It felt strange.
Strange not to be the one carrying every plan and every consequence.
Strange to not be the one executing every step of the solution.
Strange… and kind of incredible. To just exist while someone else held the weight for once.
When I stepped back into the living room, I burst out laughing. Damien had set the dinner table with a white cloth and arranged three different forks per person, each a different size. Like we were hosting a state dinner.
“It’s just Chinese food,” I wheezed.
“No, it isn’t,” he shot back. “It’s Candace’s first impression of my home. I want it to look good.”
“You live in a penthouse in Manhattan.” I laughed. “I think you’ll survive.”
My phone lit up on the table.
Candace: About fifteen minutes away.
“She’s fifteen out,” I called. “Mind if I just give her your key code?”
“Sure,” he said, muffled.
I typed the code and hit send, then followed the noise to the kitchen. Damien was half under the sink, shoulder muscles flexing as he wrenched at a pipe like it had personally offended him.
“It’s your turn to shower,” I said, leaning against the counter.
“Too busy,” he grunted, still elbow-deep in whatever imaginary crisis he’d invented.
I tugged at his arm. He didn’t budge.
“Damien.”
A pause.
Then a sigh.
“Fine,” he muttered, the wrench slipping from his hand. He crawled out from under the sink, hair wild, shirt rumpled, looking nothing like the man who could ruin people in boardrooms with a single raised brow. He planted a fake pout on his face and strode off toward the bathroom.
The second the door clicked shut, panic seized me.
Sharp. Instant. Irrational.
My feet moved before I could think—through the bedroom and straight into the bathroom after him.
“Hey,” he said, pants halfway off, face falling the moment he saw me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” I whispered, hands shaking before I could hide them. “I… I guess me leaving was okay, but you leaving…” The words tangled. “It didn’t feel the same.”
His face softened immediately. “I understand.” A low chuckle warmed the air as he pulled me into his bare chest. “Stay in here with me, then.” He brushed a kiss against my temple. “I’ll distract you.”
And distract me, he absolutely did.
I leaned against the counter, pulse quickening as he stepped into the shower. Steam billowed, fogging the glass door in a hazy blur. Every few moments, he’d swipe a hand across the condensation—just enough to give me a glimpse.
The flex of his arms.
The long line of his back.
