Chapter One ( Stormy Day)

Steve Damon

Steve Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that this day would spiral further into chaos. As he was fastening his beloved Rolex around his wrist, the strap gave way in his hands. It was barely 8 a.m., and already, Steve had faced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. Frustrated, he glanced at the gleaming gold strap before returning it to the polished wooden chest in the corner of his floor-to-ceiling closet, filled with designer watches. He selected another timepiece, clasping it firmly around his wrist. The Rolex had always been his good luck charm, gifted by the one person who meant the most to him—his mother. But today, luck seemed to have abandoned him.

He stepped into his luxurious bathroom for a final check of his reflection, and his gaze fell upon the lavatory bowl, where his prized tie pin lay submerged as if it had chosen its final resting place. A gift from one of his many admirers, it was evidence of one of the fleeting connections he never allowed to run deep. With a resigned sigh, he glanced at his perfectly styled dark wavy hair, satisfied with the handsome, confident image staring back at him. Some might label him vain, but when had he ever cared about the opinions of others? He dismissed the pin’s fate; his efficient housekeeper would handle it. With that thought, he strode toward the waiting car.

Steve Damon is the firstborn and the apparent heir to the Damon Empire. He felt a little melancholy when he briefly thought of his younger sister; both share a rare bond between brother and sister. Unfortunately, she allowed a man like that devil to come between her and her family. His sister gave him another reason never to allow any romantic relationship. Love tends to cloud better judgment, and makes rational people behave outside of logic. He thought of how desperately one of her sister's letters moved him to the point of tears and he decided to send money to her every month even though his father forbade anyone in the family from reaching out to her. She was dead to the family! That was Damon Senior's final verdict. Steve would not allow his sister to go hungry, especially after she informed him in one of her letters that she had a baby boy, which made Steve an uncle. He wasn't sure how he felt about being an uncle yet.

His driver's voice brought him out of his melancholy state. “Good morning, Mr. Damon,” Fredrick, greeted him as he opened the door. Just as Steve was about to fold his tall frame into the back seat, a sudden splash of wetness hit his face when his driver sneezed.

What the--? He quickly fished a crisp white handkerchief, wiping away the unexpected moisture, and handed it back to Fredrick. “You might need this more than I do,” he said, his tone clipped.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Fredrick stammered, dropping to his knees, and apologized desperately. “I tried to hold the sneeze. Please forgive me!”

Steve studied the man’s pale face, contorted in panic. He allowed a hint of a smile to escape, but it must have resembled a snarl, for Fredrick’s complexion turned even whiter. The driver bowed his head, trembling in place.

“Get up, Fredrick,”

Steve said, extending a hand to help him up. As he grasped the man’s wrist, It was warm to touch.

“Are you sure you are fine?” Without waiting for a reply, he pressed his palm to Fredrick’s neck and felt the heat radiating from his skin.

“For God’s sake, Fredrick, do you have a death wish? You’re burning up! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Fredrick shuffled nervously, clearly terrified of losing his job. “I…I didn’t want to inconvenience you, sir. I believed I could manage.”

“Inconvenience me, How? Have I been such a monster that you’d think I’d expect a sick man to keep working until he drops?”

Fredrick’s first response was a sudden fit of sneezing.

“So, am I so cruel that I would make you work while you’re unwell?”

“I... I didn’t say that, sir. I mean, you’re not like that at all,” Fredrick stammered, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“Get in the car.”

“What did you say, sir?”

“I said, get in the car.” His tone left no room for argument—none of his management team, let alone his driver, would dare question it.

Fredrick hurried to the front seat, settling in like a chastened child. As Steve closed the back door and took his place in the driver’s seat, he announced, “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He backed out of the driveway and headed straight for the highway.

He knew he was late for his meeting; Dean would have a field day if he caught wind of how Steve's first day without him was going. Being late was not an option, but leaving a sick man to fend for himself wasn’t right either. The meeting could wait; after all, he was the boss; and he called the shots. He reminded himself of this as thoughts of Dean’s likely comments about Steve’s tardiness swirled in his mind. Dean had a series of meetings structured for the day, starting with a briefing for the new employees.

Dropping Fredrick at the hospital had been the right call. The doctors said he had to stay under medical observation, and now Steve was running seriously late for his meeting. With a fresh batch of recruits awaiting their induction, it was customary for a management member to address them. Usually, that would be Dean’s responsibility, but Dean had recently tied the knot and was now enjoying his honeymoon in Honolulu. Steve couldn’t help but think that Dean had bet on him not making it through a single day without him—less than 24 hours in, and it seemed he was proving Dean right.

As he navigated through the streets toward Marble Street, where Diamond Tripod Holdings Headquarters stood imposingly, the rain poured heavily. Early May in Florida was notorious for its unpredictable weather, with sun and rain competing for dominance. Checking the dashboard, he saw it was just minutes to 9 o’clock—the exact time he was supposed to meet with the new staff. His phone buzzed incessantly, but he ignored it. Answering calls would only tighten the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.

Approaching Lincoln Road near his office, he sped past a puddle, splashing water onto a passing pedestrian.

“Holy Moses, I just drenched that poor girl,” he muttered, feeling a pang of guilt. But he didn’t want to linger; he was already late, and judging by her expression in the rearview mirror, she looked ready to unleash her fury. Steve drove off, but his conscience nudged him to turn back. No cars were behind him, so he quickly reversed, stopping beside the girl, who was furiously attempting to clean her soaked clothes.

“Hey!” he called out, trying to grab her attention.

He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and gestured toward her. “Take this for a new dress. That looks pretty bad,” he said, nodding towards the stains on her outfit.

“Yes, it looks pretty bad—thanks to your reckless and thoughtless driving in this weather!” she shot back, glaring at him.

“I’m just trying to help. This is the least I can do since you look like you’re heading somewhere important,” he replied, scrunching his nose at her drenched clothes.

The girl regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “You’re an animal. A simple ‘sorry’ would have sufficed!”

How dare she talk to him like that? Steve muttered under his breath, anger flaring in his nostrils. Did she even realize who she was addressing? He tossed the bill toward her, watching it flutter to the ground before rolling up his window. His mother would say he hadn’t acted gentlemanly enough, but he felt justified in his irritation. He shot her one last glare in the mirror before focusing on the road; just as he heard glass shattering.

“Great! That girl must be out of her mind.”

He parked a few steps away to inspect the damage. As expected, she shattered his taillight, the high heel lay in the street a short distance away. She hadn’t just bruised his car—she’d done a number on it. He might find her expression amusing under other circumstances, but not today. His day was unraveling, and he was losing control by the minute.

He looked from the girl, now balancing on one leg in the rain, to the wreckage of his taillight.

“Not every pretty girl is sane.” He murmured.

He climbed back into his car but paused to grab one leg of her shoes as he drove off. If the girl thought she could act crazily, he would show her he could do much worse. He chuckled after imagining her arriving wherever she was going limping with one leg of her high heel, or worse without footwear. Yes, he was less than civil in his approach to the situation, but the girl started it.

He wasn’t proud of his actions, but some people find it easy to bring out the worst in others. That doe-eyed girl standing in the rain had certainly tapped into something dark within him.

Clarisa Morgan

Clarissa expected all sorts of reactions from the stormy look the man gave her. She even thought he might call security for denting his million-dollar car—he certainly looked like the type. She was surprised he wasn’t driving in a convoy, given how much he resembled one of those celebrities her mom watched on the E! Channel. But nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. The infuriating man took one of her shoes and drove off with it, leaving her standing there, open-mouthed.

Who does that? Why on earth would he want her shoe? She was beyond furious, not just because of the shoe, but because of his pompous attitude. He’d looked down his aristocratic nose at her, as though she were beneath him and not even deserving of an apology. She glanced down at the money he’d handed her. She didn’t want it, but his arrogance got under her skin. On impulse, she hurled her other heel at his taillight. “How’s that for even? Arrogant bastard!” she muttered. But he’d won this round. “Not all handsome rich men are sane,” she thought bitterly.

Luckily, she always carried a pair of flats in her bag. Today was the last day of induction at Diamond Tripod Holdings, and she had gone out of her way to look her best, only for this Richie-rich jerk to ruin it—and steal her shoe, of all things.

As if being late on her final day wasn’t bad enough, her mother had felt unwell that morning. She had to make sure her mom was comfortable and safely in the care of their neighbor before leaving. Her mother, a cancer survivor, had been in remission for two years, and Clarissa was grateful every day that their hard-fought battle had paid off. The doctor had declared her mother cancer-free, and they’d moved to Florida to start fresh. But the chilly weather had caused her mom to wake up with chills, scaring Clarissa half to death. Fortunately, it was just the climate change.

By the time Clarissa arrived at the large conference room, the meeting had already started. She was thankful it wasn’t a round-table setup this time, and quietly snuck in, hoping Gracie, the head of HR, wouldn’t notice her lateness. So far, she had managed to stay on Gracie’s good side throughout training. Hopefully, this slip wouldn’t cost her. Just as she settled in, she heard Gracie announce the arrival of the Managing Director—Mr. Steve Damon. The applause was deafening as everyone stood to welcome him.

“Wait, wasn’t it supposed to be Dean Campbell?” she muttered under her breath as she stood with the others. She had expected a middle-aged aristocrat. Though they’d mentioned the owners of DTH during induction, no pictures were shown. Clarissa had done some research and seen the Chairman, Mr. Damon Sr., but she knew little about the son. So, when she saw the man on stage, she froze. It was her shoe thief, standing there like nothing had happened, addressing them all. That’s when she knew she was in deep trouble.

She had let her temper get the best of her, and now she had to face the consequences. She’d hoped to be posted at the headquarters, close to her mom, but now she feared he might send her far away, just to spite her. From the little she had seen of Steve Damon, he knew how to play dirty. But maybe he wouldn’t even remember her.

“There’s no way I’ll cross paths with him again after today,” she reassured herself.

“I’ve met many of you already, though I can’t claim to remember every name,” Steve’s voice echoed through the room. Clarissa watched as he smiled, mentioning a few colleagues by name. He had a good memory. They must’ve done the introductions before she arrived, thanks to him making her late. She had also had to stop in the ladies’ room to fix her dress, which got stained during her frantic dash to the office. Now, all she was missing were the high heels that would’ve completed her polished look.

Hoping to stay out of sight, Clarissa sat behind the others, but her heart sank when he began reading a list.

“Here we have the top three trainees from this recruitment session. First on the list is... Clarissa Morgan.”

She almost stumbled out of her chair. Of all the times to stand out, why now? She had worked hard during the exams last Friday, knowing this job was her fresh start. But now she’d have to face the man who had made her morning a disaster.

“Clarissa Morgan, please,” he called again.

With a deep breath, she walked up to the stage. She knew the moment he recognized her—his eyes traveled down to her flats. It wasn’t the outfit she wanted to receive an award in, but thanks to his audacity, she had to make do. Still, she heard her mother’s voice in her head, reminding her it’s not about what you wear but how you carry yourself. Holding her head high, she accepted the award.

His handshake was firm and brief, but she could have sworn he squeezed her hand just a bit before letting go. She glanced up, but his cobalt-blue eyes gave nothing away. The photographer snapped a quick shot, and she was handed her award, along with a small package from Gracie.

As the rest of the ceremony blurred by, she realized one thing: Steve Damon knew she existed.