Chapter 15 First Day Part 3
Damien didn’t step back.
Instead, his gaze dropped.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His eyes traced the line of her face, lingered on her lips for just a fraction of a second too long, then traveled lower—over the curve of her shoulders, the way her blouse hugged her figure, down to where her hands were clenched at her sides. Jasmine’s skin burned under his scrutiny.
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of herself.
The way she was standing. The way her breath was still unsteady. The way her cheeks were heating up no matter how hard she tried to calm herself.
He was close enough that if she leaned forward even slightly, she’d brush against him.
The thought alone made her stomach twist.
“I—uh,” she started, then stopped, hating how weak her voice sounded. She swallowed and tried again. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
One corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something dangerously close to one.
“That’s usually the point,” he said smoothly.
His voice was low, unhurried, and it slid over her nerves like a blade. Her breath hitched despite herself.
He finally took a step back, granting her the smallest amount of space—but not nearly enough to make her feel steady again.
His eyes flicked briefly toward his desk, where the coffee sat waiting.
“You’re punctual,” he observed.
“I—yes,” she said quickly, nodding. “Your coffee. Two shots. Exactly.”
She cursed herself internally for rambling.
His gaze returned to her, sharp and assessing, as if he were cataloging every reaction, every nervous movement.
She felt exposed under his stare, like he could see straight through the professional mask she was desperately trying to wear.
“Relax, Jasmine,” Damon said quietly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
She forced a tight smile, though her knees felt suspiciously weak.
“Just… first-day nerves,” she replied.
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he finally turned toward his desk.
But even as he moved away, Jasmine couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already far too aware of the effect he had on her.
And that unsettled her more than anything else.
She stood there, rooted to the spot, acutely aware of the way his gaze lingered on her.
Jasmine had chosen her outfit carefully that morning—careful enough not to draw attention, careful enough not to seem plain. A white turtleneck wool sweater hugged her upper body snugly, soft and modest, the fabric smooth against her skin.
It was warm without being bulky, simple without being boring. The plaid skirt sat firmly at her small waist, cinched just enough to accentuate the gentle curve of her hips before flaring slightly as it fell past her knees.
As understated as the outfit was, it looked anything but ordinary on her.
Her long legs, partially exposed beneath the hem of the skirt, were impossibly distracting—at least to him. The fabric moved subtly whenever she shifted her weight, drawing his attention again and again to the shape of her thighs, the quiet confidence of her posture even as nervousness clung to her like a second skin.
Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, sleek but not severe, with a few loose strands slipping free to frame her face. They softened her features, brushing her cheeks and temple in a way that made her look effortlessly beautiful.
No heavy makeup, no loud accessories—just diamond studs in her ears, catching the light every time she moved.
Damien noticed everything.
He always did.
Jasmine stood silently, her fingers curling slightly at her sides, feeling the weight of his stare. It wasn’t leering, wasn’t crude—but it was intense.
Measuring.
Possessive in a way that unsettled her, even as it sent a strange warmth curling low in her stomach.
She shifted uncomfortably, clearing her throat.
“Morning, Mr. Black,” she finally said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.
There it was.
He blinked once, as if he’d been waiting for her to speak.
He blinked once, as if he’d been waiting for her to speak.
Damien moved then, walking around the desk with unhurried steps before settling into his chair. He leaned back slightly, one arm resting on the armrest, the other loosely near the desk. His posture was relaxed, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered.
Jasmine held his eyes.
She refused to look away.
She wouldn’t let him see how nervous she was—not today, not on her first official morning working for him.
Even though her pulse was racing and her palms felt damp, she lifted her chin ever so slightly, meeting his stare head-on.
Damien noticed.
And he smirked inwardly.
A bold one, he thought. Nervous, yes—but not weak.
His eyes dropped briefly, scanning her once more before returning to her face. He said nothing, but the silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, making Jasmine’s heart beat faster with every passing second.
Then his gaze flicked to the desk.
To the coffee.
Jasmine’s breath caught.
She followed his eyes, dread blooming in her chest as he reached for the cup she’d placed there earlier. Her fingers twitched instinctively, as if she might stop him—but it was far too late for that.
Her heart thudded violently as he lifted the cup to his lips.
She watched him take a sip.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
The hot liquid slid down Damien’s throat, warming him as it settled.
The flavor lingered on his tongue—rich, bold espresso, but layered with something else. Something unfamiliar. Subtle, aromatic, unexpected.
His brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
Jasmine saw it.
Her stomach dropped.
“…This,” he began, placing the cup back on the desk with deliberate care.
The pause that followed felt endless.
“I—I know it’s not what you usually have,” Jasmine rushed out, words tumbling over themselves. “I’m sorry. Richelle told me exactly how you like it, and I swear I followed it, I just— I wanted to try something small. I didn’t think you’d notice, honestly, and I can make another one right away if—”
She stopped abruptly, biting her lower lip as she realized how fast she was talking.
Her cheeks burned.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
She waited.