Chapter 20: The Push and Pull

Phoebe stared at the flowers on her desk, fingers ghosting over the edge of the card.

She should ignore it.

Pretend it didn't mean anything.

But she couldn't.

Because it did.

Because Damon wasn't the kind of man to send flowers without intent.

And she wasn't the kind of woman to be affected by something as simple as a bouquet—except when it was from him.

She exhaled sharply, setting the card down before standing.

She needed air.

She needed distance.

She needed—

"Going somewhere?"

Phoebe froze.

Her pulse stuttered, then quickened as she turned toward the voice.

Damon leaned against her office doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored slacks, watching her with that quiet intensity that always made it impossible to think straight.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I was just about to head out."

"Perfect timing," he said smoothly, stepping inside. "I was about to come get you for lunch."

Phoebe tensed. "Damon—"

"I know," he said before she could finish. "You're busy. You have a lot on your plate. And you're trying really hard to pretend last night didn't happen."

Her jaw tightened. "That's not—"

He tilted his head, challenging.

Phoebe swallowed the rest of her excuse.

Because he was right.

And he knew it.

Damon took another step closer, dropping his voice just enough to make the air feel heavier.

"I'm not asking for anything, Phoebe."

A lie.

Or maybe just a carefully controlled half-truth.

Because his eyes told a different story.

He was asking for something.

She just didn't know if she was ready to give it.

Still, she held his gaze, searching for some kind of loophole. Some way to get through this moment without making a choice.

Damon only raised a brow. "It's just lunch."

That was the problem.

Because with him, nothing was ever just anything.

And they both knew it.

Phoebe exhaled slowly, then finally—finally—nodded.

Damon's smirk was subtle, but she caught it anyway.

"Good," he murmured, reaching for the door. "Let's go."

---

(Lunch That Wasn't Just Lunch)

They sat at a table by the window.

The restaurant was nice but not flashy—private enough that no one would overhear their conversation, but not so intimate that it felt like something more than what it was.

Except it was more.

It always was.

Phoebe spent the first half of the meal trying to focus on anything other than the way Damon looked at her.

Like he knew every single thought running through her head.

Like he was waiting for her to say something.

She hated that he could still do this to her.

That he still affected her.

She shouldn't care that he had been the one to step in when her father tried to force her into another deal.

She shouldn't care that he had chosen to fight for her when she had given up on fighting for herself.

But she did.

And it terrified her.

Damon took a sip of his drink, gaze still locked onto her.

"You're quiet today."

Phoebe forced a small, detached smile. "Just thinking."

His lips twitched. "About?"

She hesitated.

Because "you" wasn't the answer she wanted to give.

But it was the truth.

And Damon had never been the kind of man to let her get away with half-truths.

So she deflected. "Work. My father. The usual."

Damon hummed, clearly unconvinced.

But, for once, he let it go.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching her with an expression that made her stomach tighten.

"You know," he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "It's funny."

Phoebe arched a brow. "What is?"

"You." His smirk was subtle but knowing. "The way you pretend to be indifferent."

She tensed. "I'm not pretending."

His gaze flickered to the flowers on the seat beside her—his flowers.

"Sure," he said, voice laced with amusement.

Phoebe clenched her jaw.

She wanted to argue.

To tell him he was wrong.

But the truth was—

He wasn't.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because if Damon was still this good at reading her—

Then how long until he realized the one thing she was still trying to deny?

That despite everything—

Despite the past, despite the heartbreak, despite every reason she had to walk away—

She still wanted him.