she might have kept walking if he hadn't detained her. Her brain was so muddled, her world so disrupted at the moment that she couldn't hear the cars. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I wasn't thinking properly."
He was tall with broad shoulders, and he definitely had the "bad boy" look going on. But when he grinned at her, Elena had a difficult time not smiling back. For as tough as he looked on the exterior, his eyes were kind. And somehow, he looked kind of familiar, as if she had met him before.
"Have we met before?" He let go of her arm slowly.
"I don't think so," she answered as she took in his black leather jacket he was wearing. She also noted the expensive tan slacks he was wearing, the shiny loafers, and the matching socks, and assumed he must be a rich businessman. His hair was dark, almost black, and his eyes were blue and intense.
"You need a ride? My car is right across the street." He waved his arm at a limo sitting directly across from them.
She shook her head vigorously. "My fiancé's car—" She caught herself, her voice shaky. "I mean my ex-fiancé's car is here somewhere."
"You just broke up," the stranger guessed, his smile fading.
"Yes." She thought better about confessing her problems to a stranger and corrected herself. "No."
Then she looked into the eyes of her rescuer and wondered why she cared about telling anybody the truth. She had nothing to lose anymore. "Yes," she murmured sadly. "I'm sorry. I guess since it just happened, I'm not quite used to admitting I got dumped."
"No reason to ride with an asshole. Come with me."
She shook her head again. "I need a moment by myself."
He looked concern. "Are you sure you are okay?"
"Yeah. I will be fine," she murmured as she turned away from him.
The man put a detaining hand on her forearm. "Don't take any shit from anybody, lady. Not ever. You are a beautiful woman. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Remember that."
She nodded, getting teary-eyed as she got her last glimpse of his earnest face, touched that a complete stranger, had listened to her woes and helped her, even though he didn't even know her.
It was enough to almost restore her faith in the goodness of people.
"Have a good Christmas," she told him with a sniffle.
"You too."
Her heart was just a little bit lighter as she watched him got inside the limo before the limo drove away. It had been a strange encounter. And the strangest thing was she felt very comfortable when she was with this man. She felt as if she had known him for a long, long time.
x x x
Billy Joe pulled the car over to the curb in front of Intercorp's building, and before it came to a complete stop, Damon flung open the door and climbed out.
"Good afternoon, Mr Salvatore. And, congratulations" the guard called as he walked inside the building.
"Congratulations, Mr Salvatore," the receptionist said as Damon stepped out of the elevator on the fifteen floor.
Damon replied with a brief, preoccupied nod and continued through the executive reception area, which was separated from the offices by a tall teak-panelled wall bearing the corporation's insignia. There, visitors with appointments waited in luxurious comfort on pale green leather sofas, surrounded by a sea of thick oriental carpeting dotted with graceful mahogany tables and accent pieces inlaid with mother-of-pearl or trimmed with brass.
Oblivious to the restrained splendour of the reception area, Damon turned to the right behind the teak-panelled wall and continued down the carpeted hallway toward his office, only vaguely aware that the place was unnaturally silent.
As Damon passed by the main conference room, Rose Slater, the head of advertising and public relations, stopped him. "Damon, could you come in here a moment?"
As soon as Damon stepped into the room, champagne corks began popping, and a few employees burst into applause in honour of the corporation's latest coup—Intercorp had been named the top ten most successful corporation in the United States of American.
Ten years ago, after he finished working in Venezuela, he had used his bonus and the additional money he had saved up, to buy a small automotive parts manufacturing company that was teetering on bankruptcy. A year later, he sold it for twice what it had cost. Using his share of the profits and additional money he borrowed from banks and private investors, he formed Intercorp and, for the next several years, he continued to buy up companies that were teetering on bankruptcy—not because they were poorly managed, but only because they were under-capitalized—then he shored them up with Intercorp's capital and waited for a buyer.
Later, instead of selling the companies off, he began a carefully planned acquisition program. As a result, in one decade, he had built Intercorp into the financial empire he had imagined during those grim days and nights he laboured in the garage and sweated on the oil rig. Today, Intercorp was a massive conglomerate headquartered in Los Angeles that controlled businesses as diverse as pharmaceutical research laboratories and textile mills.
"Congratulations, Damon," Trevor Harrison, the company's controller, said as he pressed a glass of champagne into Damon's hand.
"Speech!" Rose called out. "We want a speech," she persisted determinedly in the jocular tone of a man who feels compelled to make everyone feel relaxed and everything look rosy, and who has also had too much to drink. In this case his efforts struck a particularly false note, because jovial camaraderie between the executive staff and the corporation's hard-driving CEO simply did not exist.
Damon glanced impatiently at her, then relented and gave his "speech."
"Well," he said with a brief, perfunctory smile, "it has been a successful year for the Intercorp. Thanks to all the hard work of the employees. But I think it is time to get back to work."
"I was hoping for a quote I could use for the media," Rose said. "My phone's been ringing off the hook since the announcement was made two hours ago."
"I will leave that to you. Thinking up quotable quotes for the media is your job, Rose, not mine," he replied; then he turned and headed toward his office, leaving Rose feeling reprimanded and everyone else feeling a little deflated.
Within minutes the group had disbanded, leaving only Rose, April Yong, Rose's new assistant and Trevor in the conference room.
April Young was the first to speak. Tall and glamorous, the thirty-year-old brunette was the youngest, and newest, member of the senior staff. "What a let-down," she said with an exasperated sigh. "Wall Street is in an uproar when the announcement was made. Intercorp topped Klaus Mikaelson's Seaboad Industry and two other major firms in the country. We are all euphoric, the clerical staff is proud, and the janitorial people are probably dancing a jig," she finished, "but the man who is in charge doesn't seem to care."
"Oh, he cares," Rose told her. "When you have been here for six months, you will realize that you have just seen Damon Salvatore exhibiting extreme pleasure. In fact, he was happier just now than I have ever seen him."
April looked at the two executives in disbelief. "What's he like when he is unhappy?"
Trevor shook his head. "You don't want to see that."
"He can't be that bad," April argued.
"Oh, yeah?" Trevor joked. He pointed to his thick, immaculately groomed grey hair. "I didn't have a strand of grey hair two years ago, when I went to work for Damon." The other two laughed, and he added, "That nice, fat salary and benefit package you got when you came to work here comes with a few strings attached."
"Like what?" April asked.
"Like phone calls at midnight because Damon has some new idea and wants you to act on it," Rose said.
"And you'd better learn how to pack a suitcase and catch a plane with an hour's notice on a weekend," Trevor added, "because our CEO doesn't live by clocks or calendars."
"Weekends?" Gloria exclaimed in mock horror. "I'll have to start turning off my phone on Friday nights!"
Everyone laughed, but April had known when she applied for this job that a great many demands were going to be made of her. The challenge had been much of its appeal.
Before giving up her own Dallas PR firm to come to work for Intercorp, she had read every article she could find about the aggressive, enigmatic entrepreneur who had made history by putting together a very large, very profitable conglomerate before he was thirty years old.
From personal experience, she had already learned that he was an exacting and demanding employer, with an aloof, impatient attitude that discouraged familiarity, even among his senior executives, who all treated him with caution and deference.
He seemed to be as unconcerned about making enemies as he was about his public image, and yet, he was ferociously protective of the corporation's reputation.
"He is a complete mystery to everyone in the business world, including the people around here," April said, thinking aloud. "No one really knows anything about him."
"Damon hardly talks about himself. I only know he has a brother who is a working as a prosecutor in Washington D.C," Rose said.
"Parents?" April asked.
Trevor shrugged. "No idea. I suspect his parents had passed away."
"Very mysterious. He sounds like an intriguing man," April said.
"What makes you think Damon Salvatore is a man?" Trevor replied half seriously. "I have reason to believe he's actually a robot with artificial intelligence in an eight-thousand-dollar suit." When the other two laughed, he lightened up a little. "You are laughing, but there's data to support my opinion. He doesn't play golf, he doesn't play tennis, and he's not interested in professional sports or any sort of social life. If he has a friend in the world, no one knows who it is. His former secretary told me the only non-business calls he gets are from women. Women," Trevor finished with an accusing glance at April and Rose, "all seem to find him fascinating."
"Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm a happily married woman with two beautiful boys," Rose said. "I'm faithful to my husband."
"But there are a lot of our female employees who have fantasies in our CEO." Trevor said. "Talk about power, money…"
"I hate to interrupt this enlightening discussion," April lied as she stood up and put her glass on the table, "but I have a job to do, and I'd better get at it. Mr Salvatore may not care about his public image, but it affects the corporation, and we're being paid to enhance it. While he's here today, let's talk him into a press conference about the future corporate plans, and all that."
"He won't do it," Rose warned as she stood up. "I have tried."
"Let's double-team him then and see if the two of us can prevail upon his good sense."
"He's already turned me down. Maybe you will have beginner's luck if you try it alone— assuming you can even get in to see him."
Getting in to see Damon Salvatore was much easier than getting his attention, April had realized within moments of being admitted to the chrome-and-glass inner sanctum with its silver-grey carpeting and burgundy suede furnishings.
For the past ten minutes, she had been seated in front of Damon Salvatore's desk, trying to convince him to agree to a press conference while he signed documents, talked to his secretary, made several phone calls, and mostly ignored her.
Suddenly his eyes levelled on her. "You were saying?" he said in the clipped tone of one issuing a command to continue, which of course he was.
"I…" April faltered beneath that cold, assessing gaze, then forged ahead. "I was trying to explain that a press conference now is not merely helpful, it is vital. The press has already made the Intercorp looks like a barbarian. You are being seen as a ruthless…"
"It doesn't matter what the press think."
"It is important for Intercorp's image, and public relation is the key to it."
She had a point and Damon knew it, but he didn't particularly appreciate having to face it or admit it. There had been a long rash of publicity about his private life and amorous affairs, and it was beneficial to Intercorp's image for its chief executive officer to be seen in his corporate persona for a change. When it came to Intercorp, Damon made whatever sacrifices were necessary.
Until recently, Damon had made it a practice to purchase only selected companies that were for sale. A year ago, however, he had entered into negotiations to buy a multi-billion-dollar electronics manufacturer headquartered in New York. Originally, the company had approached him, asking if Intercorp would be interested in acquiring them.
Damon had liked the idea, but after spending a great deal of revenue and many months finalizing the agreement, the officers of Smith Electronics had suddenly refused to accept the previously agreed-upon terms. Angry at the waste of Intercorp's time and money, Damon decided to acquire Smith with or without their consent. As a result of that decision, a fierce and well-publicized battle ensued. At the end of it, Smith's officers and directors were left lying crippled on the financial battlefield, and Intercorp had gained a very profitable electronics manufacturer. Along with victory, however, Damon also acquired a reputation as a ruthless corporate raider. That didn't particularly faze him; it was no more irksome than his reputation as an international playboy which the press had bestowed upon him. Adverse publicity and the loss of his personal privacy were the costs of success, and he accepted them with the same philosophical indifference that he felt for the fawning hypocrisy he encountered socially, and the treachery he faced from business adversaries. Sycophants and enemies came with extraordinary success, and if dealing with them had made him extremely cynical and wary, that, too, was the price he'd had to pay.
But none of that bothered him.
Lifelong enemies, unjust public accusations, and hard feelings were the dues that one paid for success. Damon paid his without complaint, as did those other determined visionaries who, like him, had managed in the last two decades to harvest vast personal fortunes from soil that was no longer fertile, in an economic climate that was considered unhealthy.
"Fine. Let me think about it," he said. "When do you want to have the press conference?"
For a split second, April couldn't believe her ears. "I— As soon as possible. How about tomorrow? That's enough time to set it up."
He was signing more papers handed to him by his secretary, but he glanced up at her and shook his head. "I have to fly to New York tomorrow and will only be back late at night."
"Christmas eve?" April asked hopefully.
"That's fine."
April's mental cheer was strangled by the secretary, who turned over the page in his desk calendar, pointed to something written on it, and said, "I'm afraid Christmas eve is out of the question. You have three meetings that day and then you have to attend the Charity Ball at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Centre at night."
"Charity Ball?" he demanded, sounding disgusted and irate at the prospect. "For what?"
"You donated a sculpture to the charity auction that precedes the ball, and you are to be honoured for your generosity."
"Send someone else."
They all looked up in surprise as April negated that suggestion. "I put the Charity Ball thing together. The sculpture will be the most valuable item to be auctioned off…"
"It will also be the ugliest," Damon interjected in such a mild, factual tone that April choked back an inappropriate giggle.
"Why did you buy it?" she asked before she could stop herself.
"I was told it would be a good investment, and it's gone up substantially in value over the one year. Unfortunately, I don't like it any better now than I did when I bought it. Let someone else go to the Charity Ball in the corporation's name and take the bow."
"It has to be you," April stubbornly persisted. "When public relations suggested you make a donation, you made a very generous one. The proceeds go to the hospital where they plan to build a new wing for the Emergency Room. The timing is perfect for a little publicity there, followed by a press conference here next week."
Damon stopped writing and stared hard at her, but he couldn't find an argument to outweigh her logic, and in a small way, he approved of her resolute determination to do the job the company was paying her to do, despite his personal opposition and lack of cooperation. "Fine," he said curtly.
Dismissed, April got up and left. After she left, Damon leaned back in his chair and looked at his secretary, Bree, who, with an appreciative gleam in her eyes, was watching April exit. "Tenacious, isn't she," Bree remarked when she was out of earshot.
"Very."
"Great legs, too."
Damon raised his brows. "You think so?"
"Don't you think so?" Bree asked.
They had been an ideal match from the very first day she had arrived at his office along with twenty other women, most of them young and attractive, who had been sent over to Damon by an employment agency. Most of them were airheads, or openly flirtatious, and he was in no mood to tolerate either stupidity or women's wiles. What he wanted, needed, was someone smart and reliable, someone who would keep pace with his newly reinforced drive to make it to the top. He had just tossed the last applicant's resume in the wastebasket, when he looked up and saw Bree Watson marching toward him in her stout-heeled shoes, plain black suit, her black hair in a prim bun. She thrust her resume into his hand and waited in stoic silence while Damon read the pertinent facts which included the information that she was forty years old, unmarried, and that she could type and take shorthand. Damon had glanced up at her, intending to question her, only to have her announce in a frosty, defensive voice, "I am not unaware that I'm twenty years older than those other applicants out there, and twenty times less attractive. However, because I have never been a beautiful woman, I have had to develop and rely upon my other qualities."
Taken aback, Damon had asked, "What are those qualities?"
"My mind and my skills," she had replied. "In addition to my typing and shorthand skills, I am also a paralegal and a full-charge bookkeeper."
She had a certain aloof pride that Damon admired, and he sensed in her the same rigid determination to get the job done that he felt. Based on that instinctive belief that she was right for the position, he said bluntly, "The hours are long and the salary isn't great now. I'm just getting started. If I make it to the top, I promise I will take you with me. Your salary will go up according to your contribution."
"Agreed."
"I will be traveling a great deal. Later, there may be times when you will have to accompany me."
Amazingly, her brown eyes had narrowed. "Perhaps you ought to be more specific about my duties, Mr Salvatore. Women undoubtedly find you an extremely attractive man; however, I'm …"
Dumbfounded that she apparently thought he was planning to make a pass at her, and angered by her censorious, unsolicited opinion of his appeal to other women, Damon had replied in a voice even colder than hers, "Your duties would be purely secretarial, and no more. I'm not interested in an affair or a flirtation; I don't want cake on my birthday, or coddling, or your opinions on personal matters that pertain to me alone. All I want is your time and your skills. Understand?"
"I understand," she replied.
"When can you start?"
"Now."
He had never regretted his decision. Within a week, he had realized that like him, Bree Watson could work at a ceaseless, killing pace without ever wearing out or wearing down. The more responsibility he gave her, the more she accomplished. They never bridged the barrier that had been erected between them when she expressed alarm over his intentions. At first, they had simply been too absorbed in their mutual work to give it thought. Later it didn't seem to matter, they had fallen into a routine, and it worked magnificently for both of them. Damon had made it all the way to the top, and she had worked day and night beside him, without complaint. In fact, she was a nearly indispensable asset to his business life, and, true to his word, he had rewarded her loyalty and efforts liberally with an impressive salary per annum.
"By the way, you have a dinner appointment with the banker, Mr Tanner tonight," Bree said, sliding a file across the desk. "This is the financial statement of the Dallas company you have requested."
"Thanks. Is Enzo around? I want to talk to him."
"Sure." Bree got up and left his room. He swivelled his chair around and began removing files from the credenza behind his desk.
There was a quick rap on his door following by the click of the latch a few moments later. Damon turned around and saw Enzo strolled into the office.
Enzo was the director of the department of marketing of Intercorp. He was highly efficient and intelligent. But what Damon liked him the most was Enzo was loyal. He had worked for the first company that Damon had bought. When he sold it, Enzo elected to take his chances with Damon rather than the new owners who had offered him an excellent position and a better salary.
"I heard about the announcement," Enzo said as he wandered over to the desk and sat down in the chair that faced it. "We did it, didn't we?"
"Yes." Damon opened the file on potential acquisitions that Enzo had left with him. All of them were corporations that owned large blocks of commercial real estate, and Damon had reviewed each one over the weekend. He was pleased with several of Enzo's choices, impressed by the extraordinary thoroughness of his research, and slightly stunned by some of his recommendations. "What do you particularly like about the Houston company?"
"Several things," Enzo replied. "Their properties are mostly new commercial mid-rise buildings with a high percentage of occupancy. Nearly all their tenants are established corporations with long-term leases, and all the buildings are extremely well-maintained and managed. I saw that myself when I flew to Houston to look them over."
"What about the Chicago company?"
"They are into high-rent residential buildings in prime locations here and their profits are excellent."
Damon's gaze narrowed on Enzo as he bluntly pointed out, "From what I could see in this file, many of their buildings are over thirty years old. The cost of renovating and repairs will begin eating into those excellent profits in seven to ten years."
"I took that into account when I prepared that profit forecast in the file," Enzo said. "Also, the land those buildings are sitting on will always be worth a fortune."
Satisfied, Damon nodded and opened the next file. "What made you consider this Richmond company?"
"If Richmond continues its economic recovery, property values are going to soar and…."
"What makes you think Richmond will continue its economic recovery?"
"The State of Virginia is trying hard to promote its tourism. With its beautiful beaches, lakes and small town communities, Virginia has long been a favourite retreat of tourists. Take for example, Mystic Falls, one of the towns in Virginia has been founded in the 1800s and many tourists have been drawn to the town by the simple charm of its village-look and the wild beauty of its surroundings."
"How do you know all these?" Damon asked.
Enzo smiled. "My wife, Bonnie and I were there for our honeymoon last year. We decided its true appeal was its wonderfully eccentric character. In fact, I found out that there is a piece of land in Mystic Falls that is for sale and a few players are interested in it. They could either develop it themselves or hold on to the land and sell it later for a nice profit. Five years ago, it was worth $10 million. If Virginia continues its economic recovery, it will worth more than that."
"Hmm."
"Tell me something, Damon," Enzo said. "Any chance you are related to the Salvatore Industries?"
Damon went still. "What did you say?"
"Salvatore Industries is responsible for the economic prosperity of most of the Mystic Falls families. The Salvatore family is one of the Founder Families of the town and now the richest." Enzo drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair and studied Damon's expression. He had worked for this man in front of him for almost ten years but Damon Salvatore was still like a stranger to him. "The surname Salvatore isn't a common one, is it?"
Damon rose to his feet and walked over to the windows. "Is the Salvatore Industries planning to buy that land?"
"Yes."
Damon gaze shifted to the files on the desk. The companies recommended by Enzo were huge potentials for profit. But profit wasn't on his mind right now. With renewed anger, he was thinking of what Zach Salvatore had done to his father.
"Buy it," he said softly.
Enzo looked startled. "What?"
"I said buy the land in Mystic Falls. I'm not interested in anything except the piece of property that Salvatore Industries wants. Tell legal to draw up an offer, find the owner and get me the land."
"But Damon…"
"There's another contingency. If the owner accepts our offer, they are to keep the entire transaction completely confidential. No one is to know we are buying that land until after the sale is consummated. Tell legal to include all that in the contract, along with the other usual contingencies."
Suddenly Enzo felt uneasy. In the past, when Damon had invested in or bought companies Enzo had recommended, he hadn't done it on Enzo's recommendations alone. Far from it. He would have checked things out himself and taken precautions. This time, however, if something went wrong, Enzo would be solely and entirely held to blame. "Damon, I really don't think…"
"Enzo," Damon interrupted with silky finality. "Buy the goddamned property."
Nodding, Enzo stood up and retreated from his room.
When Enzo left, Damon shifted his gaze out the windows. He had never forgotten how Zach Salvatore hurt his father twenty-one years ago. He had promised his mother he would look after his father and Stefan. And he had vowed he would take back everything that belonged to his father. Zach was going to have to pay Intercorp for the land he wanted in Mystic Falls.