A few minutes passed.
The doors clicked open behind Zoe.
She stepped aside, letting out a breath of relief as a young man walked in. He was holding a digital recorder and a notepad.
But Zoe's relief evaporated in exactly three seconds.
The young reporter, whose name badge read Toby, was wearing a sheer, patterned silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He took one look at Damien sitting in the dim, moody lighting of the suite, and Toby's entire body seemed to…come alive.
'Oh my god,' Zoe thought, her soul leaving her body. 'He's gayer than a Broadway musical.'
"H-Hi," Toby breathed, walking toward the glass table. He completely missed the chair and bumped his thigh into the armrest before clumsily dropping into the seat. His eyes were wide, tracking the broad, muscular line of Damien's chest visible beneath his buttoned collar. "I'm Toby. I'll be taking over."
"Excellent," Damien said, his voice a deep, impatient rumble. "Let's begin. I have somewhere to be."
