Damon was not sure this would work.
Aaron Whitmore was brilliant, resourceful, and, from what Damon could tell, a man of integrity. He lived up to and even exceeded his reputation. Unfortunately, so did Grayson Gilbert. Damon was not sure he could do business with that man. Grayson was ruthless, heartless, and Damon was pretty sure he underwent a conscience lobotomy decades ago. After spending the morning meeting with him, Damon could use a full-body soak in hand sanitizer.
"So what did you think?" Enzo asked as they waited for the elevator.
Damon knew Enzo wanted this deal to happen, but they had worked too hard to get Mystic Corp where it was, achieving what it was doing for the people it was helping, to take the first offer that came their way. They were not desperate. They were in pole position. They had made the smart moves to put them there, and Grayson Gilbert wouldn't fool him into thinking differently.
"I didn't like Gilbert's body language when I mentioned keeping indigenous workers," Damon said. "Even when it might be more cost effective to use workers from other nations like India or China."
"He didn't say it would be a problem, Damon." Enzo gave him that long-suffering look he reserved for Damon's "gut" reactions.
"You know as well as I do that most of communication is nonverbal." Damon leaned against the elevator wall while they waited for the elevator car to come. "He isn't saying what he is thinking because he knows we will walk away."
Grayson knew he would walk away. There was already a conflict brewing between the inner warriors tucked neatly away behind their suits. He didn't like Damon, and Damon didn't like him, and they both knew it. But they would just keep grinning until they could put the pretenses aside and bare their teeth at each other.
Damon's guess, based on Grayson's pattern, was that he was digging around for something he could hold over them to force them into his way of thinking before he showed his hand. Unfortunately Damon didn't operate that way, and he would rather get out before Grayson started tampering with the people and things that meant something to him. That wouldn't end well.
For Grayson.
The elevator dinged, the doors open, and Enzo stepped in. It took him a second to realize that Damon was still out.
"What are you—" Understanding dawned on his face. "Aw damn, Salvatore. Leave that woman alone. She is not your type."
"I will catch a cab home." Damon grinned at Enzo and turned to the right, the direction he saw Elena went this morning. "You take the car."
"You will take a cab all the way to Brooklyn?" Enzo said as the doors were closing. "That will cost a fortune."
"Didn't you hear?" Damon said over his shoulder. "We are rich now."
He could only hope there weren't many options down this hall. He could end up looking ridiculous poking his head in every door until he found Elena. It was a cause he was willing to look the fool for, though. Even though Enzo was right. She was not his type. The last woman he dated…hell, he almost married, graduated from Oxford and led a global clean water campaign. Half Kenyan, half British, she could speak four languages and would probably be an ambassador before she was forty.
And the whole time they dated, the whole time they were engaged, never did Damon feel what he felt in the sliver of time he had spent with Elena. Like she was an impossible table puzzle with a million pieces he could spend all afternoon assembling, and never get quite right. Like he would get to the end, and still have these tiny empty spaces where pieces hiding under the couch or lost in the attic should be.
Elena was just…like a mystery.
Damon knew people instinctively. Call it a curse or a gift, but he could see things they tried to hide from him. He had no explanation for how or why he could cut through what people present to who they really were, but he always could. He would never fall for bullshit.
And although Enzo was right about Elena not fitting the usual profile of women he would be interested in, his feet still followed the path he saw her take. That path ended at an open space with a glass reception desk of sorts. No one was seated there, but a clear carry-out container rested on the large, wide marble lip above the desk. It was a grilled chicken salad, and on the container there was a note.
"Sorry, Elena," Damon read aloud. "No artichoke hearts today."
He looked around the small, neat lobby. He was in the right place.
"Caroline, food!" a disembodied voice boomed from the adjacent room. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, Damon saw Elena's gilded head bent over a stack of papers on her desk. Without a second thought, he grabbed the container and walked into the office.
"It is about damn time." Elena didn't lift her head, but jotted down a note in a Moleskine notebook. "Now I'm hungry."
"Well, they are out of artichoke hearts." Damon set the container on the desk in front of her. "Hope that doesn't make it worse."
Her eyes flew up from her work, meeting his and widening.
When they say this woman was beautiful, they were not telling the half of it. Or maybe they just left out the most important part. It was not the perfection of her features that captivated him. It was all the things hidden behind those brown doe eyes. It was hard not to melt when looking at those eyes
That brief surprised widening of her eyes was the only moment she yielded to him, his last advantage. She recovered quickly, leaning back in her seat and crossing one long leg over the other, clearly a move that usually distracted horny men long enough for her to manipulate them. If she were wearing a skirt, he might have even fallen for it.
"Are you lost?" She raised one dark brow.
"No more than everyone else." Damon settled one butt cheek on the edge of her desk, mostly for show because he was afraid his full weight would topple the little glass table.
"Oh, is this a philosophical discussion then?" Her full lips bent almost undetectably.
"If you would like, I'm down for that."
"Men don't usually want to have philosophical discussions with me."
"I bet they are missing out."
"No, they are not." Elena uncrossed one leg, scooted them both under the desk, and rested her chin on folded hands. "What can I do for you, Mr Salvatore?"
"First, you can call me Damon, or just Salvatore." He gave her a grin. "All my friends do."
Elena didn't bounce a grin back to him.
"How nice for your friends. And you are here because?"
"I was wondering if you are coming to the rooftop party tonight."
She tilted her head, giving him an unblinking stare.
"And that matters to you why?"
"I'm leaving for Cambodia tomorrow, and I wanted to see you again."
A small frown knitted her eyebrows together, and her lashes dropped to hide her eyes.
"I thought you and Enzo were staying in New York for a while."
"We are when we come back, but have some business there first." Damon reached out to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him again. "So will you be there tonight?"
Elena turned her head, subtly freeing herself from his grasp.
"You know I'm dating Matt." She lifted her lashes, giving Damon the full impact of those brown eyes. "Are you in the habit of pursuing another man's girl?"
"No, I have a definite rule about that. I never go after another guy's girl." Damon shook his head. "This isn't pursuit. This is early level mild interest."
"This is early level mild interest?" Elena leaned forward a little, extending her neck for the question. "Following me to the bathroom? Staring at me rudely in elevators? Asking me probing questions in front of strangers? Tracking down my office and arriving unannounced? I would hate to see pursuit."
"I actually think you would like to see pursuit, but we won't know until you kick the quarterback. When is that happening, by the way?"
"I told you sex with him is still driving me out of my mind. Why stop now?"
Elena watched his face closely for the response she wanted from her words. Little did she know it was not his face that was responding. Every time she said the word "sex" he went hard as granite, even though she was talking about it with someone else.
"I think the only way a guy like Matt can hold on to a woman like you is to have sex with her until she is out of her mind, so that is probably his best strategy. If you stop having sex with him long enough to come to your senses, I would like to take you to dinner."
"Dinner?" Her laugh was like cream, rich and decadent. "Why don't you say what you really want?"
"I just did. I always do."
"Well, it is a moot point since I'm with Matt and you are off to Cambodia and I doubt we will cross paths again."
"You didn't answer my question. Will you be at the rooftop party tonight or not?"
Her smile faded to nothing and she blinked several times.
"I will be there with my boyfriend."
"I will respect that, of course." Damon straightened from the little glass structure he almost crushed. "But once he is out of the picture, which we both know he will be soon, all bets are off, and I'm formally warning you that we go from early level mild interest to full-on pursuit."
"You can pursue all you want, but that doesn't mean you will succeed."
"That is like pouring gasoline on a kitchen fire with somebody like me. My high school guidance counsellor told me that about going to Princeton, but I got in on a football scholarship. My parents warned me about leaving college to start Mystic, and it has turned out pretty well for me."
"Is that what I am to you, then?" Elena looked at Damon unsmilingly. "A challenge? Something to be achieved?"
"I think you are a woman who hasn't even begun to show the world who she is." Damon considered her for an extra second. "I think in some ways that is something you are still trying to figure out yourself, and people engaged in that process fascinate me."
"I think the world and I both already know who I am." The look Elena gave him was supposed to be a dismissal, but he was too much of a stubborn goat to read it as one. "Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do."
So I will see her once more before they fly out tomorrow, Damon said to himself. Another chance to chip away at that sparkling armour. He walked back towards the door, pausing by the garment rack. His imagination put her in the dark brown minidress, and he practically drooled.
"I like the brown dress, by the way."
He shouldn't have said it. She would wear something else just to spite him. That was okay, though. With this woman, even spite was an aphrodisiac.