Chapter 6: Patterns

Chapter 6: Patterns

By the fifth night, Damien Voss had developed habits.

Liora notice because she was beginning to develop some too

The car arrived outside the bookstore at exactly 10:15 every evening now. Marcus never needed to come inside anymore; he simply waited near the curb while she closed up for the night.

The first time it happened she'd assumed it was coincidence.

By the fifth time, she realized Damien had probably arranged it down to the minute.

Which was ridiculous.ced because she was beginning to develop some too.

Because no sane billionaire should be reorganizing his life around escorting a woman home so he could use her as human melatonin.

Yet here they were.

“Your creepy rich boyfriend is outside again.”

Liora looked up from the register.

Nina, her coworker at the bookstore, was peering dramatically through the glass windows with entirely too much excitement.

“He's not my boyfriend.”

“Mhm.”

“He's not.”

Nina turned slowly. “Then why does a luxury car pick you up every single night like you're the secret daughter of a mafia boss?”

Liora opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing remotely believable came to mind.

“Exactly,” Nina said smugly.

Liora grabbed her bag. “Goodnight, Nina.”

“Wear protection!”

“Oh my God.”

Nina's laughter followed her out the door.

The cool night air hit her immediately as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Marcus straightened beside the car the second he saw her.

“Evening, Miss Kane.”

“You can call me Liora, you know.”

A faint smile crossed his face. “Mr Voss prefers professionalism.”

Of course he did.

She slid into the backseat with a sigh.

The car already smelled faintly familiar now leather, expensive cologne, and traces of Damien lingering in the seats themselves.

That realization unsettled her more than it should have.

“You work very late,” Marcus commented while pulling away from the curb.

“So do you.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Liora rested her head against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light.

She was tired.

Not physically exactly.

Something deeper.

Like her body still hadn't adjusted to sleeping beside another person every night. Especially not someone like Damien, who seemed to pull her against him unconsciously even while fully asleep.

Every morning she woke up more tangled with him than the night before.

And every morning he looked slightly less hollow.

That was the dangerous part.

Not the touching. Not the proximity.

The improvement.

Because it made this arrangement feel necessary.

Valid.

Like maybe she really was helping him.

The thought followed her all the way to the penthouse.

The elevator doors slid open directly into silence.

No Damien in sight.

Strange.

Usually he was waiting somewhere nearby before she'd even taken her coat off.

Tonight the living area was dark except for the city lights spilling through the windows.

“Mr Voss is still in his office,” Marcus informed her quietly. “He asked me to bring you upstairs when you arrived.”

Liora blinked. “Office?”

Marcus gestured toward the far hallway before leaving.

She stood there awkwardly for a moment before curiosity won.

The office door was partially open.

She knocked lightly against the frame.

Damien didn't look up immediately.

That alone told her something was wrong.

Every other night he'd noticed her presence instantly.

Tonight he sat behind a massive black desk surrounded by glowing screens and paperwork, one hand pressed against his temple while someone argued loudly through the speakerphone in front of him.

“I don't care what legal says,” Damien said coldly. “Fix it.”

A voice crackled through the speaker. “Victor Lang already moved the investors. We can't recover the numbers before Monday.”

Victor Lang.

The name again.

Liora recognized it vaguely from newspapers and business articles. Rival CEO. Ruthless reputation. Constant comparisons to Damien.

Damien's jaw tightened dangerously. “Then find another solution.”

“Damien—”

“Don't call me when all you have are problems.”

He ended the call abruptly.

Silence crashed into the room.

Only then did he finally look up.

The tension in his expression eased fractionally the moment he saw her.

Not fully.

But enough for her to notice.

“You're late,” he said.

Liora checked the time immediately. “It's 10:38.”

“You're usually earlier.”

The fact that he'd apparently memorized her arrival times did not feel normal.

Neither did the strange flicker of satisfaction in his eyes after she'd shown up.

“You're working.”

“Unfortunately.”

His gaze lingered on her for a second longer before shifting toward the papers on his desk again.

For the first time since she'd met him, he looked tired before bedtime.

Not exhausted.

Burdened.

“You should sleep then,” she said carefully. “Isn't that the point of this whole thing?”

Something almost amused crossed his face briefly.

“Come here.”

Liora hesitated.

Then slowly walked further into the office.

Damien leaned back in his chair slightly, studying her in silence before speaking again.

“Closer.”

Her stomach did something deeply unhelpful.

She stepped closer until she stood beside the desk.

Immediately his hand lifted.

Paused near her wrist.

Like he was stopping himself from grabbing her automatically.

That tiny hesitation affected her more than actual touching would've.

Damien exhaled slowly.

“You smell the same.”

She stared at him. “That sounds concerning every single time you say it.”

“And yet it's still true.”

There was exhaustion beneath the calmness tonight. She could hear it now.

The room suddenly felt quieter.

Smaller.

“You had another bad day?” she asked before thinking better of it.

His expression stilled slightly, like the question caught him off guard.

Then: “Yes.”

Simple. Honest.

No performance.

Liora found herself glancing toward the untouched whiskey bottle sitting beside his desk.

Still unopened.

Her chest tightened strangely.

“Come to bed, Mr Voss,” she said softly before she could reconsider the words.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

Then slowly, he stood.