Page 26 of Damon
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Now, I’m walking toward my front door with him holding my elbow. My body aches everywhere. All I want is a warm bath and my bed, but not here. I want to be back in the place I’ve called home for the past twelve months. Where I felt safe.
I’m surprised to hear music from behind the door. A light is on in the hallway. I don’t remember leaving it on the last time I was here. Great, fucking baby brain and I haven’t even got the baby. Harrison says nothing, just watches me slide my key into the lock then open the door.
When we step through, I’m hit with the divine smell of freshly cooked food. A roast dinner, I think. “Someone’s here,” I whisper, panicked, and he chuckles. His body vibrates slightly as he tries to contain his laughter.
“Surprise!” he says. “I took it upon myself to get you some help for a few days.” I glower at him, and he has the audacity to smile. The expression on his face and the way his shoulders straighten tells me he’s proud of himself. “Trust me, once you’ve had Mrs. D looking after you for twenty-four hours, you will never want her to leave.”
I’ve heard of this lady—she is the housekeeper at The Level where my bosses live, but from what Damon has said, she treats them like the sons she never had. She looks after their homes, cooks for them, and generally ensures everything is ready for them to go about their busy lives.
“You sent your housekeeper to keep an eye on me?” I hiss, not knowing whether to be grateful or offended.
“No, I’ve employed her to clean the apartment and cook for a few days until you’re back on your feet.” He lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “You are my staff member, and I want to be a supportive boss.”
“I work in your office one day a week. Does everyone get a housekeeper supplied when they pop out a baby?”
“No, but you do a lot more hours than one day a week. I know you take work home and stick your nose in cases not assigned to you,” he argues. “Plus, call me selfish, but I think once you’re qualified, you could make me a lot of money.” His lips widen into a grin. “Call this nurturing a future investment.”
“I don’t need any help,” I mutter sullenly, then cross my arms over my chest.
“Perhaps not, but you’re getting it whether you want it or not.”
“What are you going to do? Fire me if I don’t accept your overbearing rules?” My eyes bore into his, and he cocks his head to one side, surveying my face. I’ve noticed he does the same with clients when he asks a question. While leaving them enough time to provide an answer, it creates a balance of pressure and support which is difficult not to respond to. Or, if you’re waiting for his reaction, it generates uncertainty—like right now.
“Yes, I’ll fire you,” he agrees with a nod.
“I’d sue you for unfair dismissal,” I shoot back.
“You could try, but I’ve fought more unfair dismissal cases than I care to admit.”
I narrow my eyes. He shrugs.
“Why does that fact not astonish me?”
“Russell has an unhealthy habit of relieving people of their duties in the heat of the moment. I’ve become somewhat of an expert in it not costing the firm too much money.”
“Controlling asshole. If this is how you treat your staff, I’d hate to see how you treat your girlfriend,” I say with a sneer.
“My personal life is none of your business.”
“Not a fucking surprise. Women don’t like men who think they can organize their lives for them.”
“Some don’t,” he says with a smirk. “And Damon did warn me that this may not be well received. He told me you were independent, but I haven’t decided yet.”
“Decided what?” I snap, now fucking furious with his persistent comments.
“Whether you’re independent or just bloody stubborn.”
Unable to come up with a suitable retort, I storm forward into the apartment. The searing pain in my stomach and between my legs makes me stop. Harrison comes to my side and places his hand on the small of my back.
“Take your time, Emma,” he says softly. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’ve been through worse,” I tell him, glancing in his direction then dropping my eyes away. I feel him watching me. “And I’ve survived,” I add.
“I have no doubt of that, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t accept help. Maybe this time getting through the difficulties will be easier.”
“Perhaps.” I take a breath, steeling myself to ask what I want to. The question that’s been burning on my tongue since he collected me. “Are Damon and the baby all right? Did they get discharged today as well?” I don’t look at him, I can’t; the last thing I want is the pained expression on my face giving away how I feel.