by Myers, Kelly
I lick my lips. “It’s getting better,” I whisper without looking at him. “How long have I been here?”
“A few hours,” he hands me the bottle. “Drink some more.”
I shake my head.
“Doctor’s orders,” he takes my hand and places the bottle, closing my fingers around it. “Drink.”
I take another sip and swallow before taking a deep breath. “I need a shower.”
“Not before you eat something.”
“I can’t eat.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he stands up and walks out of my sight. “According to the doctor, you’re capable of eating.” He returns with the plate he had left aside earlier, and I see that it’s peanut butter on crackers. “It’s not a request,” he places the plate in my hands and his fingers touch mine. He keeps it that way for a moment, undoubtedly for fear of me dropping it.
“I got it,” I continue to avoid eye contact. I stare down at the fresh, smooth butter and pick up a piece, smelling it first to see how my stomach will react.
“It’s organic and unsweetened,” he explains, towering over me like a teacher over a flunking student. “Try one,” he commands.
I bite into it, the first solid food in over two days. As I chew, he steps away, and my eyes follow him until he disappears into the one door at the far end.
“Who changed my clothes?”
“I did,” his voice echoes and I understand that he’s in a bathroom. A second later, I hear water gushing down.
“Who’s the doctor?”
“A friend,” he reemerges with his hands in his pockets, a delectable vision if it weren’t for the emotional rollercoaster I’m experiencing.
“Do you feel like a winner now?”
He smirks and looks down at his shoes, tilting his head. “You sure scared me there, Didi. But I bear full responsibility for what happened. Eat.”
“Then what? You’ll return me to that box?”
Grinding his jaws, he rushes through a few steps closer, covering half the distance before he stops to a halt, holding down his hands in fists. “I dictate what happens next. You play by my rules.”
His threatening tone frightens me for the first time. I understand that my death would pose a new set of threats, and so does he. That’s why he’s so tense. God knows what more he can do to coerce me into submission. Without another word, I pick up the second cracker and slowly consume it, careful not to swallow too fast lest my stomach can’t handle it.
Quietly, he stares out the window for a moment, crossing his arms in front of his chest and lost in thought. He surely knows that I’m in no state to fight him—that’s how a man with the upper hand behaves.
As soon as I’m done eating, he slowly approaches and takes the plate from my hand, putting it down on the nightstand. He then kneels down next to me, producing a Band-Aid from his pocket. He holds my hand with the cannula while his other hand stops the drip. Gently pressing, he draws out the needle, and I wince. He quickly glances at my face before tearing open the bandage and instantly sticking it onto my skin, whispering. “Does it still hurt?”
I soundlessly shake my head.
He mirrors my silence as he stands up, his fingers working to unbutton my top. I want to object, but I choose not to. His eyes remain on my face as he removes the top before his hands make their way down to slide off the pants hanging only by a delicate elastic belt. I’m not wearing any underwear, which makes me wonder if he threw mine away.
When he picks me up with extreme ease, I hold my breath and try to ignore the rush of mixed feelings seething inside. I’m angry. Defeated. Weak. Confused. Aroused.
What kind of man is he?
My eyes discreetly roll in their sockets as I study my surroundings while he carries me through the room and into the bathroom.
The décor here matches the bedroom, with dark grey tiles and indirect lighting that gives the space an ominous yet erotic feel. The black tub is situated in the center, supported by shiny silver legs with curvy details reminiscent of wild weeds. Steaming water fills almost three-fourths of its capacity.
And he slowly lowers me in.
I pull a sharp breath and hold it in as the warm water encloses me, and I sense an instant sort of relief. As I settle down against the hot bottom, I keep my gaze low until he turns away. I quickly look around in search of a viable weapon, but there’s nothing. I see his electric shaver. Towels on a silver rack. Countless little bottles of cologne and massage oils.
My eyes eventually land on the shampoo shelf, where he picks up a bottle and sets it down on the floor. He then takes off his blazer and hangs it behind the door before proceeding to roll up his sleeves.
“What are you doing?” I ask from under lazy eyelids.
His face remains grim. “Doctor’s orders.”
I tilt my head with a sarcastic expression on my face.
As I watch him pick up the bottle and disappear behind my head, I hold my breath and keep still until I feel the cool liquid pour over my hair. From over my shoulders, his hands reach into the water and scoop. I watch his strong arms in this fleeting moment and wonder if he’s ever done this before.
The water invades my scalp, and so do his fingertips as they spread around and massage my head in circular motions, prompting me to close my eyes. His hand guides my head backward, and I comply.
“How much longer, Gabriel?” my words emerge raspy from the bottom of my throat.
He doesn’t respond as his fingers work their magic, swarming toward the nape of my neck.
“You know you can’t keep me here forever,” I insist.
He maintains the calmness, his hands moving slowly upward once again. A single finger traces my hairline, stroking softly across my forehead, and I think… if he asks me to do anything this instant, I would probably do it.
What’s wrong with you?
Do we really need to go through this right now?
As he uses a shower hose to rinse my hair, he runs his fingers through it, detangling it with ease. I swallow past the lump in my throat as I try to gather the shattered pieces of my mind. But before I begin to summon any form of focus at all, he reaches for a washcloth and pours some scented shower gel onto it.
When he shifts to face me, he parts his lips. “Arms up.”
I do as I’m told.
25
Gabriel
I let out a deep sigh of relief as I walk out of my own bedroom, locking the door behind me. What once felt like my own personal haven has now essentially become a warzone.
Having barely restrained myself from taking her right then and there, I recall what just happened in awe. As I dried her off with a big towel and put her in fresh underwear and pajamas, she smelled heavenly and looked even better, if that’s at all possible.
Tossing my blazer on the bed in the guest bedroom that I now temporarily occupy, I rushed over to the attached bathroom to wash the memory of her off of my hands. I stare at myself in the mirror as the hot water scorches my skin. My fingers rub harder until my skin reddens.
There is a thin line between stubbornness and plain stupidity, I think, as my eyes pierce through their own reflection. Dina is about to cross that line by keeping up her futile act of insolence.
Stepping back out, I straighten my back and stretch my shoulders in front of a full-length mirror as I pull down my sleeves and fasten my cuff buttons. Running my fingers through my hair, I tame the few stray locks, wondering if the tightness I feel in my chest is really something physical.
Taking care of Dina for the past half hour seems to have revived a whole set of feelings that I had long forgotten. Tending to a broken woman. Handing her a drink of water. Insisting that she eats despite her incessant resistance. Something inside of me stirred. Something I thought I managed to bury throughout the years.
I pick up the blazer and proceed to slide my arms in as I walk out, heading toward my home office. As soon as I settle behind my desk, I check the phone for messages from Chris. There�
��s nothing, so I text him instead.
She’s awake. She threw up a little at first but then had some water and crackers.
He doesn’t respond, so I switch on my laptop to catch my next video meeting. Amanda’s face soon greets me with a look of anticipation. “Hey, Gabriel,” she nervously smiles.
“Hello, Mandy,” I sit back. “Anything to report?”
“Her parents clearly never ask for video calls which is great. They don’t suspect anything. Zoe, however, is getting restless, saying that she went by her office earlier and they told her that Dina’s in New York.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Well, I told her it’s a lie to keep work people from butting in. I also told her about the infection. There was a little back and forth there, but she eventually caved when I repeatedly reassured her that everything was fine.”
“And what about Michael?”
“He didn’t call. Only texts. He seems busy himself.”
“Did he ask to see her?”
“Not after that last time.” She chuckles. “What an understanding boyfriend, right?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Did he refer to her as his girlfriend at any point?”
“No. Why?” she tilts her head.
“Just wondering where they stand and how involved he is. The report I received didn’t mention anything about him having a key to her place or anything like that.”
“Oh, no, I don’t think they’re there yet.”
“I agree. Listen, before you leave, give Dan the bag. I need him to bring it to me.”
“Sure. How’s everything at your end?”
“There was a momentary lapse, but we handled it.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I smile. “You already are. Have a good evening.”
“You too, Gabriel.”
As I end the call, I check my phone to find Chris’s response: That’s great news. Do you still need me to come?
I’m not sure. She took a shower and is now resting. What do you think?
She did all that by herself?
I roll my eyes, typing: No, I helped.
Well, she should be regaining her energy as the hours go by. Make sure she has a decent dinner sometime tonight.
Consider it done. Anything else?
Hydration. Water, fresh juices, herbal teas.
OK.
And plenty of rest. By morning, if she wants to go for a walk around the house, that’s also fine. Just keep her chaperoned.
Got it. Thanks, I really appreciate this.
I’m not doing it for you. At this point, I just feel bad for her.
Don’t. She’s a strong woman and will be back on her feet soon.
Whatever you say. Call me if something comes up.
Of course.
For the next hour or so, I tend to some work emails and a brief call with Beijing. When I’m done, I go over to my room to check on her. Carefully cracking the door open, I peek in to find her sound asleep. Lingering for a moment, my eyes admire this perfect picture. Dina Cormack—ironically enough—fits right into my bedroom as if she effortlessly belongs.
Smirking and shaking the absurd thought out of my head, I close the door and cautiously turn in the key to lock it before stepping away. I text Dan.
Don’t forget the bag from Amanda. And please pick up something to eat on your way. Chinese is fine. Get the usual but add a fourth serving.
Sure, boss.
I don’t know how much time passes while working, but when Ramone walks in, I lift up my gaze to see him standing there with a can of soda in his hand, the bag in the other, and a smirk on his face.
“How are things?” my eyes return to the laptop in front of me.
“Hey,” he sits down, placing the bag on the desk at arm’s reach. “I should be the one askin’ you.”
“She’s fine. Sleeping. Anything to report?”
“Food’s here. Are you plannin’ on takin’ her downstairs?”
I scoff. “Have you lost your mind?”
“She is still in your bedroom, isn’t she?”
“I’m not gonna let her anywhere near the main door. At least the room windows are enforced.”
“And if she manages to unlock the door?”
“Then the alarm will sound, and we’ll catch her before she even reaches downstairs.” I pause, looking into his eyes. “What, did you forget that this place is a fort?”
“Dan’s keepin’ the food warm,” he stands up, chugging down what is left of his soda and crushing the can with his strong fingers before tossing it into the trash. “I’ll go keep him company.”
“I’ll be right down.”
On my way to the dining hall, I check on Dina again, and she’s still sleeping. She has turned over and is now lying on her stomach with her hair covering most of her face. I examine her fine figure for a moment, covered only by a thin sheet that embraces every line and nook. As I go downstairs, I wonder if she’s dreaming.
“Hey, boss,” the men greet me as they set up the table, laying down the boxes and chopsticks.
Our meal is relatively quiet, only interrupted with a few jokes and small talk here and there. Afterward, I send Dan home before Ramone, and I head back to the office.
I pick up Dina’s phone, aware of his gaze on me.
“Shouldn’t we wake her up to eat?” he nonchalantly asks as he pours himself a whiskey.
“In a few minutes,” I launch the voice-altering app. “I just need to get something out of the way first.”
I go through her contacts until I find Armin Duvall’s number. I swipe to make the call.
“Cormack!” his voice is accompanied by street noises. “Good of you to call. How are you now?”
“Can’t complain,” I answer as Dina. “Slowly getting better.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose. Is there anything you need? Anything I can send you?”
“No, no. I’m fine. But, um… listen. I don’t know how to say this, having just been promoted and all.”
“Anything, kid.”
“Things aren’t so great here with my parents. I’m not sure when I can come back. And I would really hate to cost you anymore, so… how about unpaid leave?”
“What’s going on?”
“Just… personal stuff.”
“Are you extending your stay in New York?”
“Probably.”
“What about working remotely?”
“I’m sorry, Armin. I really do hate myself for springing this on you like that. I just can’t guarantee that my head’s in it.”
“Damn, kid,” he sighs. “I really thought age would tame your father a little… I’m sorry.”
Her father?
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. Old folks and their fights, huh?”
“I guess. Listen, if there’s anything else I can help with—”
“There’s one more thing. I’m sorry I didn’t lead with it.”
“What is it?”
“Peele’s sources? I’m not sure of their accuracy anymore.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of research here—since I can barely sleep—and I gotta tell you… maybe we should retract those pieces until we have something more solid to back them up.”
“I—” he sharply exhales. “I don’t know what to say. I actually had Peele fill in for you in the division.”
“And that shouldn’t change. He’s got great caliber and learns quicker than anyone. I just think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Well,” he sounds annoyed. “I can get them removed from the portal for now, but I will not issue a correction notice or an apology.”
I draw a deep breath, relieved. “Fair enough. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Can you document this with an email?”
“Of course. Right away.”
When we eventually end the call, I instantly switch on her laptop and draft the email, copy Derek Peele and hit
‘send.’
“Damn,” Ramone chuckles before taking a sip of his drink, watching me. “You’re good.”
“Were there ever any doubts?” I fold the laptop with a triumphant smile and get up.
While I go to the bar and proceed to pour myself a drink, I can hear her phone vibrate on my desk. “Who is it?” I ask Ramone.
He leans over and announces. “Derek. Wanna get it?”
“What’s the point? Of course, he’s angry. I’ll let him cool off.”
Ramone and I spend a few more minutes talking about work and what to do next. He then decides to call it a night and retire to his bedroom in the service suite. As I refresh the page on the B-Gazette website for the tenth time, I finally see that the articles no longer show on the list.
“Atta boy, Armin,” I chuckle, getting up as I shut the laptop. Taking a sip from my drink, I pick up her phone and see that it has blown up with several missed calls, a handful of texts and two new emails. “That’s gotta hurt,” I shake my head and just as I’m about to put down the phone, the screen lights up with a message from Michael.
I miss you, beautiful. Consider this a warning about what I’m gonna do to you next time I see you, so watch your panties.
Watch your panties? Who the hell says that? Is that what he considers dirty talk? How pathetic.
I shake my head, partially forging amusement yet mostly exasperated.
“What do I do with you?” I whisper at the screen as my eyes study the circular, miniature thumbnail of his picture.
Am I… jealous?
With the glass in my hand, I lean with my bottom against the edge of the desk and scroll up, going over the older messages. I see that Amanda has done a good job keeping Dina’s general tone in texting him. Reading the messages I had already viewed before, my mind probes into the notion that Dina doesn’t have any genuine feelings for Michael. Not yet, at least. Her responses were always sweet and polite, yet lacking the passion of which I know she’s capable. The fire I see in her eyes, the enthusiasm in her voice… none of it is reflected here.
