Chapter 16 The Meeting
Any second now, she expected his voice to rise. Expected the sharp reprimand Raymond and Richelle had warned her about. She braced herself for it, shoulders tensing, spine stiffening.
But it never came.
Instead, Damien studied her quietly.
His face remained unreadable, dark eyes locked on hers as though he were peeling her apart layer by layer. There was no anger there.
No irritation.
Just… calculation.
“…What did you add?” he asked at last.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Jasmine swallowed hard.
She felt disoriented under his gaze—his presence overwhelming, his scent surrounding her, his authority pressing in on her from all sides.
It made her chest feel tight, her thoughts slippery and scattered.
“I—I added cardamom,” she said softly.
So softly she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken aloud.
Silence fell again.
Damien leaned back slightly, eyes drifting to the coffee once more. He picked it up, swirling the dark liquid gently before taking another sip—slower this time, more deliberate.
Jasmine watched him, barely breathing.
Richelle suddenly stepped forward.
“I’ll get you another cup, sir,” she said quickly, her tone sharp with tension.
“No,” Damien replied immediately.
His gaze didn’t leave Jasmine.
“It’s fine, Richelle.”
Richelle froze.
So did Jasmine.
Damien set the cup down and looked directly at Jasmine, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“I like it,” he said.
Jasmine’s breath left her in a soft gasp.
“You’ll make my coffee like this every day.”
Shock rippled through the room.
Richelle stared at him, her composure cracking. “Excuse me, sir?”
Damien finally glanced at her, his expression cool but unwavering. “You heard me.”
Richelle’s lips parted, then pressed together tightly. “But—sir—you never like changes. You’re very specific—”
“And today,” Damien cut in smoothly, “I like this.”
His gaze returned to Jasmine, lingering on her stunned expression.
“It’s… different.”
Something warm curled in his chest as he watched her blink in disbelief.
“You can leave now, Richelle,” he added.
“Everything’s under control. Jasmine will handle it.”
Richelle’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her features before she masked it with a forced smile.
She nodded stiffly and turned on her heel, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.
The door closed behind her.
Silence settled once more.
Damien leaned back in his chair, lifting the coffee again. “So, Jasmine,” he said casually, watching her over the rim of the cup. “What do I have scheduled today?”
She blinked, clearly flustered, then quickly pulled her tablet from her bag. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled through the screen.
“You have a meeting with the shareholders in ten minutes,” she said.
“Good.” He nodded. “Get the conference room ready.”
He paused, noticing the slight crease forming between her brows.
Amused, he added, “Water. Anything they might need. And bring your notepad. You’ll be taking notes.”
She nodded quickly, absorbing the instructions despite her dazed state.
“Yes, sir.”
She turned and hurried out of the office, heels tapping lightly against the floor.
Damien watched her go.
A slow, satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
Interesting, indeed.
Jasmine stood stiffly beside Damien, her posture straight, shoulders squared the way Richelle had instructed her earlier.
The conference room slowly began to fill with people—men in tailored suits, women in sharp dresses, polished smiles plastered on faces that reeked of power and entitlement.
One by one, they walked in.
And one by one, they stared.
Jasmine felt it immediately.
Their gazes crawled over her skin like ants, slow and invasive. Some of them didn’t even try to hide it. Their eyes lingered too long, sliding from her face to her waist, down her legs, and back up again as if she were something on display rather than a person standing in the room.
A few of them paused mid-step, clearly distracted, before remembering themselves and moving toward their seats.
Others leaned back in their chairs once seated, arms crossed, eyes still locked on her as though the meeting had already lost its importance.
Her fingers tightened around her notepad.
She was used to being looked at—used to attention—but this felt different.
This wasn’t admiration. It was ownership they wanted.
Consumption.
And Damien saw every single second of it.
His jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Rage burned through his veins like wildfire, fast and uncontrollable.
His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides as he watched his shareholders shamelessly ogle Jasmine, their eyes bold, greedy, unapologetic.
Something dark twisted inside him.
They were looking at what was his.
And he hated it.
He hated the way their gazes lingered. Hated the way some of them smirked, as though they were already undressing her with their eyes. He wanted—no, needed—to put an end to it.
He forced himself to breathe through his nose.
Control, Damien. Control.
Then a voice cut through the thick tension.
“Got yourself some new eye candy, Damien,” Jace drawled, his voice smooth and deliberate, intended to annoy. “I have to say… your taste this time is—exquisite.”
The words were meant to test him. To rile him.
Damien didn’t shout. He didn’t slam a fist on the table. He tilted his head slightly, the faintest narrowing of his emerald eyes enough to silence the air around him.
The room froze.
He stood slowly, deliberately, the motion so fluid it was almost predatory. Every step he took toward the table was measured.
Calm.
Controlled.
The sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoed through the room like a warning bell.
Jasmine’s breath hitched. She could feel the power radiating off him.
It wasn’t the explosive kind—no, it was sharper, more dangerous. It was quiet authority, the type of control that made everyone in the room acutely aware of their place, aware of their vulnerability.
Jace’s smirk faltered.
Most of the men around him swallowed nervously, shifting uneasily in their seats. Not one dared look directly at Damien now.
“Let me be very clear,” Damien began, his voice low, deliberate, measured—but carrying a weight that made every word hit like a hammer. “If your attention in this room is elsewhere than the matter at hand—if you are here to stare at something that is not yours to claim—you will leave. Now. All of you. Immediately. Or I will ensure you never work in this city again. Anywhere. Ever.”
There was no yelling, no flaring of nostrils. No unnecessary theatrics. Just his presence. Every head in the room snapped down. Eyes averted. Hearts pounding. The faintest tremble ran through even the most senior of shareholders.
He stepped closer to the table, and for Jasmine, every motion sent her pulse racing. Damien’s control was absolute. He wasn’t angry in the typical sense; he was lethal, deliberate, and the threat he posed didn’t require a word beyond what he said.