by Andra Lake
Dallon marched over to my picture collage, pulled it off the wall.
“Hey!” I cried out in surprise. I didn’t really mind if he wanted to keep it, but asking would have been nice.
“What do you carry these in?” he asked, looking around. He found my portfolio case and opened it on the bed.
It was then that I realized what he was doing—he was packing me up.
“Wait,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. “Dallon, I’m not moving in with you.”
He tensed under my touch. “You can’t stay here.”
I dropped my hand. “So you do hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. I couldn’t hate it; it’s covered in you. But I can’t let you continue living here. Your door is broken, who knows when your landlord will be able to fix it, and some asshole is lurking in the hallways.”
I felt myself tearing up, even though I knew it wasn’t personal, that he was only concerned about me. “I told you, it’s temporary. I can call Bran right now.”
I pulled out my phone, but Dallon continued taking down my art as if he hadn’t heard me.
“Stop!” Frustrated tears ran down my cheeks.
Dallon exhaled with frustration, but he held up his hands before turning around. With a tense jaw, he leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and waited.
“Don’t you see that I want to be equal to you?” I asked after a moment.
“How can you be equal to me, Amy? You’re seven years my junior. Stop comparing where you are now with me. New York is an expensive city and it’s hard to get a foothold. Even if you stay here instead of living with me, you won’t be living equally.”
“But I’ll have something that’s my own.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “There is no crime in letting someone else help you. If you could stop trying to control everything and relax, you might realize that.”
“You’re talking to me about control? This entire idea is based on your need for control!”
He narrowed his eyes. “I never said that. Not wanting you to work at Mix, yes. This is different.”
“Right. You didn’t even want to date me until I said I was going to work at Mix. You just wanted to have a say.”
He cocked his head to the side. “And why would I want to have a say exactly?”
“Because you’re controlling!”
“Because I care about you, Amy.”
I just glared at him until he shook his head and looked at the ceiling, hands balled into fists.
“Enough. I’m not going to continue discussing this with you. You’re coming home with me.” He turned and yanked my drawers out of the dresser. “Pack up.”
I didn’t move. “No.”
He straightened and gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine.
“This is ridiculous. He’s harmless!”
Suddenly Dallon was in front of me, looking down at me with blue eyes turned black. It looked like his pupils were completely dilated.
“I said pack, Amy. He might seem harmless to you, but I’m not waiting around to find out. I’m putting my foot down.”
I stared up at him, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Still, I didn’t move.
“You don’t want to anger me right now. Do you understand what I’m saying? Pack. Up.”
“What are you going to do, spank me again?” I whispered.
His eyes glinted for a moment. “It’s not a bad idea. But I could do worse; I could call your mom. Last number you received, right?”
My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe he’d just used his present against me, and I’d had it less than a day! Furious, I stormed over to the closet and yanked out my suitcase. I began throwing clothes in, not caring if they got wrinkled or didn’t fit.
“Leave the artwork,” I snapped. “I’m only coming with you until I get the door fixed. In fact, I’ll call him right now and see how long it will take.”
I pulled out my iPhone and shot Dallon a smug smile, which he returned, crossing his arms.
“Hey Bran, it’s Amy—I live in 404? I just tried to get into my apartment and the door broke. Do you know when you can have it fixed?”
Before Bran could respond, the iPhone was snatched from my hand and Dallon began talking rapidly.
“Bran? Dallon King, Amy’s boyfriend.” I charged him but he put an arm out, holding me back. “Look she’s going to move out. We’ll pay next month’s rent, okay man?”
“Dallon!” I hissed. I wanted to yell but the idea of Bran hearing me in the background just made me more mortified. “Seriously, stop it. I’m not kidding.”
“I don’t if she signed a lease,” Dallon continued, looking me with narrowed eyes. “The living conditions are terrible and you know it. Her drunken neighbor just made some disgusting comments and she told me he’s harassed her—do you want a sexual assault case in your future?”
My blood ran cold at those two words. Here he was trying to protect me, and it was too late.
Having apparently received his desired response, Dallon hung up and held the phone out to me, smiling smugly.
“I don’t want it anymore,” I muttered, looking away. Angry tears blurred my vision. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dallon hesitate before slipping the phone into his pocket.
“Finish packing and I’ll come back for the bed,” he said softly. “For now, you can stay in my guest bedroom. Somehow I doubt you’ll want to stay with me.”
He was right about that.
I only had a total of two suitcases and my artwork, so it didn’t take long. Dallon picked up the suitcases and handed me my portfolio. I took it without meeting his eyes and followed him down the stairs to his car. We packed everything into his trunk in silence, and then Dallon went back up to get my paintings, which he very carefully and reverently arranged in the backseat. In my present state, the gesture just served to anger me more.
“I don’t want to go for dinner,” I said when we were driving out of Brooklyn.
He nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving the road. I turned away from him, watching the world go by outside the car window and wondering if he’d planned this all along.
Dallon was right; he always got what he wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
“Do you want me to put these in the empty room? We can still make it your studio.” Dallon’s voice sounded hopeful, and my heart clenched slightly.
Don’t fall for it, I told myself. Feeling pity for him was probably part of his master plan.
“Just put them over there,” I said and pointed to a corner of the guestroom.
He carried them over and then leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“I’m going to order takeout. I’ll order for you as well, and if you don’t come out, I’ll put it in the fridge.”
I didn’t respond, just continued unpacking my clothes. He leaned forward and gently placed my iPhone on top of the dresser. “You’re going to need this in case someone calls about your application.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Still, I made no move to acknowledge the gesture.
He cleared his throat. “I took down your landlord’s number and will make arrangements to pay your last month’s rent. It’s not fair you to pay it.”
Clenching my jaw, I looked away.
“I want you to be happy here,” he said softly before closing the door behind him.
When he was gone, I sat down on the bed and put my head in my hands. I knew I was being a bit of a jerk considering my door had broken. It was obvious that he cared about me, but I couldn’t shake the fear that he’d have me move in and eventually get bored with me, and I would be left shattered. Nothing about our relationship so far had been normal.
I picked up my new iPhone, wondering how Sam was doing and whether or not I should tell her about my new living arrangement. I decided against telling her; it wasn’t like she would stop by my old place for a visit and find o
ut. What my friends and family didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Instead, I just sent her a text with my new number and told her my old phone had finally died. Then I finished putting my stuff away in the closet and dresser, changed into pajama pants and crawled under the covers of my new bed.
When I awoke, it was dark outside the window. I grappled around for my phone in the dark. Almost 8 p.m. I’d slept for a good two hours.
I was famished.
I rolled out of bed and turned on the light, rummaged through the closet and pulled on a long sleeved shirt. It was then that I wondered what Dallon was up to. Had he gone out after dinner?
Suddenly feeling a little anxious, I opened the door and walked to the railing that looked down into the living room and kitchen. I could see Dallon watching TV just the way I’d imagined him doing the week before, a fire in the fireplace and his long legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him.
I descended the staircase and entered the living room.
“I was wondering when you would emerge. Nice PJs,” he added, the side of his turning up.
I’d been fingering the pants tie and instantly let go.
“Do you have something to say?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Do you?” I countered.
His lip twitched. “I’m sorry for forcing you to move out of your dangerous apartment and come stay with me.”
“You threatened to call my mother!”
“But I didn’t.”
“No, instead you bullied my landlord into ending my lease early.”
“You’re right, I’m a dick.”
“You are a dick.”
He stood up and sauntered over, stopped directly in front of me so he was looking down at me. There was less than a foot between us. I continued to maintain eye contact, refusing to back down.
“If I had to another chance, I’d do the exact same thing.” His voice was soft but forceful, his eyes looking intensely into mine. “Because when it comes to your safety, I’m always going to do what I think is right. Even if it makes you hate me.”
I swallowed and finally broke eye contact. There were butterflies in my belly from the intensity in his look, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. I walked away and into the kitchen, where I began going through his cupboards, purposefully leaving some of them open when I moved to the next one.
He pivoted to face me, crossing his arms and scowling. “What are you doing?’
“Oh, just familiarizing myself with your—I mean, our—kitchen,” I said and smiled prettily.
His frown deepened and he strode to the breakfast bar, stood with his fists clenched against the surface of the granite. “Are you hungry? I can heat up your dinner.”
“No, no—I’m just going to make myself something,” I said, enjoying his discomfort. His reaction was just as I’d expected; Dallon was a control freak, after all.
He came around the bar and into the kitchen, where he pulled out a plate from the fridge. “I ordered Chinese. I’m going to heat it up for you.”
I let him heat up the food, but I continued to get in his way, opening a drawer directly above the microwave to look for a tea bag. When he started closing the cupboards I’d left open, I blocked his path, first putting water in the kettle and then placing it on the stove. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer.
“Are you purposefully trying to get under my skin?”
I looked up at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”
He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “I’ve seen that innocent act before, Miss Clair. I’ll return to my program now. Enjoy your dinner.” He returned to the living room and put his feet back up on the table.
When the kettle finished boiling, I carried my tea and steak past the living room and toward the staircase.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my room to eat, if that’s all right?” I asked, trying my best to raise my eyebrow the way he did. “I’ll try not to get crumbs everywhere.”
“Go ahead.” He made a motion with his arm, his jaw clenched.
I climbed the staircase, a grin on my face.
***
When I entered the kitchen the next morning, showered and ready to head to the café, Dallon’s bedroom door was wide open. On my way to the kitchen, I peeked into his room to find the bed made. Apparently he’d left the apartment. It was noon, after all.
I made a quick breakfast of eggs and fruit and then went to the subway to head to work. I was so used to traveling from Brooklyn that I got to work in record time: almost an hour early.
“You know your shift doesn’t start for an hour yet?” Jackson smiled when I came in. “Or were you just hoping to see me?”
I made a face at him. Jackson was on the morning shift that day, a rarity. He’d requested it because some guy he had been talking about recently wanted to take him to a concert.
I said hi to Michelle before responding to him. “I just didn’t have anything to do so I thought I’d read the paper.”
I grabbed a newspaper and sat down at an empty table. Jackson filled a mug with coffee and carried it over to me.
“Thanks,” I said, wrapping my hands around it.
He glanced quickly at Michelle, who was wiping the counters, before sitting down across from me. “How’d it go the other night?”
I flinched. “How much of that did you hear?”
He grinned. “Oh, just the argument about you working at Mix. Possessive, isn’t he?”
“You could say that,” I muttered. “What was with you helping him by the way?”
Jackson shrugged, but he had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “He just really wanted to talk to you, and I thought I’d help a brother out.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the money?” I teased.
He laughed. “He’s hot, Amy. And he really wants you. What’s going on between you two? It seems very love-hate and… intense.”
“It is.” I took a deep breath. Jackson didn’t travel in my circle, so he was someone safe I could talk to, and I needed someone to talk to. I was in over my head.
“He had me move in with him.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. I spent the night there on Friday, and nothing really happened, he slept on the couch and let me sleep in his bed.” Jackson made a disappointed noise and I punched him playfully before continuing. “Then the next day he gave me an iPhone and was super sweet and helped me apply for various office positions.”
“You didn’t go to Mix, did you?” Jackson asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.
I bit my lip. “No.” Then I rushed to add, “But I was feeling more hopeful after applying for all those jobs.”
“Of course,” Jackson winked.
“Anyway, we went back to my place so I could get a change of clothes, and it was a disaster. The door got stuck when we tried to go in, and he ended up breaking it. Then my obnoxious drunk neighbor came by and called me a prude and I had to confess that he’d hit on me, at which point Dallon freaked and said I should move in with him.”
I finished the last sentence quickly and then held my breath, waited for Jackson to state his opinion.
Jackson made a low whistling sound and sat back in his chair. “It sounds like he’s crazy about you.”
I shook my head, still fuming about the situation. “He let me call the landlord about the door and then snatched the phone away, told him I was moving out.”
“Your white knight,” Jackson said, trying not to smile.
“A manipulative white knight! He also threatened to call my mother.”
At this, Jackson tilted his head back and laughed loudly. “He’s paying me off and using your mother’s fear of Brooklyn to get you all to himself.”
“Exactly,” I seethed.
“So is his place nice? He’s the CEO of a securities firm, right? I bet it’s amazing.”
I sighed. To an outsider like Jackson, the situation probably sounded like a dream come true. “It
is. I’m staying in the guestroom and it’s the nicest room I’ve ever had. You should see the Master.”
“I wish,” Jackson winked. “Is he making you pay rent?”
“No,” I said bitterly.
Jackson chuckled and stood up to go back to work. “I don’t see the problem here, Amy. Relax. Enjoy the ride. You don’t have to love the guy.”
As he walked back to the counter, I opened the paper and pretended to read. It was true; I didn’t have to love Dallon, but could I be like Jackson and live with someone and have fun and not develop feelings?
When it was time for my shift to start, Michelle found me looking at the schedule. The new week started on Wednesday and my name wasn’t anywhere on the calendar. Shoot.
“I replaced you with Beth going forward, so your last shift will be Tuesday. Does that work for you?” Michelle asked, coming up behind me.
“Oh, yeah, totally,” I said, quickly dropping my gaze and tying my apron. “And I can help out if you need someone to cover a shift or something.”
She smiled. “That would be great.”
Halfway through my shift, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out to see a message from Dallon.
Working on a deal. Be back late. How are you?
How was I? Confused. All I’d ever been since Dallon came into my life was confused. Instead of writing him back, I put my phone in my purse in the back room so I wouldn’t be tempted to respond.
At the end of my shift, I pulled out my phone to see another message from Dallon:
Still angry? I hope you’re pouting. I like it when you pout.
I gritted my teeth and opened the next message. It was from Sam.
We got you a housewarming gift! Can we pick you up after work and go for dinner? We’ll pick you up at work at 6. We can drive you home too. xoxo
Shit. Of course Sam knew the café closed at 6 on Sundays—she also knew my schedule. As I re-read her message, wondering how I should respond, Michelle called from the front to let me know my friends were there.
Double shit. I took a deep, steadying breath and returned to the front to see Sam and Luke waiting for me holding coffees. Sam rushed forward and hugged me.
