Bet Me; Chapter 1; The Return
Chapter 1: The Return
Chicago, Present Day, One Thursday Night
"No way, Ric. Look it sounds great, but I was done with that town a long time ago," Damon Salvatore told his old English teacher, Alaric Saltzman.
"I know, I know. We're all rich assholes."
"Not you, Ric. Never you."
Ric chuckled. "This group of students could learn a lot from you. A couple of them are very talented."
"I'm sure they are. But they have money, they don't need me."
"You'd be doing your old teacher a favor."
"What would I do in between these workshops?"
"Work at the Mystic Falls Tribune."
Elena Gilbert worked at the Mystic Falls Tribune. Damon could just imagine the look on her face if he turned up to work there. She'd never forgiven him for the night of the prom. He'd been a jerk to her; he knew that. She had considered him beneath her, so he had taken her to the prom, kissed her, and then left her for Katherine. Ten years was enough time to feel some remorse, but the past was the past; it couldn't be undone. He might have felt worse about it if she hadn't walked into the prom after him, and danced with Matt Donovan, who had gone stag, all night.
He'd looked at Elena's work from time to time over the years; whether because of guilt or curiosity, or something else he didn't know. He actually kind of missed the rivalry they'd shared in high school. Competing against her always brought out the best in him. She was doing well at the Tribune. Her writing was engaging, creative, but too attached at times.
"Damon, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"I took the liberty of making a couple of calls to Fred Jensen, at the Tribune. He'd be more than happy to offer you a job. In fact, he was saying that they could use a big shot like you right now. The Herald is beating them in sales at the moment."
"You know I said I'd never go back. You can't make me eat those words."
"Come on, don't you want to show off your success to those rich assholes?"
"I can see what you're doing there, Ric. Not going to work," Damon said, smiling.
"Damn," Ric said. "Listen, just think it over. I need an answer within the next week. Promise me you'll think it over."
"Promise."
"I'll call you in a week."
"My answer will be the same."
"I'll call you anyway. Talk to you then."
"Bye, Ric," Damon said, hanging up the phone.
***
Mystic Falls, The Next Friday Morning
"Thanks Al," Elena said, handing over the money for the same paper she requested every Friday morning.
"I don't get it. You kids can read everything on the internet these days."
"I'm collecting them," she said to Al.
It was true she could search for Damon Salvatore's articles on line, but she couldn't attack her computer screen with a red pen. It was much better to keep her editing to the paper. Besides, there was something she liked about the actual act of reading through a newspaper. She picked her coffee up off the counter, along with her mail, and headed for her car. Truth be told, Damon rarely made a mistake, but when he did, she felt like she'd won the jackpot.
She put the newspaper, and mail, on the car seat beside her, and her coffee in the cup holder, and drove to work. After zipping into her normal car space at work, she turned off the car, unbuckled her seat belt and took the red pen out of the glove compartment. Then she settled back in her seat with her pen and his article. Unfortunately, this was a Friday like almost every other Friday; zip, nada, zilch. His writing was flawless.
Damon Salvatore had taken her to the prom as a joke. Was it too much to ask for one little mistake? She didn't know whether the salt in the wound had been watching him win Prom King while Katherine on prom night, or him winning the scholarship she'd wanted so desperately. One day; one day, he'd screw up, and she'd be watching. In the meantime, reading his work motivated her for reasons she didn't want to think about.
Throwing the paper onto the back seat with the rest of the Chicago Sun papers she'd collected, she opened her mail. She had already ripped into the envelope before she realized what it was. She took out the invitation and looked at it.
Mystic Falls High School, Class of 2001 Ten Year Reunion
She threw her invitation onto the back seat with the rest of her rubbish pile, and walked into work at seven-thirty am on the dot.
"Morning, Elena."
"Morning, Jimmy."
"Any plans for the weekend?"
"Not yet. You?"
"The usual. You should come and see my new show sometime. It's awesome."
Jimmy McAllister was involved in Mystic Falls Theater Company, and she'd been to see one of his shows. It would be fair to say that not all art was her cup of tea. Still, she didn't want to disappoint him.
"Maybe next weekend," she told him.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, before he walked off to his desk. As her colleagues drifted in, all of them stopped by her station to say hello to her. Despite the cutthroat nature of their jobs, she liked it here, and she liked her workmates.
She sat down at her desk and powered on her laptop, while looking through the file of information she'd collected on Klaus Von Gruber. This guy thought he was the miracle cure for every failing marriage and relationship out there. What set him apart from other therapists was his emphasis on hypnosis, and mind 'persuasion'. Elena thought it sounded more like brainwashing. He charged exorbitant fees, but couple after couple who had been to his workshop said they'd been cured. He had a hundred percent success rate, but Elena knew something was off. Mr and Mrs Lockwood had been to see him, and they'd returned…different.
She'd been asking the boss to let her cover a story on Von Gruber for ages, but he hadn't said yes yet. Fred Jensen had told her she needed more than a hunch for the company to part with the money needed to send her to one of those workshops. She'd been looking, but she couldn't find enough to satisfy him. There was a week-long workshop coming up in four weeks, and she had to be in on that. Elena knew once she was there, she could do some digging, find out what was really going on, but she needed something that would make Jensen say yes first.
***
Chicago, The Same Friday Morning
"Yo, Salvatore!"
"What's up Jonesy?"
"Have you heard of this miracle cure for relationships?"
Damon looked up from his computer and frowned at Raymond Jones, his buddy at The Chicago Sun. "Miracle Cure?"
Anything that was labeled miracle cure had him suspicious.
"Can fix any relationship apparently. No problem too big or too small."
"Local?"
"Place just outside of Mystic Falls."
"Tell me more."
"Check it out yourself."
"Thanks," Damon told him, as a glossy brochure landed in his lap.
"One hundred percent success rate," Damon read aloud. Nothing had a one hundred percent success rate. "Guaranteed to work, or your money back."
Damon typed in the address of the website listed on the pamphlet. The prices were insane, but according to the introduction, no-one ever left unhappy. Damon didn’t believe it. It couldn't be true that every couple that had attended a workshop was still together. Something wasn't right. He scrolled through the information, stopping when he spotted the words, hypnosis, mind persuasion.
As an award winning journalist, Damon had learned to trust his instincts. They'd never steered him wrong so far, and right now, he was sure that this story was a big one. He spent the better part of the morning finding out everything he could about the therapist. Klaus Von Gruber was something of a phenomenon, and Damon was surprised he hadn't heard of him before, not that he'd been in a relationship long enough to need couples therapy. He wondered how many reporters had tried to dig up something on the guy and failed.
If he could expose this therapist as a fraud, after hundreds of innocent people had been duped, he would pull ahead of the pack. A story like this would attract attention from people in the industry who could pave the way for the career of his dreams. He would be given the best assignments. People would seek him out. He would establish himself at the top of the food chain.
Many of the testimonials on the site were from the residents of Mystic Falls. The rich were the only ones who could afford the exorbitant prices that were being asked. Von Gruber had certainly picked his location well. Damon couldn't say he felt sorry to see the rich people of Mystic Falls fall victim to a scam; not when he was used writing about homelessness, poverty and the growing gap between the rich and the poor. However, a scam was a scam, and he prided himself on his ability to uncover even the truth. To write the story properly, he'd have to spend some time in the place he'd sworn never to return to. He'd also have to get into that couples retreat. He stood up, and stretched, before heading for John Whittleman's office. He'd need time and money to do this story justice.
"And who is going to replace you while you're off in, Mystic Falls?" Whittleman asked him, his face red, and his thick, dark mustache bouncing around from side to side as he spoke. "I can't afford for you to be gone for a month on one story."
"This is it, Boss. I can feel it. Imagine how many papers we'll sell when I nail this idiot."
"Would you listen to yourself? You young ones think you know everything."
"I've never been wrong before," Damon reminded him.
"There's a first time for everything."
"I know that, but this isn't it. You have to trust me."
"You have good instincts kid, but I'm not footing the bill for this. I'm sorry."
"What if I take holiday pay?" He had enough stored up. "Or I can work for the Tribune while I'm there."
They weren't competing newspapers, so hopefully his boss would go for it. It would help if he had to have access to the Tribune's facilities while he was away.
"Got it all figured haven’t you?" Whittleman asked him gruffly.
"You won't be sorry," Damon said, grinning.
Whittleman shook his head. "Don’t make me regret this. This better be one hell of a story."
"Thank you, Boss, you won't regret it."
After lunch, however, Whittleman called him into his office. "You can't go snooping around in someone else's backyard, without giving heads up first. Not that backyard anyway."
"Boss?" Damon said, not following.
Whittleman was the one who had always told him that ethics had no place in the newspaper business. Last time Damon had gone to him with an ethical dilemma, Whittleman had said 'that's what we have lawyers for.'
"There are a lot of powerful people in Mystic Falls. You don't want to go pissing off the wrong people in that town."
Damon was mentally shaking his head, an rolling his eyes. Rich people could be such a pain in the ass. He was trying to uncover a scam, and do them a favor. But it wasn’t like Whittleman to tread so carefully.
"So what do we do in this situation?" Damon asked him.
"I've been in touch with Fred Jensen at the Tribune. He's an old golfing buddy of mine."
"And?" Damon asked, not liking where this was going.”
"They have a journalist who's been investigating this story for some time. Fred and I have agreed the papers will go halves on this couples retreat for the two of you, and you'll need to work with her and share your research leading up to this retreat."
"What's the name of the journalist?" Damon asked, thinking it couldn't possibly be her. What were the chances?
"Girl named Gibbert, no Globert, no it was Gilbert. That's the one." Whittleman told him.
Great minds think alike, he thought, amused momentarily. She would never agree to work with him, though.
"What if she says no?"
"You better hope she doesn't say no, or I'm pulling this idea. You're investigating a damn relationship therapist. You need a partner."
"I could take Becky, or Lana."
"I need them here. We're talking about weeks of research. I'm not losing two journalists on this idea. You hear me, Salvatore?"
"I could take a girlfriend."
"No hanky-panky. I want your mind on the job. You do this with Gilbert, or not at all."
Right now he wanted to beat his head against a brick wall. Even if Elena agreed to work with him, she would be more likely to try sabotaging him than helping him.
"And how will the article be written?" Damon asked.
"You'll both write separate articles, yours for the Sun, and hers for the Tribune."
Damon nodded. At least he didn't have to share his byline with her.
"We want this article to be superior to the Tribune's of course."
"You said you didn't want to piss people off."
"You do everything like I said - share your research, and investigate together, but if you find something she misses at that retreat, you keep it to yourself. Chicago Sun wants the big story. Got that?"
"Absolutely," Damon replied.
Elena would love that.
"I told Fred you'd write a few articles for the Tribune before the retreat, and they'll pay you a wage for your time. Understood?"
Damon nodded. "Anything else?"
"Don't screw this up. You better win a damn award for this story."
"Yes, Boss," Damon said, before walking back to his desk.
"You start on Monday. Better start packing," Whittleman called after him.
Damon got back to his desk and called Ric.
"This is unexpected," his friend said. "Change your mind already?"
"You could say that. I'm in. I'll be back on Monday."
"Glad to hear it," Ric told him.
Damon could hear the smile in his friend's voice, and thought at least one person would be happy to see him back in Mystic Falls. Was there any way he and Elena would be able to work together after prom night? If she'd been researching Klaus Von Gruber for a while then hopefully she wanted this as much as he did. He hoped so, because he didn't let anything stand in the way of a good story.
***
Mystic Falls, Friday Afternoon
"Gilbert," Jensen hollered. "Get in here."
Elena blinked at the screen in front of her, before jumping out of her chair and rushing into Jensen's office.
"I've got good news for you, Gilbert. My mind has been changed on this Von Gruber story," Jensen told her.
He had a cigar in one hand, and smoke was billowing out the open window. He was short, but stocky, and his hair was thick and grey, with a ribbon of black just over the ears. His cuffs were rolled up, as if he meant business, and he was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to answer.
"Does this mean I can go to the couples retreat as well?"
"Yes it does."
"You won't regret it," Elena told him. "I already have the angle planned, and I was thinking I could take Larry to the retreat. We've worked together before, and-"
"I've already secured you a partner for this assignment, Gilbert."
"I can work just as well with Davis, if needed."
"I had a call from John Whittleman at the Chicago Sun today,"
"The Sun," Elena repeated. She knew only one person who worked at The Chicago Sun.
"That's right," Jensen said. "It seems Damon Salvatore has taken an interest in this Von Gruber story."
Elena didn't know if she was more infuriated that it had taken Damon Salvatore to take an interest in the story for Jensen to consider there might be something worth looking into, or more worried, because it had sounded like Jensen meant for her to work with him. There was no way on God's earth she wanted to work with him, and pretend they were married! It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much, but Jensen would give the story - her story - to someone else if she did.
"This is the way it's going to work," Jensen continued. "You and he will research and investigate this story together. You'll go to this retreat together, but you'll write separate stories."
"Is that all?" Elena asked weakly.
"I expected a bit more enthusiasm, Gilbert. I've got a bet riding on this. John thinks their paper can out-scoop us. I told him he had rocks in his head. I can give the story to Star, if you're not up to it."
"I want it," Elena told him, hating Damon Salvatore more and more with every second that passed.
"Well, good. I told John you're one of our best. I'm expecting a great story out of this. I'm talking about the story that will put us ahead of The Herald, once and for all. Can you do that for me, Gilbert?"
"Yes, I can."
"He starts on Monday. He'll be writing for The Tribune before the retreat. Fortunately, John doesn't mind lending out his award winning journalist for a few weeks. We're very grateful, understand?"
"He'll return to Chicago after the couples retreat?" Elena asked.
This paper - no; this town - wasn't big enough for the two of them.
"That's right, unless he decides he likes it down here," Jensen told her with conspiratorial smile.
Elena would have to make sure that never happened. The retreat would be just before their ten year high school reunion. She hoped he wouldn't stay for that.
"We're finished here, Gilbert," Jensen said, dismissing her.
Elena walked back to her desk on legs that were shaky, and then left work the moment it clicked five o'clock. She checked her mobile phone for messages on the way to the car.
"Beep. Hi, El, I'm in town for a couple of nights unexpectedly. Call me back when you can. Beep."
Elena dialed Stefan's number.
"Hi," she said to him. "My weekend's free, and I could use some company."
"Great," Stefan told her. "You at work?"
"I was just leaving."
"I'm only about five minutes away. Want me to pick you up?"
"That would be great. I'll see you in five."
***
Mystic Falls, Monday Morning
Damon pulled into the parking lot of the Mystic Falls Tribune the following Monday morning. He'd checked himself into a hotel yesterday afternoon because there was no way he wanted to stay with his uncle. It would be fair to say that they hadn't parted on the best of terms, and staying in touch was something he had avoided all together. No doubt his uncle would hear about his visit, but it wouldn't be from him.
He'd arrived earlier than needed, because he wanted time to get a feel for the place, and maybe settle in before the inevitable confrontation with Elena Gilbert ensued. In fact he'd actually dropped by her house yesterday, to see if they could get it out of the way. He was expecting an earful, but they had a job to do, and he hoped she could keep things professional. Unfortunately, she hadn't been home.
There was only one other car in the lot; a silver Mercedes, and it was empty. He was just reaching for his laptop, when he saw another car pull in. Was that Elena Gilbert climbing out of his cousin car? What was Stefan doing in town? He worked out of town these days. Damon hoped he wouldn't have the misfortune of speaking to both his uncle and his cousin while he was here. Elena had the same long, dark hair, framing her beautiful face, and the same petite frame, but her curves were a little fuller.
Her breasts were slightly larger now, and as she leaned over to retrieve something off the floor of Stefan's car, he was treated to a view of her pert backside. This woman hated him, and he hated people who only cared about money, but damned if his body wasn't ignoring those simple facts, and remembering how she'd tasted of cherry lip gloss, and his bourbon, ten years ago.
She gave Stefan a kiss on the lips; a kiss which went on for far too long, before waving goodbye, and walking over to the empty Mercedes. It would be easy enough to assume they'd spent the weekend together, and for some reason it annoyed him. He put it down to the fact that the rich always stuck together. It wasn't like Damon was going to see her dating someone who hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Her father would be thrilled if he ended up with Stefan Salvatore as a son-in-law. Damon locked his rental car, after getting out of it, and then headed towards Elena. It was time to get their first conversation over with.
Elena checked her make-up within the confines of her car, while listening to the stereo. She had hoped spending the weekend with Stefan would have distracted her, but it hadn't kept her mind off Damon at all. She had been having a casual relationship with Stefan Salvatore for a year or so now. They kept their interactions to the weekends he was in town. Lately, however he'd been talking about moving back to Mystic Falls, and trying something more permanent. She put her lack of enthusiasm down to her preoccupation with the Von Gruber story.
Deciding she was as ready for today as she would ever be, she switched off the radio, and stepped out of her car. She closed the door, turned around and walked right into Damon. The breath left her lungs at the close proximity, and she wobbled slightly. His arms came out to steady her, and she was immediately transported back to the night of the prom, where she'd stumbled and he'd caught her. She'd had a full weekend to mentally prepare herself for seeing him again, but it hadn't been long enough. No amount of time would have been long enough, she decided.
She'd had so many daydreams over the years, imagining him overweight, and bald, and maybe with a hunch on his back, but unfortunately the last ten years hadn't taken away from his good looks, they'd only added to them. His shoulders were wider than they had been ten years ago, he was slightly taller now. He'd filled out. In high school he'd been lean and fit, but now she could actually see the outline of his muscles underneath the light blue collared shirt he was wearing. And how had she had forgotten what color his eyes were?
He'd set out to make a fool out of her, she reminded herself, as his eyes locked with hers. He’d left her to watch him walk into the prom with Katherine, after he’d insisted they go together.
"Elena," he greeted her.
"Damon," she returned.