After Damon slunk out of my office, I didn't hear from him for a week. I hadn't expected to, really, but I couldn't deny the twinge of disappointment I felt.

Damon didn't date. I didn't sleep around. We were incompatible at the most basic of levels.

Even so, I still re-read the texts he'd sent to me before I went to bed every night. I didn't know why I tortured myself like that. Maybe because those texts were the closest I'd come to sex in a long while. My job didn't leave much time for dating or boyfriends. I'd been living vicariously through Hope, and my sister wasn't one to divulge those kinds of things in detail.

I threw myself into my work, all the while trying to ignore the person I was doing all this for.

Katherine did the bulk of the research, leaving me to look after the logistics. I'd spent the last few days scouting out locations. My idea about using a stadium seemed to be on the right track. While some sleep outs took place on sidewalks or in parks, those were usually smaller events. For something with hundreds of people, there needed to be facilities to handle them. Not to mention, we had some great ideas about involving the community.

Katherine suggested inviting groups to set up booths to promote their own related causes, and getting some employment agencies in there to help the older homeless and at-risk teens find jobs. Maybe arrange for different types of entertainment and games to keep the attendees occupied during the event. That would be hard to organize if we had people sleeping on random sidewalks and park benches.

She also came up with the wonderful idea to get the attendees to donate some of their more professional clothing. Homeless teens could always use more clothing, especially nicer clothing for when they went on job interviews.

A real plan was beginning to form. I was also beginning to realize how complex this whole thing was going to be.

I was at one of the local college sports stadiums, taking pictures and making notes, when a familiar figure began walking across the field. I could tell it was Damon even from the distance. His confident stride couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. He waved his hand as he approached, not greeting me with words.

"Long time no see." I tried to keep the sarcasm from slipping out, to no avail.

"Hard at work?" he asked.

"Aren't I always?"

He nodded absentmindedly.

So it seemed we weren't going to address our previous conversation. That was fine. If Damon didn't want to get serious, I was all the better for it. I didn't need that kind of complication in my life. Not if I wanted to get that promotion. I needed to focus all my energy on my job. On this event.

Too bad this event was headed by the one person who had the power to derail me from my work.

"Is there a reason you're here?" I asked.

"Your intern emailed me with a list of places you were checking out. I decided to come see myself."

"And you couldn't have waited until I told you the details at our next meeting?"

"Impatient, remember?" he said.

"You need to learn some impulse control."

"Sounds boring." He glanced around the stadium. "I thought we were going to be sleeping outside?"

"A sleep out is more about the spirit of the thing," I explained. "We can't ask hundreds of people to sleep in a public park with no washrooms. What if it rains and someone gets sick? What if there's an accident and we need first aid to be on scene? How are we going to keep random people from crashing the event if there's no official entrance and exit?"

Damon whistled, lifting a brow. "You do think of everything."

"That's why you hired me."

Damon gave me a scrutinizing stare. It was different from his usual ones. The glint in his eye was less heated. He didn't linger on my breasts or legs. He looked almost impressed.

"You're really smart," he said.

A small glow of pride filled my chest. I tried to shove it down. I didn't care about impressing Damon Drake, playboy rock star.

I did, however, care about pleasing my client.

But it wasn't a sense of professional pride I felt. This was less familiar.

I'd felt the same way after he told me my sexting message was hot.

As much as I tried to deny it, some part of me did want Damon's approval.

I hated that I felt that way. Who the hell cared what Damon thought of me?

"I actually wanted to come see you in person before our meeting at your office," he said.

"Oh?" Was he going to bring up the dating thing?

"Your intern," he said. "Is she single?"

I gritted my teeth at the smirk on his face.

"Kidding," he said. "I wanted to tell you I've got a few friends on board. I thought you might want to know sooner rather than later. I know you hate things being sprung on you at the last minute."

My jaw slowly unclenched. I supposed that was thoughtful of him. Sort of. Maybe.

"And you couldn't tell me through email?" I asked.

"I wanted to see your face when I told you." He looked at me expectantly. "Diana Six has agreed to sponsor the event."

"Diana Six." I blinked. "The same Diana Six I'm wearing right now on my feet?"

"They're going to bring donated clothing," Damon said. "Professional work outfits, slacks and collared shirts, stuff like that. Help give the kids a leg up when looking for jobs."

My mouth dropped open, speechless.

"And here I thought you weren't a fangirl," he said when I couldn't make words leave my mouth.

"I don't think you understand how many pieces of Diana Six clothing I have in my closet," I finally managed to say.

"I'm sure I have an idea. Your sister told me."

I took in a slow breath, calming myself. This was beyond awesome. Katherine had been right — this might end up being the event of the year. That also meant the probability of something going wrong was even higher. I should have been intimated or overwhelmed. Instead, the challenge made it just that much more exciting.

I really did love my job.

"How did you pull that off?" I asked.

"You know those models I fuck in the back of limos?" he said. "Turns out they've got connections."

"I'm surprised any of them still talk to you after being thrown aside."

"Hey, the girls I sleep with know the deal. It's all just fun."

"You've got a weird sense of fun."

Damon's phone rang before he could respond.

"Sorry, you mind if I answer?" he asked.

I was surprised he even asked. Damon seemed the type to take phone calls or text whenever he felt like it no matter whom he was supposed to be speaking with in person at the time.

I gestured for him to go ahead and went back to taking pictures. I'd need to speak to the stadium manager, or whoever kept it operating, to find out its max capacity. I didn't want the fire marshals to shut us down because the event turned into a fire hazard.

After a few more snaps, I turned back to Damon, planning to tell him I was done and ready to leave.

His head was bowed, hair falling to cover his forehead and cheeks. What I could see of his face was pale, his bloodless lips pressed together firmly. He spoke into the phone with low tones. I couldn't hear what he was saying. His pale face made him look ill.

Concern immediately began to gnaw at my chest. I'd never seen Damon like that. I'd rarely seen anyone like that.

I stood to the side, awkwardly waiting while he finished his conversation. His voice rose at the end, a near hiss, lips curling into a sneer. He said a final word and dropped the phone from his ear. He looked at it like it was a snake ready to bite, his fingers clutched tight around it.

"You okay?" I asked carefully.

He nodded sharply. "Yeah," he said, not looking at me.

"Was it bad news?"

He jerked his head no. When he lifted his eyes to mine, they were full of a muted pain, with something close to fear in the whites of his eyes.

"I gotta go," he said shortly. He shoved his phone into his pocket and stalked off, back and shoulders stiff.

"Are you sure—" I began to ask, but he was already halfway across the field.

Confused and not a little worried, I waited until he was gone before following his path.

I'd seen Damon flirt and smirk and tease, but I'd never seen him like this. The closest to upset he'd been was when mentioning Ian and Hope's gross honeymoon stage. Even when I'd inadvertently touched on a sore subject when asking about his family, he'd merely gone quiet and changed the subject.

I pulled out my own phone and sent a quick text.

Hope you're okay, I wrote. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help.

The reply didn't come quickly, but when it did it was curt.

I'm fine.

Lips pursed, I had to assume this was Damon's way of saying mind your own business.

A few minutes later, as I was getting into my car, my phone pinged again with another text.

Thank you, it said.

Heart squeezing in my chest, I stared at his message for far too long before slowly pulling out of the parking lot and driving away.