The silence in the lobby was so absolute that Elliana could hear the hum of the air conditioning.
Damon stared down at the paper bag, then slowly lifted his gaze to her face. He didn't reach for it. His hands remained firmly at his sides.
"What game are you playing, Elliana?" Damon's voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in her chest. The distrust in his tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Campbell Gibson stood awkwardly to the side, his eyes glued to the marble floor, wishing he could evaporate.
Elliana's smile didn't waver. She took a half-step closer, invading his personal space. "What game could I be playing? I just couldn't stand the thought of my husband working on an empty stomach."
She pushed the bag an inch closer, until the paper brushed against the fine wool of his suit jacket. "Or what? Do you think I poisoned your coffee?"
Damon's jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek.
She had hit the nail on the head. Given her explosive hatred for him over the past few months, poison wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility in his mind.
Campbell internally groaned. She's daring him, he thought. She's actually daring the boss.
Damon didn't answer her. He simply turned his body, intending to walk around her and out the door.
Elliana wasn't going to let him escape. Without thinking, she dropped the bag to her side and reached out with her free hand, wrapping her fingers firmly around his bicep.
Damon's entire body went rigid the second her hand touched him. He stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down at her small, pale hand gripping his dark sleeve. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in the black depths.
He tried to pull his arm away, a subtle but firm movement.
Elliana held on tighter. Her grip wasn't strong enough to physically restrain him, but the sheer audacity of her touch anchored him to the spot.
"Let go," Damon ordered. His voice was freezing.
Instead of letting go, Elliana took another step forward, closing the remaining distance between them. She leaned her weight against his side, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.
"I won't," she murmured, her voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable register. "It's cold out here, Damon. Take me up to your office."
Campbell's eyes practically bugged out of his head. The executives behind them collectively inhaled. The Elliana Lewis they knew treated Damon like a disease. This woman clinging to his arm was an alien.
Damon stared down at the top of her head. His breathing hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible break in his rhythm. He stood frozen for three agonizing seconds.
Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the private VIP elevator.
He didn't shake her off.
Elliana had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides, but she kept her hand firmly wrapped around his arm. Campbell scrambled to press the elevator button, staying outside as the steel doors slid shut, sealing the husband and wife inside.
The ride to the top floor was suffocatingly silent. Damon stared straight ahead at the metal doors, his body as tense as a coiled spring. Elliana stood beside him, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened.
Damon finally ripped his arm away from her grasp and walked out, his long legs eating up the distance down the hallway. He pushed open the heavy double doors to his CEO office and walked straight to his massive desk, sitting down in his leather chair.
He opened a file folder, completely ignoring her presence.
Elliana followed him inside. The office was a stark reflection of the man: minimalist, cold, decorated entirely in shades of black, white, and slate gray.
She walked over to the glass coffee table in the center of the room. She opened the insulated bag and carefully laid out the club sandwich and the black coffee.
"You need to eat something," Elliana said softly. "It's bad for your stomach to drink coffee on an empty stomach."
Damon didn't look up from his paperwork. "I have no appetite."
Elliana sighed. She walked around the coffee table and approached his desk. She didn't stop until she was standing right in front of him. She placed both hands flat on the polished mahogany surface and leaned over, bringing her face level with his.
The subtle, sweet scent of her shampoo drifted across the desk, invading Damon's senses. His pen stopped moving.
She lowered her voice, injecting a hint of husky warmth into it. "Damon... how about I cook for you tonight? What do you want to eat?"
The words cook for you finally made Damon lift his head.
He looked at her. He looked at this pampered heiress who had never lifted a finger in her life, who had screamed that she would rather die than be his wife.
A harsh, cynical smirk twisted his lips. "What exactly can you cook? Are you planning to burn the kitchen down?"
Elliana wasn't offended. She leaned in even closer, her face mere inches from his. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again.
"For you," she whispered, "I'm willing to learn anything. So... come home for dinner tonight. Please?"
