“Yes, sir.”
I slowly crawled out from beneath the desk.
Damien stood near the window with his back partly turned.
He was tall and powerfully built, with short black hair, a carefully trimmed beard, and eyes that seemed capable of noticing everything.
He glanced at me.
Not at my bare foot.
Not at the wrinkled dress.
At my face.
“Are you injured?”
I looked down at my wrist.
“It’s nothing.”
His expression didn’t change.
“You don’t have to minimize it.”
Those words nearly made me cry.
I sat in the leather chair he’d offered.
Then I began shaking harder.
Damien didn’t approach.
He stayed several feet away, allowing me space.
“My name is Damien,” he said.
“I know.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“Apparently, your husband does too.”
I looked at him.
“Are you really…?”
“The man people have been telling stories about?”
I nodded.
“Some of those stories are true.”
