Chapter 4: The Decision

Damon had barely stepped out of his car before his phone buzzed. Twice. Then again. He stared at the screen with a sigh.

Mother.

Mother again.

Then: “Call me now.”

He didn’t need a psychic to know what this was about.

By the time he entered the Caldwell estate, Margaret Caldwell was already waiting in the sitting room, a cappuccino in hand and a look of giddy impatience plastered across her face. She looked like someone who had just found out the royal wedding was being hosted in her backyard.

“There he is!” she called, the excitement bubbling from her like soda shaken too hard. “Finally! Sit. I’ve been dying to talk to you.”

Damon didn’t sit. “Where’s Dad?”

“Coming. I’ve already told the kitchen to prepare the special breakfast tray,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from her silk blouse. “You know—croissants, raspberry compote, little egg muffins with truffle oil.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re celebrating, Damon!” She stood, placing the cappuccino down and taking two dramatic steps toward him. “You’re finally in a relationship. You’ve found someone. After all these years of scowling through family holidays and refusing to make eye contact with anyone under forty, you actually—dare I say it—have a girlfriend.”

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me,” she said brightly. “Do you know how many women I’ve interviewed—I mean met—on your behalf? And nothing. But now, finally... you have someone. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What’s she like? Where did you meet? What does she do?”

Before he could craft a vague-enough answer, Vincent Caldwell stepped into the room, hands clasped behind his back, his face carrying that signature expression that always made Damon feel like he was under cross-examination.

“Margaret,” he said calmly, “Let him breathe.”

“Oh please, Vincent, we’ve been waiting years for this moment. Decades! I’ve already called my sister. She cried, Damon. She actually cried.”

Damon blinked. “Why?”

“She thought you were a robot.”

Vincent cut in, voice level. “I assume you’re prepared to tell us more now.”

“I already told you,” Damon said. “It’s new. I wanted to keep it private.”

“Yes,” Vincent said slowly. “But now that it’s not private... who is she?”

Damon’s mouth went dry. This was it. The moment of no return.

He had rehearsed the lie a hundred different ways in his head since the fundraiser. He knew Sienna would hate him for it. He wasn’t sure why he chose her—maybe because she was the only woman he interacted with regularly who didn’t fawn over his money or status. Or maybe because she’d never once looked at him like a prize to win.

He exhaled slowly.

“She’s my secretary.”

Silence.

Even the birds outside seemed to stop chirping.

Margaret tilted her head. “Your what?”

“Sienna Blake,” Damon said, as evenly as he could. “She’s worked with me for two years. She’s brilliant, hardworking, grounded... and she knows me better than anyone.”

His mother’s eyes went wide with glee. “Your secretary? Oh, Damon! That’s so romantic!”

Vincent, however, raised an eyebrow.

“Convenient,” he muttered.

“It’s not convenient,” Damon snapped a little too quickly. “It’s real.”

“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t real,” Vincent replied, but the skepticism in his tone said plenty. “I just find it... interesting that you’ve managed to keep this so thoroughly hidden.”

Margaret ignored her husband’s doubt completely. She was already halfway to planning an engagement.

“We have to meet her,” she said. “You must bring her for dinner. Or brunch! Oh no, dinner is better. It’s more intimate. I’ll have Chef Marcel make the crab ravioli she won’t be able to resist. What does she like? Sweets? Savory? Tell me everything.”

Damon’s mind scrambled. “She’s... busy. She’s helping me with several upcoming projects. The Singapore deal, the Arizona expansion. It’s a full schedule.”

Margaret frowned for the first time. “Well, surely she can make time for one dinner.”

“She’s... not comfortable with the attention,” Damon said carefully. “She’s not like the women you normally try to set me up with. She values her privacy.”

“I like her already,” Margaret said, clapping her hands once. “Which makes it even more important that we welcome her properly. We’ll keep it intimate. Just the family. No press. No investors. Just us.”

Vincent stepped forward. “One meal, Damon. That’s not asking much.”

“She’ll need time,” Damon said, his voice strained.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “You understand how this looks, don’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damon asked, crossing his arms.

“It means,” Vincent said, “you tell us at a high-profile event—after a night full of eligible introductions—that you’ve been secretly dating your assistant. No one’s seen her. No one’s heard so much as a whisper. I’m not saying I don’t believe you.”

“You’re saying exactly that.”

“I’m saying I’ll believe it when she walks through that door and sits at our table.”

Margaret, sensing the shift in tone, stepped in between them. “Boys, please. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Damon, just bring her when you can. No pressure.”

Vincent said nothing more. But Damon could feel the weight of his stare even after he turned away.

Later, as he stood on the back terrace, watching the sun dip behind the trees, Damon ran a hand through his hair.

What had he done?

He could’ve picked anyone. Named a stranger. Hired an actress. Said he was dating someone from out of town. But instead, he chose the one person he saw every day, the one person who had never asked him for anything, the one person who absolutely would not want to play along.

Sienna Blake.

She was going to murder him.

And worse... she’d probably be right to.