Damien stands in the private elevator of his penthouse condo in downtown Chicago as it climbs to the top, his blazer hooked over his shoulder by his fingers. The upbeat music playing through the speakers enters his ears, gaining a foot tap in unison to the heavy guitar chords. Slowly bobbing his head to the beat, his shoulders join in until he is full-on, rocking out. His high-spirited mood is suddenly killed as soon as the metal double doors open. Freezing in place at being caught, he clears his throat as his personal assistant, Spencer, stares at him unamused. The well-dressed young man taps his foot impatiently with one hand on his hip and a thick file resting in his bent arm. His salmon color shirt is tucked into tan slacks accented with a brown belt and shoes.
“Okay, so I see you are
