7. Damien

I need a drink.

I chant this in my head until the end of the day when there's a glass of liquor in my hand and I'm sitting on an uncomfortable barstool. Stale peanuts and beer from the tap hit my nose as soon as I stepped in, drawing me with the promise of making a shitty day, better.

I'm not one to drown myself in liquor – but enough is enough. Between Cecilia's case, a handful of other infidelity driven divorce cases, no sex, and Kassandra up my ass, I'm beat. My appreciative glance down at my glass draws an obnoxious groan from beside me. I snap my head sideways, and my dour expression falters when I notice it's Tyler.

He looks like shit. Greasy, unkempt hair, scruffy facial hair, and a worn-down suit. If he notices the way my brows arch astonished, he doesn't address it. Instead, he goes right into his overbearing personality, beginning with a whistle to the bartender and a wink. She's not into it. I don't fucking blame her. He looks like someone who'd bury you in their backyard.

"Tyler what the hell are you doing here?"

He finds my attitude amusing. Nothing get's the idiot down. He smacks a hand on my shoulder quickly, and cackles, nearly sending everyone in the bar at him with our arms and hands outstretched ready to strangle.

"Give me something you can mix with an energy drink, I'm fucking beat, sweetheart."

She doesn't like being called sweat heart, but she complies – probably figuring a man so blatantly disrespectful may just give her a satisfying tip. Jokes on her though – this man isn't successful, rich Tyler. This is the Tyler I've seen many times back in college and even a few years after during hard times – the broke one, with a gambling problem. I wouldn't blame her for taking her time making his drinks to avoid coming back over.

"I'm getting a drink – what the fuck does it look like," He replies through tight lips, with his brows furrowed.

I take a swig of my drink and try to guess to his shitty mood.

"You don't look so good, buddy."

"I'll feel a lot better when I've finished that bottle." He points to the liquor being poured into his glass. He grunts something I don't catch under his breath and gulps the entire glass down, before tapping on the bar for another. Her eyes are flat with annoyance as she pours, and he swirls his fingers along her arm.

"I second that," I reply and finish my drink. She eyes me with a quirked brow, waiting for my request. "I'll have the same."

She nods, gives me small smile and pours my drink like she's happy to. Tyler fumes, and lifts his glass to his mouth, sucking down the rest.

"Your ex-girlfriend get engaged too?"

Ah, the culprit. Classic Tyler. Caught up on a woman he cheated on. Now surprised she's moved on.

"No, I keep things simple. That way I'm not in your shoes."

He snorts into his glass and rubs the back of his neck.

"Smart man."

"I guess," I nonchalantly firm my lips into an appreciative glance.

Tyler and I are complete opposites. I like the chase, the seductive temptation in mannerism when I find a woman I want. He finds many women and can't focus his attention on just one. It's a shame though. When a woman finally submits, and she's my only focus, the sex is more powerful than a hundred quick bangs with random women. Not that I haven't had quick fucks. I just prefer the latter. The drawn-out chase.

He taps the counter again. I'm waiting for the sound of glass shattering against his skull to break the chatter, but it doesn't.

I can tell he's already drunk when he opens his mouth next.

"I- I'm so stupid for letting her go," He whines. I cringe and smack him on the back. He whips his head sideways, a doleful look on his face like a lost fucking puppy and tears falling into his liquor. He looks pathetic, but he's helped me at a low point.

"Listen, we all do stupid shit sometimes. Learn from it."

He sniffles, wipes his nose and blinks a few times, realization that he's blabbering in public must hit him because he clears his throat and sits up straighter in his chair. He's in luck though. The bartender has noticed his emotional outburst and crinkles her brows, biting her lip with empathy.

He notices, and gives her a small, half- smile and just as I estimate, she returns his smile with one of her own and floats over to us.

I sigh and finish my drink.

I'm sure his night will finish off better than it started.

I don't expect my phone to vibrate in my pants, disrupting my thoughts. It takes me a minute to grab it out of my pocket successfully considering the rooms spinning and answer the unsaved number.

"Damien Sinclair," I answer.

"D-Damien," a squeaky voice stammers.

"Mila?" I can't shield the surprise in my voice. I feel the excitement in my jeans before she can get another sentence out.

"I'm sorry to call you so late, but I can't get ahold of anyone else, and I- I need some help."

"W-what's wrong?"

"I need a ride. I'm stranded."

Stranded? I balance my phone between my ear, slap some cash down on the counter, and rise. Whoa. My unsteady feet cause me to disgracefully stumble sideways into a chair. Tyler turns his attention to me.

"You leaving?" His words are heavy, slowed and thick from the alcohol.

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll be fine," I quip, tossing my eyes to the bartender. He grins.

"Thanks for cheering me up, man."

"No worries. Night."

"Give me your address, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Why the hell is she stranded? My feet falter momentarily, and I slow to a halt in front of the door, drowning out her response. What the hell am I doing? My surprise from her submission to call me confuses me. I shake my head and stop dwelling on all the bullshit bouncing in my skull. It's the liquor.

"Repeat that," I reply. She states her address again, and this time I notice the quiver in her voice.

"That fucker," She mumbles, and I do a double take at my phone. Who is she talking about?

"What?"

I yank open my car door and hop into the front seat. She apologizes.

"No, sorry, not you. It's my stupid fucking ex, Cole. Yup. Just when I think he's done fucking me over, he surprises me."

"Ah," I respond, not wanting to dive into a deep convo about her ex over the phone. It'll most likely be a rant about how all men are assholes, and considering a cock hangs between my legs, my opinion is biased. "You're not hurt or anything are you?"

"Just mentally for being stupid." She sighs.

"I'm on my way."

"Okay. Thank you, Damien."

I grunt a quick yes and race the onset of inebriation to pick her up.

***

I can tell she's upset just by the way her expression sulks when I pull along the side of the road. That asshole dropped her off in the middle of the fucking country. Probably wants her to get eaten by something, or kidnapped. Some women sure no how to pick em'. She clearly was fucking a boy, not a man.

Her brows unfurrow a little when she opens the passenger door and slides in, sinking into her seat, and fluttering her eyes closed as the warmth inside the car envelops her. It's cold outside today. My eyes slide along her, admiring the sexy curve of her hips and the way the dress she's wearing defines every thick curve of her body.

My cock stirs, and I turn my attention back to the road, to stop from causing a fucking accident.

"Sorry again, I really appreciate it. That piece of shit is gonna get a nail in his tires. Whatta' dick face."

I snicker and shake my head, thankful I didn't get her call after another shot's worth of liquor. She'd be shit out of luck.

"What's funny?" She presses me with calculating eyes.

I don't directly answer her question. I want her squirming impatiently.

"Oh, Mila, it's a lot harder than you think."

She looks taken back, a quizzical look on her face. She glances out the window quickly, and I wait. She's bright. I know she'll land exactly where I want her too. When she averts her face back towards me, and I twist my head briefly to catch a glimpse – I know she's understood.

Being professional is going to be a lot harder for her than she anticipated. She'd succumb to my advances just as every other woman I've pursued has.

Her cheeks redden. She firms her lips, and take's a dramatic slow blink and swallows. I notice the way she presses her thighs tightly together before she answers, and how breathless she sounds.

"I-It's not hard, Damien," She stutters. I can tell she isn't fully convinced. "I'm not just another dumb bimbo who's going to give into your selfish needs."

I chuckle deep from within my throat.

"I can assure you, it's not my needs I'm focused on. You'd cum a thousand times on me, before I've finished with your body."

She inhales a deep breath and shifts in her seat. Her nipples betray her, hardening underneath the thin material of her dress, confirming that my words are making that pussy wet.

"Well, I won't give you the chance," She replies and crosses her arms over her chest, blatantly trying to hide her arousal.

"You've been fucking around with boy's, Mila. You should try men for a change. I can make you feel more with one stroke of my cock, then an entire night's worth of fucking with anyone."

"You're pretty cocky."

"It's confidence in my abilities. One's which I've perfected."

She snorts and then chuckles.

"I think the one having trouble keeping things professional is you, Damien."

"By all means, if you want me to stop Mila, then tell me to stop. But you won't. In fact," I tighten my grip around the steering wheel as a large grin spreads on my face, her gaze burning into me. "I'm sure you'll be begging for me to touch you."

She proves me right when she doesn't oppose. Instead she huffs and turns to peer out the window.

When we arrive in front of her house, after the rest of the car ride was thick with tension, she appears shocked.

"You know where I live?"

"You are one of my employees. It's basic contact information."

"Oh, yeah." She places her hand on the door and shifts sideways in her seat angled towards me.

"Thank you again. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry if I ruined your plans."

"You didn't ruin anything. It wasn't a problem."

She nods slowly, and pulls the handle, pushing the door open.

"For the record, Mila. If you're in a situation where you need someone, call me."

Her brows knit together and she cracks a goofy smirk.

"No man's ever really said that to me before."

A mischievous grin replaces my smile and I narrow my eyes.

"That's because none of them can represent you as legal counsel."

Her smirk disappears, and she groans, rolling her eyes.

"Typical man."

She climbs out of the car and slams the door hard, before stomping up to the apartment building.

She sways her hips, making my eyes focus on that big ass. I'd bet a hundred that she's going to play with herself tonight.

The thought makes me grin.