A/N: Hey peeps! Thank you all for the reviews! Here's the latest. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith/CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

Long Island, NY

April 4th, 2014 8: 23 p.m.

Her beans were running low. If money could be squeezed from a rock, Elena Gilbert-Salvatore would have dug up every single rock in her backyard and got to mashing. As it stood, while she combed through every purse and alligator skinned wallet looking for a wayward twenty or even the pristine shine of a nickel, the negative balance on her savings account flashed intermittedly in her mind's eye.

Negative $42,000, she was in the hole. A see-and-eye dog couldn't even lead Elena back to how she ended up in this financial mess to start with. Although, a laundry list of purchases and indulgences was clearly written in bold block lettering detailing her frivolity.

To make matters worse, she still hadn't heard from that recovering junkie Dana. Consequentially, Elena's backup plan may need a backup plan.

She had a meeting with Damon and his lawyers this coming Wednesday and she knew it wasn't going to be friendly. Elena had no representation and she…offered some other services to Caroline who staunchly refused. When that didn't work, Elena tried going after another associate in the law firm who turned out to be a major fucking disappointment. She very well might be facing the firing squad alone. Unless Logan Fell had a change of heart.

Elena shuddered at the thought of what she had to do just to get the man half hard.

Canoodling up to Stefan wouldn't work either. She was in this on her own.

But, in her spare time Elena had patronized the New York Library checking out all books about divorce and family law to see what her rights were. Unfortunately they were much too advanced for her high school educated mind to comprehend. It left her no choice but to resort to using two separate dictionaries and a thesaurus just to make it through a single paragraph. She could represent herself at their upcoming meeting, but Elena had never been a very good negotiator; and other than yelling "You promised," she had little else to stand on.

Tossing aside yet another empty purse, Elena blew a strand of long mahogany hair out of her eyes. Her bedroom was a wreck. Clothes were strewn everywhere. Shoes peeked out of places they shouldn't have been. This was a fair representation of her life. Discord. No order. A life boiled down to pretty things that would collect dust.

Just then an idea popped into her head. As Elena slowly turned in a circle mentally adding up the valuables she haphazardly threw around, she was probably looking at close to $500,000 in merchandise apparel. If she were to sell some of her priciest, haute couture fashions to a consignment shop that would be a surefire way to amass some capital. She could hoc her jewels to an appraiser at a legitimate jewelry store instead of settling with a run-of-the-mill pawn shop for mere pennies.

Yes!

Tearing back into her closet, Elena critically ran over every individual piece quickly remembering how much she paid for something or guessing its worth based on: designer, the season it was released, the fabric and stitching, and calculated its resale price.

She wouldn't stop at her clothes. Paintings could fetch a decent price as well. Damon had taken her to a couple of Sotheby's auctions. The thrill and excitement of competitive bidding on rare artifacts and precious antique jewelry once owned by monarchs had given her such a high she nearly blacked out. Certainly one of these abstract paintings hanging from the walls could be worth a cool mil at the very least.

Goal in mind, blood pumping, Elena found her second wind.

Her ringing cell phone stopped her inventory. Scrambling to answer, Elena frowned because she didn't recognize the number. The call was coming from a New York area code. She answered.

"What?"

"H-hi," a shaky and very feminine voice cracked. "Hi, is this Elena?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"It's Dana. Dana Mathers we had lunch the other day."

"Right, Dana," Elena strolled out of her closet and sauntered over to the bed and took a seat on the edge.

She ran her slender fingers over the duvet and wondered how much she might be able to get for it. Promising someone a million dollars knowing she didn't have anything but lint to rub together hadn't been her best idea. However, Elena figured she could pay Dana off after she made a new home for her millions in the south of France.

"So I'm guessing the reason you're calling me is because you've finally decided if you're willing to help me or not?" Elena failed to keep the purr out of her voice.

There was a brief pause before Dana replied. "I have been thinking about it and…it's a real generous offer, but I don't think I can do it. I was telling my friend Svetlana…"

Elena jolted off the bed—furious. "You told someone about my proposal! Are you fucking stupid?"

"I didn't go into specifics and I didn't use names, I swear I didn't. But Svetlana worked with Mr. Salvatore…" Dana purposely trailed off in the hopes Elena would see what she was hinting at.

Elena caught on but still didn't relax her stiff shoulders. She didn't know Svetlana, not to say she knew Dana all that well, either. Any girl was just as good as the next. So long as she had nerves and no conscience about potentially ruining a man's life.

"Svetlana worked for Damon and what? She's willing to go on record and say she had an affair with him as a minor?"

"Yeah, she said she'd do it. I just wanted to run it by you first. I might not come off this way but I'm a Catholic and I can't have something like that on my conscience."

Elena rolled her eyes. "Hey," she said quietly. "I understand. I wouldn't want you to go against your faith, either."

However, maybe Dana failed to realize that by throwing her friend to the wolves made her an accomplice in the grand scheme of things. And just as guilty. Treachery was treachery whether you did it yourself, or employed someone else to do your dirty work.

"Do you have a number where Svetlana can be reached?"

"Yeah," Dana shot off the number.

Elena jotted it down on a piece of stationary. She also got the girl's last name. She wouldn't approach Svetlana until she knew a little more about her. This was a delicate operation and there couldn't be any loose or wild cards.

"Thanks, Dana."

"Yeah, um so…I was wondering since I found you a replacement would I still be entitled to a cut of…"

Elena hung up the phone. "Snooze you lose."

Up in the Air—New York City

April 4th 9:45 p.m.

She saw oceans and springs, glaciers moving with sloth-like slowness in arctic waters in his eyes. Bonnie had been staring into them most of the night still incapable of naming their exact color. They weren't just blue. They were also ash, metal, cerulean, lapis, turquoise, iris, the list was continuous.

Bonnie had stepped away from Damon. As much as she wanted to taste his lips and to do so all night, she didn't want their first kiss to be in front of a man named Bart. Although added with their present location it certainly would have made the moment even more memorable.

She could feel Damon's disappointment. Heard it in the sigh he released when she created a gap of space between them. Bonnie awarded him a smile as a consolation prize.

Bonnie tilted her head just so and whispered in his ear. "Soon, you have my word on that."

"Then I should go ahead and apologize because I might not be able to keep my hands in decent places when we do kiss."

Sinking her teeth into her lip, Bonnie smiled and then shifted so that she was facing the view of New York. His words were making her hot.

Damon remained right where he was opting to stare at Bonnie's profile and mark every little nuance about her into memory. Her eyes looked rather big from the side. The tip of her nose sticking out way beyond her lips which were curled at the corners. It wasn't the prettiest of profiles but certainly unique, and didn't prepare anyone for a head on view of her.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Damon tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and fingered the shell of it, tracing her jawline with his gloved finger. He took the glove off because he wanted skin-on-skin contact. His fingers burrowed into her soft hair at the nape and tentatively he massaged, sliding his thumb along the ridge of her neck. Five digits brushed over her sensitive flesh sending pulses of electricity straight to her pink parts.

Bonnie's eyelids fluttered and she had to fight not to release the deep satisfied moan of a woman who loved to be touched.

"Your fingers are cold," she said.

"They only feel that way because you're so hot."

Bonnie laughed at the double entendre.

"We're approaching the Empire State Building," Bart announced.

Giddiness lapped at Bonnie's insides and she was back to quizzing Bart on all things New York. Damon interjected where he could but otherwise he had been left out in the cold. Ruefully he shook his head.

By the time they made it back to Westchester both his and Bonnie's stomachs were rumbling and protesting.

"Thank you so much, Bart for the ride," Bonnie handed the older gentleman the borrowed gear. "I didn't think I could have so much fun on a hot air balloon ride."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Bonnie. You'll have to come back and see me during the summer," he winked.

Damon rolled his eyes. Maybe the old geezer didn't get the memo but Bonnie was his date.

"I will," Bonnie promised and then took Damon's outstretched arm who led her back to his idling vehicle.

Once strapped in with the heat going at full blast to defrost both of their faces and limbs, Bonnie rubbed her hands together.

"Where are we eating?" she asked.

Damon smiled. "Just this little place I know."

The little place ended up being a twenty-seven bedroom mansion that had been converted into an exclusive miniature resort.

The largest house to date Bonnie had ever stepped foot in had been the Mikaelson compound in New Orleans. But this estate which reminded her of the house used in the Christopher Nolan Batman remake series was by far the grandest and the biggest.

Bonnie had to work overtime not to appear impressed but she just couldn't help it. The art historian inside of her was drooling and itching to take a look at all the magnificent works of art being displayed on every wall, hiding in every nook and cranny. Already she had come across one original Rembrandt, at least three Botticelli Venuses and, a Frieda Kahlo selfie.

Inwardly, Damon gave himself a brownie point. He knew he made the right decision in bringing Bonnie here knowing she'd appreciate it considering her profession.

They were shown to a section of the dining room that was marble in places, limestone in others with Italian chandeliers hanging from twenty-five foot tall ceilings.

"This place is…beautiful isn't even an adequate enough word," Bonnie sat down, eyes glued to the mirage painted on the ceiling.

The restaurant décor was traditional in an urbane sense. Tables were sheathed in ecru linens. Crystal aryballos vases sat atop tables filled with miniature royal purple roses. Glowing votive candles that emitted a pleasing lavender aroma helped set the scene for two individuals about to break bread and share intimate secrets or flirtatious looks.

The ambiance was textbook romantic, and caused Bonnie's nerves to shoot up a notch.

She and Damon took their seats and were handed menus. Menus that didn't list the price for items leaving Bonnie stranded on what to order. She had always been frugal with money. Saving what she could to make a big purchases and always economizing with sales. But since Damon brought her here he obviously could afford it. Besides, she reminded her brain this wasn't her first time eating at an uber upscale restaurant.

"Get whatever you want," Damon assured her.

Flipping through the menu, Bonnie asked, "Have you been here before?"

"Once or twice."

"What did you get the last time you were here?" she finally stopped perusing cuisine choices and made eye contact with her date.

"I keep it simple when it comes to food. Give me a good, tenderized steak marinated just right and some kind of green vegetable and I'm as happy as a bug in a rug."—Bonnie giggled—"But then when I feel like indulging, I'll try anything."

Now why did that have to sound like a come on? Bonnie fingered the skin around her neck, and picked up the water goblet that had been filled by their server before he left to give them a moment to decide what to order.

Bonnie sat down the glass and swiped a droplet of water from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. "Are you in an indulgent mood tonight?"

"Very," Damon's chest swelled after seeing that pink tongue of hers.

"So no meat and potatoes, then?"

Damon shook his head. "Why order something you can have any day of the week?" he looked down at the menu. "They have crab stuffed lobster…"

"Oh, that sounds good."

"It comes with a garlic dipping sauce and you're allergic to garlic."

Bonnie frowned and before she had a chance to say anything their server had returned with the wine menu Damon had requested. She studied him as he skimmed through the products that she suspected could only be ordered by the bottle. Bonnie didn't even want to think about how much a bottle of forty year old wine may cost. This place was making her head spin without the added libation.

"We'll have the Sauvignon Blanc and we still need some time to decide what to order," Damon handed the menu back to the server who was off again.

"How do you know I'm allergic to garlic?"

Shit, Damon cursed in his head. He kept his mask of nonchalance intact. "I'm pretty sure you told me during our first phone conversation. We covered a lot of topics that night." Which of course her being allergic to garlic did not come up at all. That info had been provided by his PI.

Damon bravely held Bonnie's assessing gaze. She didn't exactly look convinced, but then she shrugged.

"Maybe I did. Most of what we talked about floats in and out of my head. I was more than half delirious by the time we got off the phone."

Discreetly blowing out a relieved breath, Damon scooted his chair a bit closer to the table. "Do you want to try the stuffed lobster and substitute the dipping sauce for something else?"

"Sure. I usually reserve eating seafood for the summer, but well I love crab. My grandmother was a big crab enthusiast when I was little. This one summer she and I took a road trip to Eastern Shore, Maryland and did you know they have an entire festival dedicated to eating crab? Ohmygod," Bonnie moaned as if she could taste all the food she tried to cram into her small twelve year old stomach. "I have never tasted food so good."

If she was close to ecstasy merely talking about food Damon couldn't wait to watch her eat. He coughed to undermine the fact his underused python was slowly awakening.

Jared their server returned, poured their wine, and literally memorized their order verbatim without writing anything down.

Alone once more, candlelight flickering, the occasional laugh cutting through the otherwise soft murmur of conversation lulled Bonnie. Shyly she stared at Damon from underneath her lashes, and her cheeks warmed considerably when he winked at her.

"I should probably warn you," she began mostly as a distraction from his overt manliness, "eating for me is an experience."

"Really?" one dark and perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. "Will this dining experience come with a special disclaimer or rating?"

"I don't know. If you keep looking at me like that it might."

Mirth danced in lapis eyes. "How am I looking at you?" Damon questioned seductively.

"Don't act like you don't know what you're doing, Damon Salvatore," Bonnie helped herself to a sip of wine this time.

The defendant in question raised both hands in the air. "I'm merely sitting here enjoying the company of one of the most beautiful women I've had the pleasure of wining and dining. I'm not going to let it stop me from making it known whichever way I can that I'm very happy to be in your presence."

Bonnie did her best to appear stern but it melted off into vapor due to the fact her ego had been stroked. She rested her elbows on the table and made a steeple of her hands.

"Are you used to getting your way when it comes to women? I imagine you don't get turned down often."

"I can ask and say the same of you, Miss Bennett. I think Bart was mapping out your future, and Jared couldn't stop his eyes from lingering."

Bonnie waved those two examples away. "It's the dress."

Damon snorted and pointedly eyed her dress. "That's part of the lure, yep. But it's you. And I'll have you know I strike out—not as much as I score, but I did strike out. All past tense, the scoring part I mean."

"Right," Bonnie smirked skeptically. "You weren't seriously dating anyone before our paths crossed?"

Again, Damon cursed and ignored the flare of guilt that zipped along his spine. He had been diligent in not discussing prior relationships because he knew it would spark Bonnie's inquisitiveness. If she found out he was still legally married, it hurt his heart to think of how fast she'd burn rubber to get away from him. She didn't come off as one of those women willing to accept a man, whatever part of him she could get even if that part was part time while the rest of him belonged to someone else. Plus, Bonnie was not the sort of person any dummy with common sense would turn into a side piece, but then…

He was. It didn't feel that way to Damon but so long as he remained married on paper, any future involvement with Bonnie would make her into the other woman. This time he drank greedily from the water goblet despite wanting to take the glass of wine to the head.

"No, I wasn't seriously dating anyone before we ran into each other," Damon had difficulty swallowing because it was the truth—in a way, but also a lie. Marriage was a lot more serious than dating.

The inclination to explain to Bonnie about his un-sanctimonious marriage teetered on the edge of his tongue. She might understand and believe he no longer loved his wife, and that he very well was interested in having a future with her, but Bonnie might get stuck on the fact he was still legally bound to someone and disregard his make-a-wish dream.

But…the devil on his right shoulder began to plot. If all went according to plan his marriage to Elena could be null and void this Wednesday. So why bring up something that may be a moot point? A very important moot point, but a moot point, nonetheless.

Then again, the angel sitting on his left shoulder pounded into Damon's conscience that he was being deceitful, and starting a relationship based on deception never got off the ground. If he lost her trust in keeping this large truth from her should it ever be exposed, even if she were to forgive him for it, it would unfortunately set a precedent and she may start to second guess everything to come out of his mouth.

Bonnie sensed that Damon wanted to tell her something, and whatever that something was made her stomach rumble. So she interrupted with another question.

"Casually having fun?" Bonnie tossed out. The widow didn't want to stereotype Damon and assume he had a different girl in his bed every night simply based on his looks. Yet she couldn't help but find it hard to believe otherwise. Maybe he was going to confess to being a nymphomaniac.

"To be blunt," Damon almost bit out, "I have not had sex in almost a year."

Green eyes ballooned. She hadn't expected that to be the case. Hearing that made Damon more endearing to her and Bonnie didn't even want to get into why. Of course they both had pasts with other people. She had been married to an incredible man and before Henrik, Bonnie had had her share of romances that never went anywhere beyond the nearest restaurant and the occasional sleepover. Damon managed models for a living leaving Bonnie to guess at how often he was propositioned on a daily basis.

So what was the reason behind the celibacy?

Saying that made Damon avert his gaze. Pre-heart surgery would he have labeled himself a sex fiend? Not exactly. His craving for sex was probably right about average for a guy his age with an empire to run. Had sex always been about connecting with someone? No, not for him. A stress reliever, a vigorous activity to pass the time between stints—yes. That didn't really change after marrying Elena because then sex became more of a tutorial than anything else. In all, Damon would say he's probably only made love a handful of times in his life.

"Should I be offended you look so surprised a guy like me can make it that long without sex?" Damon teased if only to filibuster his guilt in concealing a huge secret from Bonnie.

"I'm sorry. It's just…any reason why you've abstained?"

"A very long and boring one we can talk about some other time. It's time to eat."

Thankfully the first course of their meal had arrived.

B&D

If they were going to be eating off each other's plate he might as well be sitting next to her and not across from her. Damon plopped his butt in the arm chair beside Bonnie who scooted closer to him. Their heads drew together like magnets as they both dived into the crab stuffed lobster.

Just as she said, eating for Bonnie was an experience. An experience that was accompanied by throaty moans, eyes rolling into the back of her head, and little shimmies here and there whenever a delicious morsel of food slid down the hatchet. Twice Damon missed his mouth completely since he had been too busy observing Bonnie as she devoured her portion of the entree, piece by piece. Luckily he had the foresight to drape the table napkin over his lap.

Bonnie's fork hit the empty plate with a clang. She fell back heavily against the padded chair, rubbed her slightly salty lips over one another, and laughed. "That was delicious."

"Not nearly as delicious as watching you eat."

Tagging his arm with the back of her hand, Bonnie refused to feel embarrassed. "What's for dessert?"

Damon wiped his mouth clean and flicked the napkin on the table. "Something non-traditional in a place like this," he signaled for their waiter.

The two men had a hushed conversation with Jared nodding succinctly every once and a while. He briskly walked off, and Damon rose from his chair.

He extended a hand toward Bonnie who without argument took his proffered limb. Hoisting her to her feet, Damon locked their fingers together and then led the way through the labyrinth of tables, down a corridor to a lounge of sorts.

There were chairs and couches evenly spaced apart, low lighting. A double sided fireplace being the focal point of the room.

Damon headed toward the fireplace where a settee had been arranged. Overstuffed pillows in earth tone colors were perched against the stone façade of the hearth. He and Bonnie had a seat and from somewhere Damon produced a bowl of marshmallows and two sticks.

Bemused, a corner of Bonnie's lips curled into a smile. "We're going to roast marshmallows? Isn't that a little too…"

"Ingenious?" Damon interrupted.

"I was going to say mushy."

"If you don't want to…" Damon made a move to ditch the marshmallows, but his arm was detained.

"No, I didn't say that." Bonnie didn't proceed until Damon faced her. "I just never imagined doing something as ordinary as roasting marshmallows in a place like this."

"Sure it's a nice place and everything, but still, it's just a converted house. And I'm pretty sure you told me that making s'mores was one of your favorite things to do."

"Oh yeah."

"See."

"Shut up," Bonnie retorted good-naturedly. "Going through all of this effort I would think you're trying to score."

Damon didn't even attempt to look sheepish. Or contrite.

What probably would have offended Bonnie—didn't. Instead, her loins heated and tightened.

"Thank for you tonight, Damon," Bonnie murmured seriously. She stared down at her fingers. "After the last nine months I've had…I didn't think I'd feel like this," once more Bonnie stared at her date head on. "I didn't think I could get to a place where thinking about the past doesn't make me sad. I've been given a second chance and I don't want to waste a second of it but…" her voice tapered off losing some of its strength.

"Hey," Damon cupped her face and gently brushed the slope of her cheek with the pad of this thumb. "You lost someone deeply important to you, Bonnie. There isn't a time frame on the amount of time it would and will take to move on from a traumatic loss."

Feeling tears wanting to sprout, Bonnie breathed in a shuddering breath. "Have you ever lost someone extremely close to you?"

"My mother. I had eighteen solid years with her before she succumbed to pancreatic cancer. My dad passed a year after she did."

"Ohmygod, I'm so sorry."

Damon shook his head. "You lost your husband suddenly. My mother's illness…the only good thing I can say about it…it didn't drag on too long."

Damon dropped his hold on Bonnie needing to retreat for a second. Next to Stefan his mother had been one of his best friends. He told her everything. Losing her, Damon had almost lost his mind.

He didn't realize he slipped far into his thoughts until he felt a pair of warm hands cup his face. When he blinked the vision before him was a tad blurry, but then things snapped into focus and he was staring at one of the most attractive and sinfully gorgeous faces ever. Concern lined her avocado orbs, concern and not pity. Loss hurt no matter what and they had each gone through their fair share of it.

Damon held his breath and didn't move a muscle as Bonnie cleared what space was left between them. Her soft lips touched his, gently, and he responded taking her mouth with a deliberate slowness that made her toes curl.

Carefully, Damon wrapped one arm around Bonnie and it took a lot of effort not to stretch her out on the rug. He vaguely remained cognizant of the fact they weren't totally alone. Still, that all went out the window as soon as Bonnie took the initiative and slid her tongue in his mouth.

Jesus, she tasted like the French wine he had forgone drinking, and he was catching a buzz just from their tongue play. He swelled in his pants. Her fingers sunk into his pelt of raven hair bringing Damon closer. Her breasts pressed along his chest and the Holter monitor chose that moment to beep—deafeningly.

Bonnie abruptly pulled away, slightly panting. "What was that noise?"

"What?" Damon was a bit dazed. The monitor beeped again and he absently fingered his chest. This stupid thing was going to out him.

"What was that, Damon?"

He lapped the residue of Bonnie's signature taste from his mouth wishing he could go for another round. Unfortunately, that would have to be postponed to deal with this. "Just a monitor thingy for my heart."

Bonnie knew Damon was trying to severely downplay whatever was wrong with him. "A monitor thingy? What does it do? Is like a portable EKG?"

"Yes. I'm fine, Bonnie. Really I am."

"If you're fine then why do you need your heart to be monitored?"

Sighing and rubbing his face, Damon decided to come clean with at least one of his secrets. "About a year ago I had a heart attack and was diagnosed with a congenital heart disorder. I needed a transplant to make it to twenty-nine. Five months ago, I received a brand new heart."

Every drop of blood in Bonnie's body rushed to her feet. She lowered her eyes to Damon's chest and wondered because the timing was just too precise, too convenient that this couldn't be written off as coincidence. Bonnie didn't know how rare heart transplants were, how often they were done. But if Damon had received a new heart and Henrik had been an organ donor and she knew his heart had found a recipient in December when Damon's surgery took place…

She slid away from him.

Damon frowned. "Bonnie? What's…?"

"What's your blood type?"

The question caught Damon up short by the expression on his face, but he supplied an answer despite his confusion, "Type B."

"So was Henrik," she whispered. "I need a minute. Excuse me."

Abruptly she clamored to her feet, made it three steps away before turning around to stare at a very baffled Damon Salvatore. "My husband's heart had been transplanted into someone's body in December. I think you have his heart…which means he died so you could live. Excuse me."

Damon sat frozen to the spot and stared down at his chest in bewilderment. Was that possible?

Chapter end.

A/N: So one of Damon's, well don't want to call it a secret, but Bonnie knows about his organ transplant, and the strong possibility it very well may be Henrik's. How will this affect them moving forward. And Elena still up to no good. Let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading! Love you!