Chapter 18 The Taste of Provocation
POV Damian:
“To our parents,” Liam said, raising his glass just as I was about to make my own toast.
“To our parents,” we repeated, our voices filled with emotion.
“So, Ethan, ready to take charge of the Chicago branch?” Noah asked, giving our brother a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily. I’ll only be gone for a few months.” He drained the contents of his glass before continuing. “I’ll train the new staff and then I’ll be back.” Noah scoffed. “Three months from now, I expect to see you there for the party.”
We went back to drinking and talking, still overwhelmed by the thrill of our success.
After more than an hour, my brothers and I decided to call it a night—we needed rest after such a long day. We were just leaving the office when I remembered something I still had to do. I asked them to go ahead, promising I’d catch up soon.
I had forgotten to send an email to Marcus. I needed to update him on the final decision regarding Ethan’s move to Chicago. I could leave it for later—or call him first thing in the morning—but I preferred to have everything settled tonight. My motto has always been: Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today.
I sat back down, opened my laptop, and while waiting for it to boot up, I opened the drawer and remembered the brown envelope. I picked it up, studying it again. Nothing—no name, no address. That annoyed me. I started tearing it open but froze when I saw what was inside.
Money.
I poured the contents onto the desk and, with a quick count, estimated about a thousand dollars. I frowned, not understanding what this money was. Among the bills, I found a small folded piece of paper. I’ll admit, I was curious to know where this came from—and more interested in discovering who sent it and why.
I unfolded the note, not recognizing the handwriting, but it didn’t take long to realize who had sent this insolent envelope.
Today I broke my piggy bank,
and guess what? I had the money.
Good riddance.
ASSHOLE.
Petulant! Irritating woman. How dare she send me money—as if I needed her pocket change? And on top of that, she had the nerve to send a note insulting me again. Who the hell does she think she is?
I counted the money, and, to my disbelief, it was the exact amount I’d spent cleaning my car after her little stunt. What was she trying to prove by sending this?
I put all the money back in the envelope and grabbed one of the blank ones I always keep handy. Since my laptop had finally loaded, I searched for her résumé, which included her address, jotted down the information, and decided to do the same thing she did.
I hoped Miss Monroe would enjoy my envelope as much as I’d enjoyed hers. I smiled ironically as I began to write out a check.
...
I was finishing my shower when I caught myself smiling, thinking about that insolent woman. When was the last time a woman intrigued me as much as she infuriated me? It’s never happened before. I had to give Miss Monroe credit—what she was managing to do was impressive. What she stirred in me wasn’t just irritation; it was a kind of charged excitement, the thrill of confrontation.
Asshole.
I smiled even more, remembering how her face flushed crimson with anger whenever she called me by that charming nickname. Ah, Miss Monroe, you have no idea what kind of monster you’ve awakened with your defiance. He’s rabid—and the only thing that will satisfy his hunger is you.
After dressing, I went downstairs looking for Ethan. I wanted to talk to him before his trip. I needed to straighten out a few things with him—this went back to our argument yesterday. Why is my brother so damn stubborn? What’s the big deal about running the Chicago branch for a year? It would guarantee better management and save me a lot of headaches down the road.
I found him sprawled on the couch, his sketchbook on his lap—probably drawing another landscape. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and tease him about his favorite pastime. I approached quietly and peeked over his shoulder, but he anticipated me and quickly covered the drawing. All I caught was a glimpse of large, expressive blue eyes.
It was a woman.
Well, well. Do we have someone in love here?
“What do you want, Damian?” he snapped, defensive.
“Nothing much. Can’t a man just talk to his brother?” I said, sitting beside him. “Who’s the woman you’re drawing?” I asked, and noticed the subtle sigh that followed. My curiosity deepened.
“A woman I can’t get out of my head,” he said, smiling.
“Oh, so you’re dating someone and forgot to tell us?” I teased.
“You know I don’t date,” he huffed. “She’s just a sexy, uninhibited, very hot woman. I fucked her in a nightclub bathroom.” He shrugged.
“Well, what a beautiful love story,” I mocked. “For a second, I thought you were sketching my future sister-in-law.” I teased, and we both laughed.
“It’s not that serious,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Now quit stalling and tell me what you really want.” He knew me too well.
“Chicago. I want you to stay for a year,” I said bluntly. He stood up, smirking.
“No. We’ve already talked about this.”
“Ethan, a year goes by fast. And I don’t trust anyone but my brothers for this. Just one year—that’s all I’m asking.” I was honest.
I waited for his response, hoping he’d make the right decision. If not, I didn’t know what I’d do—except maybe take over Chicago myself and leave Liam in charge of Detroit until I returned. A year goes by fast, after all. And being there would let me handpick and train the person who’d eventually run it. Yes, that would work.
“All right. One year,” Ethan’s voice broke through my thoughts. “I’ll stay for a year—no more.”
I exhaled in relief and nodded.
“One year,” I agreed. “Thank you.”
“We’re brothers. You can always count on me.” He extended his hand, and I took it. “You owe me a round of beers,” he added with a grin.
“Let’s go—you deserve it.”
We headed to the kitchen, and I finally felt my tense body start to relax. I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but while debating whether I should go to Chicago myself, a thought had crossed my mind—one that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
A year without seeing that insolent, foul-mouthed woman.
Shit. What the hell does that mean?