Damon's POV:
Did she truly expect to pay off a favor with a private dance? I was fairly certain she understood exactly what happened when a woman performed a private dance for a man in a place like this. It wasn't merely about the choreography on a stage; there was an unspoken language of transaction involved. Yet, there she was, perfectly willing to settle the score right here, in the dark of the club.
"Not today. You look terrible," I blurted out. My eyes swept over her, noting the slightly chaotic state of her hair and her swollen eyes. Had she been crying? Athena let out a short, amused chuckle, raking her fingers through her dark tresses to smooth them down.
"You know I don't," she countered.
Confident much huh? Then again, one wouldn't expect a woman like Athena to be humble. She was well aware of how stunning she was; she'd seen the way men's stares followed her like a physical weight every time she moved through a room.
Including my own.
"I'm not trying to be a brat, but ever since I was nine years old, I've known that I look beautiful in every possible condition," she said with a casual shrug. She pulled her phone from her bag, the harsh glow of the screen illuminating the sharp angles of her face.
Since she was nine?
According to the intelligence Ray had gathered on her, her past was a total vacuum. Before she turned eighteen, it was as if she didn't exist on this planet. I could have jumped online and dug deeper—that would have been the easy way out—but I had no intention of doing that.
"Since you were nine?" I repeated, mostly to keep the conversation from dying. She looked like the type who would happily sit in total silence until the coast was clear for her to leave. Truthfully, the guards were likely back at their posts by now, but I wasn't ready to let her go.
She looked up from her phone, her gaze meeting mine again, before she shrugged the question away. It was the same dismissive gesture she used when I'd asked what she was doing at the club in the first place.
I took slow, deliberate sips of my whiskey until the glass was empty. We sat in a silence that stretched for what felt like an hour. I could be in a boardroom filled with a hundred businessmen and feel absolutely nothing, yet Athena's presence seemed to fill every inch of this club. She wasn't even doing anything—just scrolling through her phone—but the air felt heavy with her.
Finally, she set the phone down. She glanced at the water one last time before shaking her head and standing up, sliding her purse strap over her shoulder. "The private dance. Let me know when."
"Tomorrow," I answered before my brain could even veto the impulse. I reached into my suit jacket, pulled out my card, and held it out to her. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. Her nails were painted a deep, midnight black—as dark as her hair.
As much as I wanted to see her again, a part of me hoped she wouldn't show up. I was still holding onto the hope that she only danced on rare occasions, but the girl drove a Porsche. She lived in Parcour, for God's sake. That meant she either came from a very wealthy family or she was involved in exactly the kind of business I was trying to convince myself she wasn't. Whatever family she belonged to, they were secretive enough to ensure her files didn't even contain a surname.
"Let me drop you off," I said, standing up.
"No, no need. But thanks again." She took a few steps toward the door, then halted. She turned back to me slowly. "Actually... maybe you could walk me to the entrance."
I nodded. She would have been a fool to walk down there alone, but Athena was far from a fool. She was a mystery, and as it happened, solving puzzles was my favorite hobby.
I walked out with her at my side. We stood before the elevator, and I pressed the call button. I could feel her gaze on my profile, and I would have paid a fortune to hear the thoughts racing through her head. We stepped into the confined space of the elevator and watched the floor numbers count down in silence.
She was quiet, far too quiet, and so was I. I wasn't much for small talk myself. Usually, women felt the need to break the silence, as if quiet were a vacuum they had to fill, but Athena seemed perfectly comfortable in it.
She filtered my questions. Hell, she didn't even bother answering half of them.
The doors slid open, and we walked through the large lounge toward the entrance. A chilling breeze swept past us, and I turned to find Athena staring up at the sky. A soft, genuine smile lingered on her lips, as if the feel of the wind against her skin was the most valuable thing in the world.
If only she knew that her smile was worth far more.
"Good night," she said softly, turning to leave. But my next question made her stop in her tracks.
"What's your last name, Athena?"
Again, I could have found the answer in five minutes with my laptop, but where was the fun in that? A puzzle is only satisfying when you fit every piece together yourself.
She turned fully to face me. For a moment, her eyes held a flicker of confusion followed by a flash of realization. She seemed to figure out right then that I'd looked into her and found nothing. It baffled me that she wasn't surprised I'd dug into her background. Just how many other men had done the same?
Instead of an answer, she caught me off guard for the first time that night. "Are you obsessed with me, Mr. Royal?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. I slipped my hands into my pockets, refusing to break eye contact with her, never breaking eye contact with her. "What if I am?"
She shrugged and turned away, beginning her walk down the road toward the bakery. "Get in line," she called back.
It was her final word.
Okay, baby, I thought, watching her go. I'm in line.