“It’s—it’s okay,” she managed, her brain already running inventory. The sharp jaw, the beard, the shoulders, that easy authority he carried without trying.
Then she whipped her head toward me. “You should have led with this,” she hissed. “This makes a big difference.”
A disbelieving laugh tugged at my mouth. “Candace,” I warned.
But she was already turning back to him, evaluating him like a painting she didn’t want to admit she liked.
Color rose along his cheekbones as he went still under the attention.
Then he moved.
His arm slipped around me—firm, careful—his palm spreading over my lower back. The heat of him cutting through the leftover chill in my skin. “Let’s get you both off the street.”
He kept his long strides deliberately slow, guiding me all the way to the passenger door and easing it open with aclick. His strong hand found my elbow as I lowered myself into the seat with excruciating care. Once I was in, he shut the door gently behind me.
The back door opened a second later. Candace climbed in, leather squeaking under her.
Damien rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat. The muted thud of the door closing sealed us in.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He shook his head like he still couldn’t quite process it. “There are too many scumbags in this city.”
“He had a gun,” Candace whispered, tone thin.
Damien’s eyes found mine. “Really?”
I nodded, throat tight.
He dragged a hand across his forehead, elbow braced on the door. “Jesus,” he muttered on a rough exhale. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It was,” Candace answered, small in the sudden hush.
His focus shifted to my hands. The polish gleamed, absurdly perfect. A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “At least your nails look good.”
“Yeah,” I said gently, watching the muscle jump in his jaw. He was holding it together for us. Barely.
“Is there anyone you need to call?” he asked, turning toward Candace, offering his phone.
She shook her head at first. “I don’t think so.”
“What about Garrett?” I said.
She blinked once as the name caught up. “Oh. Yeah. I should probably let him know.”
Damien and I locked eyes over the console. Same thought. Same sick dread.
She took his phone, already unlocked. Like the thing didn’t carry the inner workings of a multibillion-dollar company in its memory.
“What?” Garrett’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Candace swallowed. “Emma and I were just robbed.”
A pause. Then—“Whose phone are you calling from?”
“Um…” She hesitated. “Damien’s.”
“Who’s Damien?” he asked, an edge creeping into his voice.
“Damien is Emma’s… friend,” she said.
