Damon Classic Romance Tropes Bundle

Marietta Edwards climbed out of a taxi and stared at the crowd of people hoping to get into the trendiest new dance club in Monte Carlo. The line meandered down the city block, occasionally spilling over the curb. “We’re never going to get in.”

“Sure we will,” Anne replied, leaning over to pay the driver. “I know people. You’re not going to get out of this so easily. We had an agreement. I pick out the man. You pick him up.”

Marietta gave her friend an impatient look, disguising the knot of both excitement and fear in her belly. “I’m not trying to get out of it. I’m going to do this.”

Anne had been a friend in the private school they’d both attended in Aix-en-Provence, but a few years ago Anne had moved to Monte Carlo to work as an assistant to a fashion designer. She was far more stylish and cosmopolitan than Marietta would ever be. “It’s just about picking him up, though. You don’t have to actually take him anywhere. Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not going to jump into bed with some random guy on a silly dare. But I want to do this. Just to prove I can move on.”

She was twenty-five and done with an existence on the sidelines.

Anne led Marietta around the line of wannabe club-goers. The bouncer recognized Anne immediately and waved them past the rope, much to the chagrin of the well-dressed couple at the front of the line, who had probably been waiting hours to get inside.

The loud music slammed excitement into Marietta as they stood at the entrance. Every square foot of the dance floor was packed with gyrating bodies. The bar was barely visible beyond the crowd that surrounded it, and the shuddering strobe lights made the elegant, old-fashioned décor look bizarrely anachronistic.

A flare of panic sliced through her spine when she saw drinks in everyone’s hands. She looked over at Anne with a silent question.

Anne understood. “The club is famous for a mixed drink called the Speakeasy. Almost everyone orders that, or else wine or champagne. There’s not much beer served. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”

Relief unclenched Marietta’s chest. All her life, she’d suffered from an inexplicable reaction to the smell and taste of beer. It made her ill. It made her panic. One of the reasons she’d never been much of a partier—even after she’d been able to walk again—was that she couldn’t stand being around beer.

She squared her shoulders. No more living a quiet, sheltered life. Maybe it was natural—she’d been in a wheelchair for thirteen years after a car accident as a child, and she’d only started walking again two years ago. With the lawsuit against the Damons settled, it was time to go out and have fun, like other women her age.

She wanted to meet new people. Do new things.

She wanted to have sex.

Well, having sex tonight wasn’t part of the plan, but she could take a first step and flirt with a stranger. The lights, the crowd, the music buoyed her with the thrill of freedom and promise of the night.

Anne had come up with the pick-up plan.

“Let’s get a drink,” Anne said, pulling Marietta by the arm as they entered the main room and maneuvered to the bar.

They stayed close to the wall, since there was no way to get through the press of bodies on the dance floor. In the confusion and the flashing lights, Marietta tripped on someone’s foot, nearly falling on top of a man in a business suit who’d managed to snag the best of the few tables in the club.

She reached out to brace herself, clutching his shoulders and ending up almost in his lap.

The man muttered a surprised exclamation and grabbed her, either to keep her from hurting herself or to keep her from landing on the state-of-the-art tablet he’d been working on.

“Sorry,” she gasped, half-laughing and half-embarrassed. She spoke in English instead of French, which she spoke as well, since that was the language the man had used.

“No problem.” Even in the pulsing lights, she could see his eyes were an unusually soft chocolate brown color. The most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. They flickered over her briefly but didn’t linger.

Anne helped Marietta regain her feet and continued dragging her toward the bar.

Marietta’s gaze returned to the man. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and a clean-cut, handsome face. He’d focused on his tablet again and had evidently forgotten her existence.

What the hell was he doing at a dance club if he was just going to work?