Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter Six

WYNTER

“ W hat the fuck were you thinking Wynter?” Damon curses, leading me further into the pool house we’ve snuck into after rushing off the dance floor the moment I kissed him. I slam the door shut behind us, my hands trembling as I try to compose myself.

It’s useless though. This man brings out a part of me I have no control over.

It’s been hours since my impulsive decision to lie to everyone, blurting out Damon and I were together, and we've yet to have a moment alone to talk.

I’ll admit Damon’s reaction, or lack thereof, shocked me. Instead of calling me out on my bullshit like I expected him to, he tried his hardest to keep his cool when I word-vomited unexpectedly in the middle of the cocktail hour. We both knew it was the worst thing I could have probably said and done but in my defense, I panicked.

Being cornered by my mother when I least expected it after three years of not hearing a fucking peep from her, I had no clue how to respond. Anger, resentment, and betrayal were among a few emotions that rushed through me all at once the moment I turned and found her standing there, acting like no time had gone by.

Demanding something from me she had no right to demand.

Not to mention everything she said to me only made me feel so much worse. For a moment, I thought maybe she’d come back to apologize, to salvage the remaining bits of our relationship, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

After too many cocktails I forced myself to drink to keep my nerves settled, I mistakenly kissed Damon in the middle of the dance floor in front of my brother and all his friends.

To be honest, after we rushed away so quickly, they’re probably thinking we’ve run off for a completely different reason. And the thought of that happening makes my thighs instinctively press together to quiet the urge to follow through with the fantasy.

Instead, I watch as he restlessly paces back and forth across the room, desperately running a hand through his dark hair. He removed his suit coat right after his Best Man’s toast, and has now unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, showcasing the sleeves of dark ink covering his forearms.

His head hangs low, fury pulsating through him as he quickens his pace around the room. Damon’s angry. Not just angry, the terrifying Dragon is practically breathing out fire directly my way.

And he has every right to be angry with me because the truth is I have no fucking clue what I was thinking.

“I wasn’t Damon,” I finally say, unable to take the silence any longer.

For years I lived in nothing but deafening silence, letting the surrounding darkness consume me and succumbing to my own twisted mind and wretched thoughts. People think because on the outside it looked like I had everything I needed, I shouldn't struggle with the demons that lurk in the shadows and darkest corners of my mind.

But for three years I lived beside those demons after Enzo’s endless torture brought them to life. He may not have physically hurt me until recently, but his words, his actions, his ownership of me did worse than any physical damage he could have ever caused me.

My mind focuses back on Damon standing before me, pushing away the memories of a man who can no longer hurt me.

“I wasn’t thinking when I said it, I panicked. My mother she makes me fucking crazy. If I knew she’d show up here I wouldn’t have come, but now that I’ve thought things through, it makes perfect sense.” Not to mention with Damon at my side, no one would dare hurt me. They would have to go through my protective Dragon to do so.

He halts in his tracks, looking at me through thick, dark lashes. I can’t decipher what he’s thinking or the way he’s looking at me but regardless I can’t look away from him.

I swallow the knot lodged in my throat.

“Sense!?” he exclaims, losing his composure for just a split second before he’s back in control. “Oh, trust me, Princess, nothing about this makes fucking sense.”

In the next second he heads over to the end of the room, grabbing a bottle of liquor from behind the bar, not bothering to grab a glass from the counter. He twists it open, chugging the amber liquor straight from the bottle.

Walking over to join him, I reach out for the bottle and take it, taking a swig of it myself. The liquor burns down my throat but I swallow it down, needing more liquid courage to go through with this next part of my idiotic plan.

A plan I just thought of right now and am determined to execute.

I lean back against the bar, my eyes drifting around the room and taking in the sleek modern decor of the pool house. It’s quite beautiful as is the rest of the newly built Silver Estate. When Stella’s uncle Stephan was arrested for kidnapping her—and submitting her to years of endless abuse when they entrusted him with her safety as her guardian after her parents’ death—her cousin Sebastian had the entire home demolished and rebuilt.

Now he and his fiancée Jade live here with their twins Onyx and Sapphire, and were adamant to host Stella’s wedding.

“My mother, she’s out of money,” I mutter, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. However, his posture tells me he’s listening as he leans back on the bar beside me. “She ran out of whatever she could take with her before all their assets were seized, and now she’s come to me for more.”

Damon grabs the bottle out of my hands and takes another drink but he doesn’t speak, instead silently urging me to continue.

“I won’t give her a cent of what is rightfully mine. Not after the hell they’ve all put me through.” I close my eyes, pushing back the tears that have been threatening to come out since I left New York. My response catches his attention and his gaze turns toward me only I’m not strong enough to meet his eyes.

I’ve been nothing but vulnerable in front of him since the moment I showed up at his doorstep. Any longer and he’ll see right through my lies, discovering every dark secret I’ve been hiding. I can’t let that happen.

I keep my gaze on the ring I wear on my middle finger, swirling the diamond band around. “But I also won’t give into her schemes. Willa wants me to find an old, rich husband that can financially give her what she needs, but I won’t allow her to manipulate me anymore.”

“What does this have to do with me, Wyn?” Damon mutters, but deep down I think he knows the answer.

I swallow my pride, determined to see this plan I’ve concocted in my mind through. “You’re the only one who can help me with this, Damon. What I’m trying to say is… I'm in need of your services.”

The moment the words leave my lips his body goes completely stiff and I almost regret having said it out loud. What was I thinking?

I’d heard rumors circulating amongst the women in my society before I left town, first hand by my mother’s posh group of Real Housewife frenemies. They spoke of a young man, hotter than any guy they’d ever seen, who went by the name of Draco. He’d recently joined the elite escort service they often used for private events and parties they attended. But it wasn’t until the week before I left I realized the rumors were true.

I showed up to my friend Kinsley’s graduation party, and my mother’s best friend Clarissa O’Neal—who was married to Kinsley’s dad—was sharing explicit photos of her liaisons with the illustrious Draco.

I caught sight of the man in the photo and there was no denying it was Damon, dressed in nothing but black leather pants, his face covered by one of those Phantom of the Opera half masks. But I recognized the tattoos covering his body, I recognized his body all too well.

And I couldn’t mistake the predatory look in his illustrious green eyes.

The one similar to the way he’s staring at me now.

Damon’s scowl deepens, his hand moving to grip my chin as he turns my face toward his. Like a child about to be scolded, he holds my chin in place. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and force myself to meet his daunting gaze head on. There they are again, feral eyes looking deep into mine searching for an explanation. Searching for a reason, answers he seeks as to what I’m up to. Answers he won’t find.

I stand up straighter and inhale a sharp breath willing myself to have courage. I won’t back down until I get him to agree. “Are you really going to make me say it, Damon?”

A dark and frankly disturbing smirk appears on his lips, thick, dark eyebrows furrowing in between his forehead as a pair of green eyes glower at me in disdain. “Spell it out for me Servite, because I have no fucking clue what you’re trying to imply.”

There’s a sharp bite in his voice as he spits out my last name like it is fucking poison. I roll my eyes in response, mustering the courage to just outright say what I want. I’ve never been this indecisive, but there's something about him that gets me so unnerved. I’m sick of it, so fucking tired of feeling so goddamn weak when I’m near him.

“I want to hire you, Damon Drake,” I blurt out, but his face remains stoic. “I want to hire you not only as my date, but I need you to be my fake boyfriend.” Damon’s face remains expressionless, like what I’ve just said has not affected him whatsoever. Maybe it’s a mask of indifference used to hide his genuine reaction, regardless, I need him to agree. “Please, I need your help.”

To say Damon was pissed is like saying the sky is blue, the sun is hot, and the ocean is endless. A fact, obvious to anyone who can see it, yet the reality of it is much graver.

Damon Drake was disappointed in me—appalled I’d stooped so low and asked that of him.

Though, what truly threw me for a loop was the shock that was etched into the outer creases of his eyes. It took a lot of courage for me to come out and flat out say it, but his reaction made little sense.

Surely if this was something he was used to doing, I didn’t understand why was it so shocking I’d dare to request to hire him? His profession, if you could call it that, was no longer a secret. I’d found out, and his reaction only proved my suspicions were true.

Damon was a male escort, and although I didn’t know exactly what that title entailed, I knew he took money in exchange for the pleasure of his company, among other things.

And after what happened between us at the wedding, it made sense for me to proposition him.

It was obvious we had chemistry. It was so palpable, everyone in the room could tell that the sexual tension between us was close to setting the entire tent ablaze. Yet Damon refused to believe that anyone would believe our ruse.

At least that’s what he was trying to get me to believe.

“I know what you do,” I paused, swallowing my pride and mustering enough moxie to continue. “For work.” He slammed the liquor bottle on the bar counter behind us, and I flinched at the thought it would shatter from the force of it.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, Wyn,” he snarled, his eyes glaring at me with an intensity I’d never seen before. “Is that why you came to me? The reason you showed up at my door yesterday. Was this your fucking plan all along, Servite?”

The room shrank in as dread filled me. How dare he think so poorly of me after all we’d been through?

Though once again, he spit my name out like an insult, and I hate to admit that it fucking hurt. That deep down he still held my parentage against me. I thought we’d moved past that. That he no longer cared who my brother, who my father was. I’d proved to him I was nothing like them.

But then again, had I?

It’d been a year since we’d last spoken before I showed up at his door without warning, demanding he help me. Demanding to use him for my benefit, and before then I’d left without confiding in him, trusting him although he was supposed to be my best friend, my confidant.

Now here I was again, demanding he help me after already making it impossible for him to refuse. And I’d offered him nothing in return.

That was my problem. The curse I'd been burdened with since birth. I was everything he’d originally thought of me. Entitled, condescending, a total fucking brat who believed she deserved everything offering nothing in return.

“That you have to ask me that hurts, Damon. You know I wouldn’t have come to you if I had any other choice.” His jaw tensed and for a split second I spotted a hint of hurt in his eyes that mirrored what I felt deep inside. That definitely hadn’t come out the way I wanted it to sound.

Goddammit Wynter, you're just digging yourself deeper into this mess. But this man drives me absolutely crazy!

“That’s not what I…”

“No need to explain yourself to me, Princess.” The hurt in his eyes was back but just as quickly he blinked it away and back was the wickedly sinful man who made me wish he’d drop to his knees and claim me. The man I tirelessly dreamt with every night, wishing he’d fulfill my most wicked fantasies. Wishing he’d make all the monsters disappear.

My unlikely hero.

I hated the way we’d left things the last time I was here, and now history was repeating itself.

Yet in the end Damon agreed to help me. Well, he agreed to work for me.

We hadn’t spoken since we each went to bed in our separate bedrooms that night, and now, two days later, I was about to walk into his office to go over the contract he’d drawn up for the services he’d be providing me with.

It still sounds so bizarre saying out loud but I have to treat this like any other business transaction. It’s the perfect plan to get my mother off my back and make her forget the ridiculous scheme of finding me a husband. Not to mention since I’m here running from what happened between Enzo and I in New York, this is the perfect cover.

Damon Drake is my perfect alibi.

Sitting in Damon’s home office, across from his desk in the plush leather maroon chair, my foot taps incessantly on the hardwood floor as I watch him. His gaze runs back and forth along the paper he’s holding up in front of him. It’s a thick packet, a contract along with a nondisclosure agreement and a few other forms I’ll admit I flipped through hardly skimming over the legal jargon.

Drake was running a legit business. Kingsman , was a foolproof enterprise complete with a list of qualified male personnel and a highly exclusive clientele list. From what I’d read online Kingsman is a primarily male escort service where young men are hired to accompany society women to social events or other private activities .

Yet according to the contract I read, there’s an added clause in every contract which states sexual acts are not prohibited, nor guaranteed as part of the arrangement, although they could be offered for an extra price and with mutual consent.

I feel my phone vibrate in my purse on my lap, but I decide to ignore it. I can barely feel my fingers as I clasp my hands tightly in front of me, resting them on my lap to stop them from fiddling nervously. I could use the distraction but I’m finding it hard to look away from him.

He looks fucking delectable today. The dark emerald suit he’s wearing, not the usual black ensemble he’s always dressed in, brightens the color of his green eyes hidden behind the thickest, longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man.

The tattoos painted along his neck have extended to the edge of his jaw blending in with the now thin layer of dark hair which forms the perfect shadow against his sharp features. I want nothing more to straddle him where he sits, watching the fabric of his pants strain over his thick bulge as his erection grows under me.

I want to lick my way down his throat tearing open his black shirt and continuing my trail over his pecs, down his abs, until I’m kneeled before him, taking him all into my mouth. I want nothing more than to taste him again, to bring him to the edge of his orgasm and watch his expression as his warm cum shoots down my throat, spilling out of my lips as I struggle to swallow it down completely.

I clear my throat, shoving the fantasy to the back of my mind. I need to prove that I’m taking this arrangement seriously in order for him to fully cooperate. Throwing myself at him before we’ve signed on the dotted line will only make him back out on me.

I need this. I have to think about my future and if someone from Enzo’s life were to come looking for me, having Damon by my side would be beneficial.

Which is why I went as far as dressing for the occasion.

A simple cream-colored satin dress with thin straps and a matching coat. I’ve paired the outfit with the brand new pair of Manolo’s I purchased yesterday during my trip to the same boutique I used to frequent in the past. To say it was an awkward reunion would put it lightly, but I couldn’t let their less than friendly welcoming put a damper in my good mood.

I came prepared, both physically and emotionally having signed the paperwork myself last night after Damon had not so subtly tucked the yellow envelope under my door. It pissed me off he didn’t have the decency to look me face to face when he did but after reading it over I was grateful I didn’t have to do it with his intense watchful eyes on me.

I’d stayed up all night going over it, obsessing over every detail and clause wondering if it was customary or if he’d added it in just for me.

1. No relationship out of the working hours set in the contract: 4pm to 9pm on weekdays and 5pm-10pm on weekends.

Five hours, which he’d so graciously added, as that’s what our friendship had been reduced to. Five fucking hours of his time.

2. In the public eye, we’re the perfect couple. Happy, passionate, in love. But in private we will remain nothing more than friends.

That one hurt. But worse than that, I feared we were likely about to become strangers.

3. Lastly, no sex.

No PDA essentially other than what was necessary for the ruse of a relationship, but in bold, capital letters was the fact that he wouldn’t fuck me. Again, I should be grateful that we wouldn’t be confusing this business deal with something more, but then why was it so disappointing to read?

My phone vibrates once again, reminding me I have an unread text message. Damon’s eyes lift from the paper for a second before they shift back to continue reading.

“Don’t ignore that on my account,” he mutters dismissively, irritation distinctly heard in the gruffness of his voice. “We’re almost finished here.”

He sets the contract on the desk in front of him and grabs a pen from the holder to his right. I watch as his finger grip the shiny silver pen, slowly gliding along as black ink spills along the paper.

He slides it forward while I dig in my purse to retrieve my new cell phone. It’s odd I’ve received a message since no one but Damon has my new phone number.

I quickly unlock it with a facial scan and click open the messenger app tapping on the little green bubble icon. My eyes zero in on the unknown number which appears at the top with an alert they are not in my contact list. That’s odd. Must be a spam caller who’s trying to get me to click on some link which is surely carrying a virus of some sort that will try to hack into my bank account.

Scammers these days have gotten crafty. I’m about to exit out of the app when something in the body of text catches my eye.

With trembling fingers, I tap the screen opening the message, my heart dropping to my feet as I read it repeatedly, unbelieving of the words I’m seeing.

2124173422: “Magic Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” - E

A rush of cold washes over me making my limbs go numb. My mind races with horrid thoughts, panic threatening to overcome me as I stare at my phone screen.

This can’t be right. It has to be some sick fucking joke.

I read over the phone number once more hoping my eyes are deceiving me and I’m just being overly paranoid. But there’s no mistake. No error because my dead husband’s phone number is flashing on my screen before me.

“All that’s left is the payment.” Damon’s deep monotone voice brings me back to reality but I can’t drag my gaze away from my phone screen. Three dots appear on the screen showing someone typing and I gasp out loud, unable to hold in my shock.

“Wynter,” Damon utters, annoyed I’ve yet to acknowledge him.

Another message comes in and by this point I’m shaking in my seat, unable to control myself, on the verge of losing my shit.

2124173422: You know I don’t like being ignored, Snow. You’ve broken my heart, carina. You know I don’t forgive and forget, easily il mio tesoro. - E

“Are we finished here,” I blurt out, my voice shaky as I stand tucking my phone back into my purse.

“What happened?” Damon demands, but I can’t force myself to look at him. Instead, my eyes shift around the room taking in the clean and modern decor of his home office that of course matches the rest of his house.

Sleek black furniture a stark contrast to the light gray walls, and a large balcony overlooking the backyard and the expansive pool complete with a waterfall. It’s beautiful and I suddenly feel the urge to jump out of the window and let the water pull me under. Because for a split second I’m transported back to the rooftop I was standing on only five days ago, staring over the ledge, and contemplating jumping to my death to get away from what I’d done.

Though now, the man I’ve been running from was no longer gone, unless ghosts now had cell service and could text from “a should be dead” man’s phone.

“Nothing,” I murmur dismissively. “I just have somewhere I need to be.” I pick up the contract and read over the front where it outlines the cost of his services.

Two hundred thousand dollars for the duration of the contract. I squint my eyes, looking over a recent addition he’s written in black ink.

Two months. That’s how long he’s willing to pretend. Two months and this charade will be over.

I blink away a tear threatening to fall and I’m not sure what’s caused it. The fear that’s crept over me from the messages I received, or that he’s put an end date on our relationship . I used to tell myself over and over that I didn’t want him that way. That despite the one night we spent together and the friendship that flourished between us, our happily ever after wasn’t written in the stars.

Damon Drake wasn’t for me. He's nothing like the guys I usually dated. We’re from two completely different worlds, even now that his bank account matches mine, we couldn’t be more different.

Yet after all this time, it’s my heart that still beats for him.

Two months. That’s how long I have to convince him that this is more real than he knows.