The Rest Is Still Unwritten

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Summary: Owner of a failing bookshop, Elena stumbles upon a unique set of books, written by an author with a rather dark story of his own. Can she break him out of his permanent writing block and give him a reason to write again? Delena. AU/AH.

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Chapter 8

Altered Perceptions

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He was going to be brutally honest with himself and admit he wasn't expecting her to show up. The restaurant he picked wasn't too far from the centre of the city, but it was a place easily accessible by car so she couldn't use the excuse of getting lost as a reason for not showing up.

Why did it matter? This was strictly business anyway.

But his palms were sweaty, and his brow was flushed. Why was he displaying all the symptoms of a teenage boy trying to summon up the courage to ask a girl out? It was pathetic. It had been a while since he'd last asked a girl out, without it being an apology for his behaviour of course, and yet all that Salvatore charm he'd heard so much about seemed to have fled his very skin. His father had possessed too much of it; Stefan, to a degree, had inherited some of it, the problem being he never used it for the right reasons, only to sway potential business clients into agreeing to sign a deal of some sort. Where was his in his greatest hour of need?

He'd ordered a drink – Bourbon, naturally – to calm his nerves, but it seemed like nothing was going to do the trick. This girl – this woman, correction – had him all pegged without even knowing the reasons why. Yes, she could be snippy, sarcastic, but he liked that. He liked the fact she wasn't timid or shy, that her opinions were straightforward, and not to be mocked or laughed at. The last time he'd known a girl like that she'd just finished breaking his heart and was navigating her way out of his life for good.

He was situated by the window, hoping against hope he could catch a glimpse of her first, just so he could muster up a response that didn't reflect how he was feeling right about now. His chest felt constricted, mainly because he was painfully aware of the fact his lack of interest in women meant he no longer knew how to communicate with them without dragging up his history, and he was not here for that at all. This wasn't a date by any means, yet it felt so much like one that it was hard to concentrate on the actual task at hand. He was still not sure how he was going to persuade her to sell, because even just walking in for that one moment – and he'd completely ignored Stefan's instructions on looking around the place, because he was going to handle this from now on – it had been perfectly clear she loved her business. He'd read it in the twinkle in her eyes, in the way she'd dealt with her customers, and in her body language in general.

He slumped in his chair, musing on the eternal dilemma that was Elena Gilbert, and so lost in thought was he that he didn't notice that he had company until a small and polite cough drew his attention.

Damon's eyes flew upwards, landing on her, and for a brief moment, he forgot how to speak. The ability to talk just seemed to be a skill he'd never learned, because when he saw her, nothing else seemed to matter, and he completely forgot that this was supposed to be a business meeting and nothing more.

She'd managed to walk that fine line between goddess and just simply breathtaking. Her hair fell into soft waves, framing her face and accentuating her features, particularly those warm eyes. Each strand of hair bounced with life, scaling down her back like a waterfall. She wore a black dress, with a plunging neckline, the top half decorated with ripples of soft material. A silver necklace decorated her exposed skin, and small hoop earrings flashed their presence, but other than that she hadn't gone overboard in the jewellery department.

Damon swallowed, and looked down at his own clothes, which consisted of a loose black shirt, a couple of buttons sneakily undone because that was just the way he'd always worn them, and dark trousers. Maybe he should've dressed so his business venture didn't seem like it was coming from an idiot, but it was too late to back out now.

He stood up, grabbing the chair opposite him and pulling it out so she could sit down.

"I like this Damon," she mused, smiling. "He's a gentleman."

"Ah, ah, ah, thought we were strangers, remember?" he reminded her. "This is the only Damon you know so far."

"You're right. I'm sorry." She straightened her face, even though he could see she was bursting to laugh. "Should we start over?"

"I believe so." He extended his hand. "Miss Gilbert, I'm Damon Salvatore, I believe we have some business to discuss."

"You never said it was business, but go on," she murmured, her voice low and husky, and he bit back a groan.

He'd found women attractive before – his sexuality had never changed in that respect – but the desire to be with one just hadn't stirred him like this in a long time. Every muscle, every nerve on his body felt tense, almost as if they were aware of this rare occurrence, and he tried to keep himself in check...with very little effect.

"I have a proposal to make," he said, leaning back, keeping his eyes locked with hers before they wandered up and down her beautiful body. "And I want you to keep an open mind about it."

Elena nodded, running her tongue along her bottom lip, presumably to moisten it due, but the effect it had – that one gesture – drove him wild. His dirty thoughts multiplied in his head until he was dizzy. Her very perfume fluttered around him, like a million butterflies spreading their wings in front of his very face, parading themselves in a manner he couldn't ignore.

"I came in with an open mind, Damon, so go ahead and shoot. What is it you wanted to discuss?" she asked, resting her chin on her hands, her lips coated in a thin lipstick only a shade lighter than the colour of blood.

"Should we order drinks first?"

Damon beckoned a waiter over anyway, and they ordered drinks, him having already necked the rest of his Bourbon the moment he'd taken in her appearance, which was such a far stretch from the bookworm look she'd cultivated he was still in shock about it. When the drinks arrived, they knocked their glasses lightly together before divulging in a sip, their eyes never once straying to any other part of the room.

"So, this business venture," he eventually started, suddenly nervous, wondering if he was going to get a drink in his face for even daring to suggest she part with her shop.

Then again, he'd only met her twice before, so who was he to judge what her feelings were about it? For all he knew, she was good at pretending she led the cosiest of lives, when really her mind and heart searched for more, and that him buying the property on behalf of his brother was a godsend she'd been waiting for.

Some hope.

But he held it all the same, already remembering how furious she could get when provoked.

"I want to buy your shop," but somehow the blunt words fell from his lips anyway, without even a shadow of forethought hovering around them. "Or, rather, my brother does."

She blinked, immediately taken aback.

"It's – er – not for sale," she said, too surprised to sound cross even though he could see faint lines appear along her forehead.

Was she not aware of her shop's current financial situation, or had she genuinely decided to be stubborn with him on every encounter? Judging by her genuinely startled reaction, he knew he was the first person to have approached her about buying her property, which was strange considering Stefan seemed to have been under the impression she was getting desperate.

"Is that what this is about?" She tilted her head to one side, her lips turned into a frown. "Are you trying to buy me out or something?"

"Not exactly. My brother's company, which I work for, is looking for a place to set up extra offices. He wants to extend the premises. Don't ask me why. He seems to be under the impression your shop is struggling, and he's offering to buy you out for a good price."

Elena pursed her lips, a variety of emotions spinning in her eyes. He leaned forward, reached to touch her hand, and then pulled back, scolding himself for being too familiar with a woman who he didn't know, who'd already demonstrated she wasn't keen on him despite her agreement to meet here and talk. He saw a flash on her hand, and immediately cursed himself, wondering why he hadn't noticed the band of gold before.

Why did it matter that she was engaged? That was perhaps the more pressing question he should've asked himself, but he was momentarily distracted, figuring someone as beautiful as her would be taken. Wasn't that the way of the world? All the beautiful women were snatched up like diamonds, and maybe if he'd tried harder with women he could've found one of his own, but no one had interested him at all to even make the effort.

Until now anyway.

"It's true the shop has been struggling lately," Elena managed to get out, clearly struggling with her own words, for some unknown reason. "But if my finances were in that much trouble, I think my best friends would've let me know. My friend Caroline, who you saw earlier, is in charge of finances."

"Who, Blondie?"

She stiffened.

"Are you about to say something presumptuous, Damon? Just because she's blonde?" She shook her head, visibly angered. "You're unbelievable."

He shook his head vehemently, determined to clear his name before she'd finished deciding he was guilty of being rude to her friends on top of everything else he'd ever done to her.

"I would never presume anything. I'm just surprised given your passion for the shop you don't run it all yourself. You have the knowhow, surely?"

She gazed at him, some sort of question lingering there he couldn't make out.

"I handle the customers, and sort out the rest of the paperwork which isn't related to the finances, and I open and lock up every night, and I try and find new and creative ways to keep my business afloat, and I did try and do it all on my own, at first, until I realised running a business is more than just turning your ideas and dreams into reality. There's tax to consider, where you're going to get your stock from, who your suppliers are; there's promoting your business, and marketing, and all this stuff I should've learned about but I never did." She pinched the ridge of her nose. "I inherited the property from my parents, and stupidly assumed I could run it all without a hitch. But it's been harder than I thought. Caroline has business experience, believe it or not, and Bonnie took a course to do with marketing and media a couple of years ago, so they were perfect candidates to help me run Pages To Go."

He nodded, letting her vent, silently appreciating the fact her years of hard work seemed to have integrated themselves into her voice, because even though he could still hear the passion, he could also hear the resignation and the weariness. When she drank, she drank the same way he did; as in letting the alcohol shoot straight down her throat, no savouring involved. It was sexy, an observation he could not be making right now.

"Look, I can tell my brother where to stick his offer if you like," he said, after a long pause. "He'll fire my ass, but hey, I can bounce back."

"Really?" She raised her head, doubt plastered across her face. "Because it looks to me like the last thing you tried to bounce back from didn't work out so well for you. You don't read anymore, you don't write, so save the speech about working to save a good cause, Damon. I'm sure it's been a while since you've last had one to fight for."

He sat back, visibly stunned, hurt rippling across his features before they hardened into a mask no one could see past. She was right, more right than she would ever know, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"I'm sorry," Elena immediately apologised, looking stricken. "I came here determined not to be that person, but I ..."

"Guess it's harder than you thought to try and start a new slate right?" he challenged, for some reason making sure he emphasised that point to her. "You still can't get past how I treated you, can you?"

She deflated, and suddenly he was just not in the mood for dinner. But he couldn't walk away either. They sat opposite each other, one in the throes of an existential crisis, the other trying to find his feet after his.

"I don't mean to hold grudges," she said after a while, playing with the ice in the bottom of her drink. "You know the old saying: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." She let the sentence hang in the air between them. "Point is I've been wrong about someone's character before and it cost me... well, a lot ... so when I wrongly presumed you were exactly like the way I imagined you after reading your books, imagine my surprise when reality came and bit me in the ass."

He absorbed this, still left cold by her scathing remark. She had a point, he'd concede, and he knew all about being fooled and left broken, but it still surprised him that she was conceding blame for having acted on some foolish notion that he was like every author she'd probably met – down to earth, with some idiotic romantic notions about the way the world worked – and then reacting with such distaste when he'd turned out to be just like everyone else – bitter from life's disappointments, ashamed of his greatest pride, and just overall human.

Maybe a reality call was what she needed. Her book shop was floundering; books were just books, with happy endings remaining as elusive as ever in the real world, no matter what they described. He had no clue what the situation was with her love life, but perhaps a happily married woman to be wouldn't be sitting here with him, all dolled up and looking like a little piece of heaven sculpted into a woman.

"People get hurt all the time, Elena. It's called life," he said detachedly. "We're born, we live a little while, we get screwed over, and then we die. Fact."

She raised her eyes so they were level with his.

"There is another stage of life, Damon. It's called moving on."

"And I'm sure you're the poster girl for that stage." His sarcasm was not lost on her. "Listen, what are we doing here now we've established you're essentially flogging a dead horse and that you have absolutely no interest in what I have to say, regarding business or otherwise?"

Her nostrils flared at that, but he could see she was keeping a tight grip on her temper. It was interesting to observe, because she almost looked like she had never had this kind of temper problem before. Anger stemmed from passion, this he knew from Katherine, yet despite the similarities between her and Elena in terms of how quick they were with their comebacks, Elena's passion stemmed from something as simple as reading, whereas Katherine's... well, there was probably a long list of people it could've stemmed from.

She certainly hadn't been a timid girl when he'd met her that was for sure.

"So what is it you and your brother do exactly?" Elena asked, cutting that particular conversation short. "I'm assuming working for your brother isn't exactly your dream job."

He wasn't sure what to make of this unexpected turn in the conversation, and he was still musing on bitter moments past, so he decided to keep his answers short and brief, just like they'd be in an interview.

"He owns the company, I deal with clientele."

He didn't know how to explain what the company did, and thankfully she seemed to accept his vague answer without probing any further.

"So he's the boss man, and you deal with his minions." She smiled at the image. "Why am I getting clichéd spy movie imagery in my head?"

He relaxed a little, amused by the way she seemed to view the business world despite running one herself.

"Horrifically paraphrased, but nicely deduced all the same," he complimented. "But, yes, Stefan heads up the company, and I'm part of a larger team appointed responsible for making sure business partners and investors don't go running off in the other direction if and when he makes a decision they don't like. There's nothing Bourne about this at all."

"I watched those movies with Jeremy. Never got the appeal of 'em."

"What? Are you mad? They're called action movies for a reason, Elena. Let me guess – you're prone to watching the classics. You know, Pride & Prejudice, Little Women etc. The sob stories. The ones that make me want to reach for a bucket and hurl."

"Awfully presumptuous of you," she retorted, but she hid a smile, and the tension between them eased at once. "I'm guilty of liking the latter, I will admit though. I'm not overly keen on blockbusters, or action movies for that matter. I love indie films, with stories that have a heart to them, you know? Ones that don't heavily rely on special effects to make a dramatic point. Maybe that makes me a snob, I don't know, but though I enjoy the occasional book-turned-movie, or vice versa, I just think if a story is going to be filmed, it should be one from someone's head, not from someone else's words.

He contemplated that.

She was a stubborn, somewhat judgemental, easily offended woman, but she had a wise head on her shoulders. Sometimes she spoke like she wished she could change the world, and he understood the feeling. There was a lot he didn't like in his own world, never mind everyone else's. He supposed the passion he saw in Elena was like seeing the sun after an age of darkness for himself, in that he'd almost forgotten what it was like, what it felt like to have it presented before him, and not in a way which had his eyes darkening with desire either, which was refreshing. Sometimes women would just stroll up to him in a bar, their cleavages exposed, their faces painted with make-up, and the obviousness of what they were about to do nine times out of ten had him reaching over the counter for a bottle just to drown out the rest of the night.

Matt wouldn't charge him either – well, not until he next pissed him off – clearly understanding he hadn't wanted any of this. Seeing women overly confident with their prowess had reminded him of Katherine. Maybe deep down all he'd wanted was a woman who just was the opposite of her in every single way.

It really didn't help either that Elena seemed to fit the bill perfectly, somehow embodying some of Katherine's traits – the sarcasm, the quick temper etc. – and making them her own so that comparing the two of them just seemed out of the question.

He had to marvel at that.

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In the restroom, Elena splashed cold water on her face, which smeared her make-up, but she was beyond caring about that.

Damon was left ordering the meals, and she was frankly surprised he was continuing this whole endeavour, seeing how rude she'd been earlier. It was a habit now to kick back when somebody came dangerously close to hurting her. Once, Caroline had made a remark about how running a shop shouldn't really count as a career and Elena had gone ballistic, not quite sure why that remark had hit her so close to the heart.

How could she explain all this to Damon without giving away anything about herself? If she slipped and spilled some information that was just too personal, she ran the risk of turning this into a date. Neither of them wanted that. She'd been weirdly irritated at the sight of him when she'd first appeared, only because some of the buttons on his shirt being undone had flustered her. His shirt revealed a triangle of chest, and that wasn't good decorum for a business meeting. Particularly when said chest, from what she'd seen anyway, highlighted a set of toned muscles that had distracted her on more than one occasion.

Why was she overanalysing this? There wasn't anything between them other than this angry tension which spilled in either one direction or the other. It was like they were on a set of scales, initially holding the same amount of baggage to put them on an equal level, but occasionally the odd remark would tip the scales, revealing perhaps the other person was more damaged than originally thought.

As she stepped back out into the dining area, having adjusted her make-up beforehand of course, Elena let her eyes linger on Damon, noting with some disconcertment that he seemed to have spaced out, his mind elsewhere, with his jaw slackened a little. In a strange way, she found it endearing.

Gracefully, she strode back to his table, sitting herself down, aware the moment she'd come back into his sights that distant look had just vanished instantly. She tried to ignore the effect that little gesture had on her.

"Just had to freshen up," she said, by way of explanation.

"No need to explain," was his response, a lazy smile gracing his lips before he'd even realised he was letting his guard down a little.

"Look, I'm sorry for having to say this, but I can't sell my shop," she spoke, ruining the moment entirely. "It's been in the family for a long time. Before it was mine, it was my parents. Before them, it was their parents'. I recognise times are harder now, but that only makes my determination stronger. So as much as I appreciate your offer, I'll have to decline."

"That's fine," Damon said, surprising her entirely. "Look, I knew what I was getting myself into the moment I walked in and saw the way you were with your business. Some people own a business and act like they could sell it in a second with the right money. I looked at you and I knew that little shop meant something to you, and that getting you to agree to sell would be nothing short of a miracle."

"So, if you knew all that, why bother asking me out to dinner?" she asked, frowning.

He shrugged.

"I had to get my brother off my back, that was one reason," he replied casually, before his tone suddenly became serious. "The main reason though was I had to know more about you, and given our tumultuous start at friendship, I think I can be excused for believing that there is much more to you than meets the eye."

Her mouth gave away her surprise as the bottom lip drifted from the top. A deep flush coloured her cheeks, and she inhaled sharply, aware her heart seemed to have found a new rhythm which involved beating very fast before stopping on the oddest occasions – like the way he looked at her for example.

"So this is a date," she stated, numb to the very emotions which could've catapulted her mind to the heavens and back.

"Not really. A date has romantic connotations. This doesn't have to."

She tilted her head to one side.

"For a man who puts an alternate meaning behind everything he says, you're not very good at revealing what you're real intentions actually are. You're a frustrating individual."

He smirked.

"So I've been told."

"So, we're friends," she mused, elongating the word, as if trying to find the real meaning behind the word.

"It's up to you, but my offer is there for you to either decline or accept. All I know is that there are few women who would've confronted me about slamming the door in their faces, and even fewer who'd agree to even be in the same room as me after that. Some of my ex-girlfriends have thrown the towel in on our relationship over less, and never stuck around for damage control."

Elena officially knew they'd crossed a line somewhere. Business had never been on the table at all, and that completely scared her. She knew was attracted to Damon – she had been from the moment he'd opened the door to reveal a vision of aesthetic perfection – but she was also aware that after Elijah, her dating history had just not existed. She'd been too terrified of opening herself up to another man and run the risk of him walking out her life forever.

But Damon had been hurt too. She read it in his body language; hell, even the way he'd greeted her for the first time had screamed of someone with emotional issues. His books had told a similar story – no pun intended – revealing a soul between the pages which had slowly been distorted and crushed resulting in 1864, which contained the bitter remnants of that soul. Did she dare even strike up a relationship with a man with eyes like thunder, and an attitude that could offend even the most easygoing of people? Truthfully, she found his hostile behaviour easier to take, easier to walk away from, but the way he'd been tonight made her realise they were walking a very fine line here.

If she wasn't much mistaken, he was attracted to her too but, like her, had absolutely no idea how to proceed, so it was probably fair to say his own dating history was as sparse as hers.

The thought eased her nerves a little, and she decided to just let the chips fall where they may in regards to this evening. Caroline would question her later, and she could try and plan her answers to them in her head so that nothing would surprise her, but the one question she was internally struggling with happened to be simplest.

What were they doing here?

And, more importantly, could she handle the fallout if what they were slowly building here just simply shattered without warning?

Judging by the way she felt when his eyes locked on hers, how she watched his every moment, trying to interpret every move, every little gesture, she suspected the answer to that question was a resounding no.

She wanted his friendship, not just for selfish reasons, but to understand exactly how a man as exceptionally handsome as him had overturned every stereotype to turn out to be the heartbroken and not the heartbreaker.


A/n: Thank you for all the reviews. I am actually astonished by the response to this fic. I decided to go against making Damon a womaniser as he seems to be in most AH fics, and try and humanise him in a different way. The next chapter will feature the aftermath of this date and some personal revelations for both characters. May at some point turn the rating on this to an M but not quite yet. I appreciate every comment I get so keep reviewing because it puts the biggest smile on my face.