Matthew blushed.
“What?” Emily blinked. She kept her hand outstretched. “You talk funny. Can we go? It’s loud here and I wanna go home and see if there’s a place at your house to put a puppy.”
“A puppy?”
“Or a kitty. Or a bunny.” At last, Emily grabbed his hand and forcefully shook it. “There. Now we’re friends. Mimi and Emimi. Let’s go!”
With enthusiasm only a four-year-old could muster, Emily started to drag Damien away. Damien looked over his shoulder at Matthew, helpless but to follow. “I’m in for trouble, aren’t I?”
Matthew grinned. He caught up to both of them and took Damien’s free hand, his heart already full. “You have no idea.”
37
Damien
A jet-black Maserati Ghibli idled by the curb of the JFK passenger pickup zone. When Damien approached, the driver exited the car and took Matthew and Emily’s luggage to load in the trunk. While he did, Damien made sure Matthew and Emily were settled before he seated himself.
“Is this your car?” Matthew asked in a whisper once the doors were closed. The driver was still outside the vehicle, having just closed the trunk.
Damien chuckled. “No. I get around by taxi. If I need to travel, I rent. But now that you and Emily are here, I’ve been thinking about taking the plunge. I don’t want you two to have to depend on others, especially in a few months from now when our situation will change.” Damien left the statement open-ended. Matthew hadn’t told Emily about their pregnancy yet, and Damien wasn’t going to put his foot in his mouth and force Matthew’s hand. When the time was right, he’d tell her. Damien would respect his choice.
“Oh.” Matthew’s gaze fell to Emily’s car seat. Comprehension worried his brows. With a small, unhurried nod, he agreed. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t think of it until you brought it up.”
The driver returned to the vehicle. He wasted no time shifting gears and pulling away from the curb. As the car joined the throng of others trying to escape the airport, a familiar beep sounded in Damien’s ear.
A new text.
Bigg, where are you?
The message was from Whitcroft, which meant that Damien was in shit. What the message actually meant was, “Fuck you, Damien. Get back to work,” but Whitcroft was nothing if not a modest old husk of a man.
Damien’s anxiety spiked.
For years he’d worked under Whitcroft’s thumb, groomed from his days as a lowly analyst into the successful senior account manager he was today. His ambition and perseverance had seen him succeed where so many others had failed. Investment banking wasn’t for the weak. The sacrifices Damien had made for his career had proven his devotion, and now, on the cusp of achieving partnership and realizing his goal, it felt insane not to grovel and kiss Whitcroft’s wrinkly ass.
But goals sometimes changed.
Damien glanced at Emily, who kicked her feet like at any moment the Maserati would careen into the bay, forcing her to swim to safety, then at Matthew. He had his phone in both hands, which were rested on his lap, and was smiling absently at the screen. The rush of anxiety that had made Damien question his choices eased. There’d been a time when he’d put his personal life on hold to advance his career, but now that Matthew was his, that wasn’t his reality anymore. He’d worked all his life to provide a good life to the boy who owned his heart—now that he’d found him, it was time to make the switch. Matthew deserved his devotion.
With that in mind, Damien replied to Whitcroft’s message in a way he never would have dared before.Off the clock, sir.
Do you mean to tell me you’re at home?
No, I’m at the airport picking someone up. After that I’ll be going home.
Then you’ve already flown out to seal the Phigma deal?
The subtext, of course, was that if Damien wasn’t already in Seattle at Phigma headquarters, he should be in the office poring over his team’s projections and figures. Whitcroft wanted him to schmooze his way into Phigma’s accounts, and he wanted it to happennow.Unfortunately for Whitcroft, with Matthew in the car beside him, Damien didn’t give a flying fuck. Phigma and the Goldcorp Group could suck his dick.
There was enough of it for both of them.
Resolute in his decision, Damien made his boundaries clear.No. I’ll be flying out at the end of the week.
There was no reply. Whitcroft was too busy getting his lips ready for a little below-the-belt action. It suited Damien fine. As much as the financially oriented part of Damien’s mind wanted to shriek like a blonde in a slasher flick over what he’d just done, there was a certain satisfaction in politely telling his boss to fuck off.
Whitcroft held no power over him.
Not anymore.
