The gala was officially winding down.
The main event had ended hours ago, but the younger crowd — employees, interns, and some bold clients — had slipped away to the hotel's rooftop lounge for an unofficial afterparty.
The music was louder.
The drinks were freer.
The rules were looser.
Lila, still buzzing from excitement and nerves, let herself be dragged along by Marissa and Caleb.
"You deserve to have fun!" Marissa insisted, shoving a fruity cocktail into Lila's hand.
"You saved Mr. Cross's grumpy ass tonight," Caleb added with a grin.
Lila laughed, sipping her drink. "He's not that bad."
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "You're the only one who thinks that."
Across the room, Damon stood near the balcony, brooding over a glass of whiskey like a dark storm cloud.
His eyes never left Lila.
He told himself he was just keeping an eye on her.
Making sure she was safe.
Not because she looked too pretty, too soft, too goddamn kissable in that ridiculous dress.
Fifteen minutes later.
The rooftop's fairy lights flickered above them.
The DJ cranked up an old pop song.
Someone pulled a few tables aside, and suddenly the makeshift dance floor was full.
Marissa grabbed a random guy and started dancing.
Lila, laughing, turned to get another drink—
And bumped straight into Caleb.
"Wanna dance?" Caleb asked, offering his hand.
Lila hesitated, but he smiled, easy and charming.
"One dance won't kill you."
She giggled and put her hand in his.
Across the rooftop, Damon's glass cracked in his hand.
Before Caleb could even twirl her once, Damon was there.
His hand closed around Lila's wrist, firm but careful.
"She's busy," Damon said, voice like a blade wrapped in velvet.
Caleb blinked, stunned. "Dude, it's just a dance."
Damon's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"No, it's not."
Lila stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Uh, bossman?"
Damon turned to her, still gripping her wrist, still fighting to look calm.
"You're working," he said, low and rough.
"You're here with me."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence crashed around them like a wave.
Even the music seemed to fade.
Caleb raised his hands in surrender and backed away slowly.
Lila tugged at her hand gently. "Damon...?"
He realized he was still holding her.
He let go immediately, stepping back like she'd burned him.
"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
"You're just... you're supposed to stay professional tonight."
Lila smiled awkwardly, trying to break the tension.
"Right. Professional. Got it."
But a tiny frown tugged at her brow as she turned back to get her drink.
Damon stood frozen, watching her.
What the hell are you doing, Cross?
He clenched his fists at his sides, breathing hard.
He was losing control.
He was crossing lines he couldn't uncross.
And the worst part?
He didn't even want to stop.
Later that night.
As the afterparty died down, Damon waited near the elevators, pretending to scroll through his phone.
Waiting for her.
When Lila finally stumbled out, tipsy and sleepy, her heels in one hand, her hair messy from dancing —
Damon swallowed hard.
He moved to her side without thinking, taking her elbow gently.
"Come on, I'll get you a cab," he said gruffly.
Lila blinked up at him, yawning. "You don't have to babysit me, bossman."
"I know," he said quietly. "I want to."
She didn't argue.
And for the first time all night, Damon allowed himself to touch her — really touch her —
guiding her into the elevator with a hand at the small of her back, warm and possessive.
If anyone saw, he didn't care.
If anyone wondered, let them.
For one brief, reckless moment,
he let himself imagine what it would feel like if she was truly his.
Not just for tonight.
But always.