I swallow harshly, staring at him. 

I open my mouth to speak when Thomas appears again, setting a glass of brandy in front of the man, clearing his throat. 

"And have you decided what you'd like?" He asks, his voice shaking slightly. His fear is too palpable. What is he so afraid of?

"This is more of a simple business meeting, so simply bring the lady the truffle scallops and I'll have the usual. Now go." His voice hardens at Thomas, who nods quickly and shuffles away. 

"You have him scared shitless, I see." I don't know where the bravery or possibly stupidity comes from, but I don't regret it when I see his jaw clench in annoyance. 

"It's part of my charm, I suppose." He takes a sip, swallowing slowly. 

"I'm hurt deeply that you don't remember me, Charlotte." He whispers, leaning back in his chair. 

"I remember you clearly." I bite back. 

"You remember my face, but not my name." He cocks his head to the side, his eyes squinting slightly. 

I stay silent, waiting. Fiona always says that a properly placed silence holds more power than most words. 

He clears his throat, leaning forward. "I am Damon Rivaldi. My father is Cristiano Rivaldi of the Rivaldi Family." 

Damon. The name flashes in my memory of that night. 

"Damon, please don't. I swear it didn't happen." My father's pleading voice as his gaze zeroed in on the gun in the man's hands. 

"Oh, but Nicholas, it's happened far too many times." And the gun fired. 

My eyes flash to Damon's, the voice and the name fitting together to form his face, his hands as they held the gun, the blood splashed on his white shirt. 

"From your shocked expression, I suppose you're putting a few pieces together, despite the fact that you're missing so many." He drawls, draining his glass in one. He seems almost nervous now. 

"Why?" I choke out. "Why did you kill him?" 

He frowns at me, genuinely confused. 

"You know better than anyone that your father deserved everything he got. For every time he disrespected my father, his legacy. And you, Charlotte, the recipient of much of his anger and aggression." 

I can't meet his eyes. I don't want to remember those times, I want to keep them locked away in a box, the key floating in some distant ocean, nowhere to be found. 

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, and inhale. I will keep my composure. I've had enough practice. 

"Yes, Mr. Rivaldi, I do know." I stare down at my hands in my lap. "Why did you invite me here?" I ask quietly, not meeting his gaze. 

I hear him sigh. 

"Well, my family looked for you for a very long time, Charlotte. You were just a child when my parents met you, and my mother took a liking to you. She said you had 'clear eyes' and a 'sound mind'. Whatever that means." He begins to explain, his hand waving in the air slightly. 

I can't help but stare at the golden glint of the rings adorning his long fingers, at the impossibly expensive touch of his cufflinks. This man oozes wealth and prosperity. And yet, three years ago, he stood across from me, in common clothes, and killed the demon in my life. Part of me wants to hate him for scarring me with that memory. But an even larger part wants to wrap my arms around him and thank him for saving my life. 

"But you had disappeared into the foster system after your father's death, and were practically invisible after that. But then, a little birdie told me that a certain beautiful woman was becoming very valuable in the corporate world." 

I can't help but blush at his words, an unfamiliar warmth filling my cheeks. 

"And when they told me she would be at the Lounge last night, I had to go see for myself. And you can imagine my surprise when I found that utterly beautiful woman wrapped around a corporate bigwig, whispering in his ear, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I knew it was you, I'd never forget this face." 

He suddenly reaches across the table, the tips of his finger grazing my cheek bone, and I almost gasp at his touch. I've seen and spoken with countless men, some handsome, some not, all rich. But there is something about the silk in his demeanor, the danger held in his soft touch. 

"I figured you had turned into a regular high-end hooker, and I must admit, I was a bit disappointed. But then you came out of the restroom, dark hair like I remembered, not that blond bullshit." 

 My attention is riveted on him, unable to tear my eyes away. Why had he followed me?

"And I knew you were doing something more. I needed to see you."

"Why?" I choke out, my throat all too dry. 

He pauses and allows Thomas to come up to the table, dropping the food on the table and quickly scuttling away. 

Damon's eyes follow him for a moment, before snapping back to me. 

"There are many reasons." He pauses, taking a sip of the drink Thomas dropped off for him. "But the one most relevant to our current discussion is that you may be of great use to me." 

"How so?" I ask, taking my fork and swiftly placing a scallop in my mouth, the divine taste filling it. 

"As you can probably guess, I am a man of wealth. Which also makes me a man with many enemies." 

I nod, continuing to chew softly. 

"And I need someone to...help me gain a bit of intel." 

I dab a napkin on the corners of my mouth. 

"Well, wouldn't a man with such means already have the resources and people for such a job?" I ask, picking up my wine glass. My tone is too formal, as I place that familiar mask over my face, the one I wear with all those men, right before they hand over all their dirty little secrets. 

He smiles, shaking his head. His styled hair shifts slightly, strands falling just slightly loose. 

"Recently, those resources have proven themselves to less than trustworthy."

"And what makes you think that I am?" I ask, continuing to eat the decadent food in front of me. He swirls the glass in his hands, the tan liquid sloshing along the side slightly, like a wave of gold. 

He doesn't answer, simply stares at me. His eyes are too dark, too knowing. It's as if he's looking at me and in me at the same time, reading me like a book he can't drop. 

"Call it instinct." He purrs, finishing his glass. I look down at the place in front of him on the table, realizing suddenly that he hasn't eaten a thing. There's nothing there but an empty glass and his strong hands. 

He stands suddenly, dropping two hundred dollar bills on the table and walks around to my side. I stand, placing my napkin on the plate and clutching my small purse in my hands. 

"Let's take a walk shall we?"

The glint of street lights and the moon illuminates the path in front of us as we stroll down the street, an odd silence surrounding us. 

"You say you remember me from before that night." I ask, staring straight ahead. "From where?"

I hear him chuckle next to me, placing his hands in his pockets as he had done last night. 

"We were kids, and your father had a meeting at our home, with my father. Apparently he hoped bringing you would make my father soften his harsh hand. It only worked a bit, but it worked all the same." 

I look up at him as he towers next to me, a good half foot taller. His suit jacket is draped over his shoulder, his tie loosened. He looks entirely different now. More relaxed. 

We come up to Central Park, dark trees lining the entrances, several couples walking and sitting at the lamp-lit benches. 

"Like I said before, my mother liked you. I don't know what it was. Maybe she had spent far too much time cooped up with my father and I. Too many men. But she talked to you while your father was in the meeting with mine. You took her hand and made her dance with you. I don't remember a time when she looked so adoring." 

A small glint of a memory plays in the back of my head. A tall, dark haired woman, a white dress, small heels tapping against a marble floor. 

"I remember, vaguely." I whisper, stopping in front of one of the chess tables, stone and cold in the middle of the park. I set my coat on the seat, and sit on it, crossing my legs slightly. 

Damon sits on the other side, staring over at me. 

"You said before that I could be of use to you?" I ask quietly, staring down at my hands. 

"Yes." He says shortly, and I meet his eyes again. It's too dark, but I can almost see the intensity hidden in them. 

Men shouldn't be so beautiful. So enticing. It's too dangerous. But I suppose that's why my job works for me. Men can't help but want to impress us. 

"And how would I do that?" 

He smiles, leaning on his elbows again. 

"Just do your usual job, but this time, I'm your employer. And the target is someone of great interest and danger to me." 

"Who?" I ask, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. 

"We'll get to the details later. I'm sure that I'll be able to pay your fees, and then some extra. But I would like to warn you of one thing, before you to take the job."

"And what would that be?" 

He stands slightly, walking in front of me, and pulling me up to my feet. Our bodies are too close, my chest brushing lightly against his. His cologne surrounds me like a mist, trapping me. The unexpected warmth emitting from his hands. He looks down at me, his nose dipping lowly. 

"If you betray my trust in any way, Charlotte, I will have to kill you."