Princess

Chapter 17: You're Mine

Ariadne

Devon Fox, a New York County District Attorney, was a phenomenal lawyer, an intelligent man, and it helped that he was very easy on the eyes. His dirty blond hair was streaked back, amplifying the sharp features of his face and collarbones. He'd give Henry Cavill a run for his money.

Devon had asked me out a number of times before and I never said yes, adamant not to get involved with people who my father worked with or associated himself with. He was a close family friend, someone who hung out with Christian and Francis often, so I saw him a fair amount.

I needed to distract myself from Damon, the way his arms felt on my waist, his lips on my fingers, his breath on my skin. He slept with women all the time. Just because he maybe flirted with me shouldn't mean anything. I needed to remove his memory from my body and thought maybe a nice dinner with a reasonable and safe man would do the trick. It couldn't hurt to try.

We sat across one another at a magnificent Mediterranean restaurant, one of my favorite cuisines, and the food was divine, a few glasses of alcohol in.

Devon was the man a Ryder wanted in their life. Devon was safe. Devon wasn't in a Hale's pocket. He was truly a good man.

He leaned back casually, grinning at me with his row of vampire perfect teeth. He had a handsome smile that reached his eyes, full of warmth and kindness. Surprising—with his track record of being the lawyer no one wanted to stand up against.

"So, what made you finally agree to going out with me?" He asked and I blushed, knowing the real answer wasn't something I wanted to divulge.

"What can I say? You wore me down."

"Don't tell me you're here under pressure."

"Of course not. I wanted to come."

"Really?"

"I think you'll find it very difficult to make me do things I don't want to do."

"Oh, now that I believe." He showed off a cunning grin that made my thighs clench immediately. God, he was pretty perfect. I might just have to let him come over tonight.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A waitress stood by our table.

"Yes, hi," I responded, smiling. She placed a cocktail in front of me, garnished with strawberries and mint. I stared at her, confused.

"Oh, I didn't order this," I told her, even though it was something I always did order.

"It's from the gentleman at that table there." She gestured to a booth in the corner. "He's the owner, actually." She gave us a polite smile and left.

I shot Devon a confused look before peering over his shoulder and immediately stilled.

Damon.

His arm was thrown lazily on the back of the black leather booth, but his steel jaw told me he was anything but relaxed. There was no food in front of him, just a bottle of Dalmore 25 and a cigar tray. I didn't think smoking was allowed in here, but all hell would break loose before anyone said no to Damon Hale. A man in a suit sat across from him, clearly talking but Damon didn't take his eyes off me.

Slowly and deliberately, he raised his glass of predictably whiskey and then took a long sip. Of course, he owned the one restaurant I came to on one date. And of course, he was there tonight.

"Is that Damon Hale?" Devon asked, amusement and curiosity lurking behind his eyes.

"Unfortunately," I clipped and pushed the cocktail away from me, pointedly continuing to drink my wine. That show of defiance awarded me with a thin smile from Damon.