Chapter 3 - Dangerous Proximity
Inspector Vance took two hurried steps backward, nearly knocking over a vintage iron stand holding buckets of dark red carnations.
"M-Mr. Vale," Vance stammered, his earlier arrogance evaporating into a thin layer of cold sweat that popped up across his forehead. "We... we were just conducting a routine municipal review. We received reports of—"
"You received forty thousand dollars from Julian Thorne's shell corporation yesterday afternoon," Damian interrupted smoothly. He stopped three feet from Harper, his presence warm, suffocating, and terrifyingly magnetic. He didn't even look at Vance. "Deposited into an account under your sister’s maiden name in the Cayman Islands."
Vance’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish dying on a dock.
"You have ten seconds to remove those stickers," Damian continued, his voice calm, conversational, and devoid of warmth. "If so much as an adhesive residue remains on Miss Bennett's glass, Lucas will ensure your wife finds out about your second apartment in Atlantic City. Along with the district attorney."
The two junior inspectors didn't wait for Vance's orders. They dove forward, frantically peeling the neon-yellow notices off the glass, scraping at the tape with their fingernails, their hands trembling violently. Vance grabbed his clipboard, turned on his heel, and practically sprinted through the front door, followed closely by his underlings.
The shop fell dead quiet.
The scent of crushed carnation petals and Damian’s dark cologne filled the narrow space.
Harper stood rooted to the spot. Her pulse was roaring in her ears, but anger—hot, stubborn, Bennett-family anger—began to burn through her paralysis. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, glaring up at him.
"You paid off my bank," she stated, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound formidable.
Damian tilted his head slightly, studying her furious face with faint amusement. "I did."
"And you brought your mob war into my flower shop."
"It is not a mob war," he corrected gently. "It is a corporate restructuring. And I did not bring it here. You invited it in when you decided to play hero in the rain."
"I was trying to save your life!" Harper snapped, taking an aggressive step toward him. He was at least eight inches taller than her, broad enough to block out the morning sun spilling through the door, but she didn't care. "I thought you were an accountant who made a wrong turn! I didn't know you were... were *the* Damian Vale!"
"Would you have walked away if you knew?" he asked quietly.
Harper opened her mouth to say *yes*. She wanted to tell him that she would have locked her back door, turned off the lights, and let the wolves tear him to shreds.
The lie died in her throat.
She looked into his silver eyes, seeing the deep, ancient weariness hidden beneath layers of ruthless control. She shook her head in frustration. "I don't know. But that doesn't give you the right to buy my debt! I don't take charity, Mr. Vale. And I certainly don't take hush money from criminals."
"It isn't charity," Damian said, stepping closer. The distance between them vanished until she could feel the heat radiating from his wool coat. "And it isn't hush money. Thorne saw your face, Harper. His men saw you kiss me. In their world—in my world—that makes you leverage."
Harper’s breath hitched. "Leverage?"
"Julian Thorne is an animal backed into a corner," Damian said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that vibrated through her chest. "He cannot strike at me directly, because he knows I will eradicate his entire bloodline if he tries. But he can strike at what he perceives to be my weakness."
Harper let out a humorless, incredulous laugh. "Weakness? We met twelve hours ago! I don't even know your middle name!"
"He doesn't know that," Damian replied, reaching out. His long, calloused fingers caught a stray strand of copper hair that had fallen into Harper's face, gently tucking it behind her ear. His touch was shockingly gentle, sending a jolt of electricity racing across her scalp. "And I cannot afford to let him test the theory."
Harper froze beneath his touch. Her heart betrayed her by skipping two erratic beats. "So what are you saying?"
"I am saying that as of this morning, Bennett Blooms has a permanent security detail," Damian said, withdrawing his hand, though his eyes never left hers. "And tonight, you are coming with me."
"I am doing no such thing!" Harper gasped. "I have orders to fulfill! I have a five-hundred-stem centerpiece installation for a wedding at the Union League tomorrow!"
"The Union League?" A slow, dangerous smile curved Damian’s lips. "How convenient. The Thorne Foundation is hosting their annual autumn gala there tonight. Julian will be in attendance. Every corrupt politician, judge, and captain of industry in this state will be in that ballroom."
Harper backed away until the edge of the wooden counter pressed against her lower back. "Why would you want me there?"
"Because if Julian thinks you are an isolated target, he will send men to kick in your apartment door at midnight," Damian said, his silver eyes flashing with dark, absolute resolve. "But if you walk into that ballroom on my arm—if the city sees that you belong to Damian Vale—no one will dare breathe your name without my permission."
"I don't *belong* to anyone," Harper fired back, her chin lifting defiantly.
May you like
"Then pretend," Damian murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "Pretend, Miss Bennett. Just like you did in the rain."
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