Damian's Pov
I'd never been good at talking about emotions. Numbers, strategy, control all those things came naturally but my feelings? They were messy, unpredictable and dangerous and yet, here I was, sitting across from Adrian in the dimly lit lounge of the St. Regis, swirling the same glass of whiskey I'd barely touched.
He studied me with that smug, all-knowing expression only he could pull off. "You've been quiet for twenty minutes, Cross. That's a new record. What's eating you?"
I leaned back, exhaling through my nose. "Nothing."
He chuckled. "Right and I'm the Pope." He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes glinting. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your very lovely therapist, would it?"
I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "She's not..."
"Your employee?" he interrupted. "I know. You've said it a dozen times. She's your therapist." He smirked. "Which makes this even more interesting."
I didn't respond. Every word felt like a mine waiting to go off.
Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You've been different lately, like you've been calmer, quieter. It's like you are almost human."
"Almost?" I muttered.
He grinned. "Almost. Which means something or someone is getting under your skin."
I set the glass down a little too hard. "Emma is… doing her job."
"She must be doing it very well," he said dryly. "You talk about her without even realizing it. Half the time you call me to discuss a merger, you end up mentioning her name."
I stared at the ice melting in my drink. "It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
For a long moment, I didn't answer. I hated this, how I feel, the vulnerability, the exposure but the truth clawed at me.
"She's different," I said finally. "She doesn't care about the money, the power, the name. She looks at me like she actually sees me. Not Damian Cross, CEO of Cross Enterprises. Just… me."
Adrian raised a brow. "That sounds dangerously close to admiration."
"It's not," I said too quickly. "It's just… inconvenient."
He laughed softly. "You sound like you're describing a scheduling conflict, not an emotional crisis."
"Maybe that's what it is," I said, half to myself. "It is a distraction, something that shouldn't exist."
"Except it does," he countered. "And from what I've heard, it's not just a distraction. You nearly lost your mind when she agreed to go out with that other guy."
My jaw tightened. "James." The name tasted bitter.
Adrian gave me a knowing smirk. "Right...…..Him. You know, jealousy looks good on you. It makes you seem less robotic."
I glared at him. "I'm not jealous."
"Of course not," he said, raising his glass in mock salute. "You just told her to cancel her date and then hijacked her evening for yourself. That's completely rational."
I didn't bother defending myself. He wasn't wrong.
The memory of that morning played on repeat in my mind with her standing in front of me, with fire in her eyes, telling me I didn't own her. She was right. I didn't. But every time she looked at someone else, laughed at something that wasn't mine, something inside me twisted.
Adrian's voice broke through my thoughts. "You've got it bad, man."
I rubbed a hand over my face. "I can't. She's my therapist. There are lines."
"Lines," he repeated with a smirk. "You mean the ones you've already crossed?"
I shot him another warning look, but he didn't back off.
"You like her," he said simply. "And not in the way you think you can manage or control. That's why you're terrified."
I didn't answer. He was right again, damn him.
I'd faced corporate takeovers, lawsuits, scandals but this? This woman? She was my undoing. Emma Lawson walked into my life armed with empathy and boundaries, and somehow she'd managed to dismantle me piece by piece.
I drained the rest of my drink. "Even if I did… feel something, it wouldn't matter. She would never see me that way."
Adrian gave me a look that bordered on pity. "You're blind if you think that. The way she looks at you? It's not professional, well it was but not anymore."
"She deserves better," I said quietly. "Someone who doesn't break everything he touches."
He sighed, leaning back. "You always think love is supposed to be safe or predictable. It's not. It's messy, inconvenient, and it'll scare the hell out of you. But if she means something, if she's already inside your head this much, you owe it to yourself to tell her."
I frowned. "You think I should confess to her?"
"I think," he said, swirling his glass, "that if you don't, someone else will."
That hit harder than I wanted to admit.
I'd already seen what it looked like—her laughing with James, her guard down, that spark in her eyes that I used to think was only for me. It was enough to make my blood heat, to remind me how fragile this control of mine really was.
Adrian checked his watch and stood. "You're running out of excuses, Damian. Either tell her what you feel, or prepare to watch her move on because a woman like that? She won't wait forever."
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and left, leaving me with the silence and the truth I'd been avoiding.
By the time I got home, the city was asleep but I wasn't.
Her voice echoed in my mind. It was calm, patient, maddeningly sincere.
You can't keep doing this—pretending you don't care and then acting like you own me.
She was right. I couldn't keep pretending, not to her, and not to myself. I poured another drink, though I didn't touch it. My reflection in the glass window looked every bit the man I'd tried to escape becoming.
But under all that steel, something had cracked.
I wanted her and it wasn't in a way where I wanted control or victory but in a way that terrified me.
My hand tightened around the glass.
Tomorrow. I'd tell her tomorrow before someone else did because for the first time in years, I wanted something, someone that I couldn't buy, control, or predict.
And her name was Emma Lawson.