Chapter 7
Anna
I've spent all morning thinking about how I woke up on our last day at Silver Peaks. In that moment, wrapped around Dakota's leg, it felt so real, so authentic, it scared me. I waited for her to speak, to say something. I want to know what made her spend the whole night sitting on my bed just because I had a nightmare. I need to know if it felt real to her too or if she saw it as just another duty.
The door to my office bursts open without a knock, and I'd know those footsteps anywhere. I hate his attitude, still treating me like a child despite everything I've accomplished.
“So it's true what they're saying at the country club, you have a new companion who won't leave your side for a second.”
He spits out the word “companion” with disgust, and I can't help glancing at Dakota, hoping my eyes apologize without words.
She stands by the window, her posture both protective and distant. She's wearing one of those fitted suits; elegant and practical. Enough to take your breath away with how good she looks in them, even knowing she's got at least two weapons hidden underneath.
“Dad, I wasn't expecting you. You know knocking is customary, right?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady while crossing my hands behind my back so he can't see them shake.
“You could have told me. Had to hear it through gossip. Your mother's very upset.”
“I haven't spoken to Mom in two months,” I growl.
“What does she do?” he demands, not caring that Dakota's right here.
The worst part is he asks with a sneer, like she's gum stuck to his Italian leather shoes. Shoes he pays for with money from the company shares I gave him myself.
“The country club is very concerned about this clean energy nonsense,” he adds.
“That project will change the world,” Dakota cuts in, leaving us both speechless.
Thankfully, my father decides to ignore her and continues his stupid comments.
“First that actress and now…”
“I think you should go,” I cut him off, pointing to the door. “I'm very busy right now.”
The silence deafens when my father leaves the office.
“Want to talk about it?” Dakota whispers, coming closer and hesitating before stroking my left arm.
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You're shaking. Never seen you this vulnerable. Why?” she pushes.
“My parents drive me crazy, I swear. Nothing's ever enough for them. I built a billion-dollar company from scratch, way more than he ever had at his peak. And still, they treat me like a scared little girl. Not to mention, no partner is ever good enough.”
“You're not a little girl anymore. You're the smartest person I've ever met, and I've worked for some pretty important people,” she says, lowering her voice and taking my hand in hers.
Without thinking, before I realize what I'm doing, I rest my head on her shoulder and hug her. She stiffens for a moment, like she's not sure what to do, but soon returns the embrace and it feels perfect. No words needed, it's like Dakota knows exactly what I'm feeling right now, and each of her touches manages to give me just the answer I'm looking for.
“Dealing with these meltdowns wasn't in your contract,” I sigh, pressing my forehead against hers and feeling my breath quicken when the tip of her nose brushes mine.
“I'm willing to deal with all the meltdowns you need,” she promises, running her fingers through my hair.
“Damn, Dakota,” I hiss, wrapping my arms around her neck to pull her closer.
And then I kiss her.
It's a shy kiss, soft, almost like a caress. I can see her hesitation when our lips touch. But everything changes when I feel her hands on my waist, like she's afraid I might suddenly vanish. In that moment, the softness, the shyness, transforms into something much deeper, primal, urgent. She moans against my mouth, and I feel my core pulse with need at the sound.
I tangle my fingers in her hair to pull her even closer. There's no space left between us, physical or emotional. Only this moment exists, this kiss, like everything else has vanished suddenly, like the universe is holding its breath.
Aroused, I rub my breasts against hers while she squeezes my ass, no longer able to hide the soft moans escaping her throat.
“Fuck,” she sighs when we finally part, my forehead still against hers and a silly smile on my lips.
***
“Going to a bachelorette party in such a huge place is too dangerous,” she protests that night.
“Sarah's been my friend since college, and I'm going,” I shut her down.
I can see that hint of contained rage every time I contradict her on security matters. Her nostrils flare slightly in a gesture that gives her away. I understand she worries about me — like she once said, her paranoia is what keeps me alive - but I can't spend my days in hiding.
In one of the city's hottest clubs, the bass hits my chest like a second heartbeat while I move through the crowd. A DJ with a shaved head plays a remix of some current hit, making even the ice cubes in my gin and tonic vibrate.
The floor sticks slightly, probably from spilled drinks, and the smell is an intense mixture. Sweat, expensive perfumes, and that peculiar scent from smoke machines.
Strobe lights seem to fragment time into frozen photographs: a girl in a glittery top swaying too close to Dakota, my friend Sarah dancing with her eyes closed, a bartender balancing a tray full of neon-colored shots. Laser beams cut through darkness in impossible geometries, painting everyone's skin in electric blue and neon pink.
It's impossible not to constantly brush against people pushing their way to the bar. Someone bumps into me, mumbles an apology, and I have to raise my hand to stop Dakota from lunging at him. The heat on the dance floor suffocates, and even the icy blasts from the AC can't improve the situation.
I should do this more often. Have fun with my friends. Forget for a few hours that I'm trying to change the world. Be a normal young woman. Anonymous.
And that's when I see her. A bartender who can't be more than seventeen or eighteen trying to break free from a drunk intent on groping her breasts. His friends, just as drunk as he is, laugh, but there's nothing funny about the fear in her eyes.
“Leave her alone!” I shout, approaching them.
“None of your business, bitch,” the man slurs, turning to me with a scowl.
“Get your hands off her!” I insist.
“You gonna take her place?”
He drags his syllables from the alcohol and releases the girl, but he's huge and comes at me angry, egged on by his friends.
I start backing up until I'm trapped against a wall. He raises his arm with a closed fist and everything happens too fast. Dakota's foot strikes hard against his neck and the man collapses with a dull thud.
His friends move to advance toward her, looking confused. Dakota's posture shifts subtly. Just enough for them to realize it would be a terrible idea to continue. They raise their hands showing they don't want trouble and drag away the drunk, who doesn't even seem to know what happened.
“We're leaving!” she orders, pulling my right arm.
“I'm at my friend's bachelorette party.”
“Not anymore.”
She pushes me gently, her hand on my lower back, but with determination. With an attitude that makes it clear that right now, even though I pay her salary, she's in charge.
Already seated in the car, the initial adrenaline rush fades and I start shaking.
“What's wrong with you?” Dakota asks without taking her eyes off the road.
“Should I have just watched while he abused that poor girl?”
“You should have called me,” she growls.
“I'm getting tired of you telling me what I can and can't do,” I protest.
“It's my job,” she responds flatly.
“Your job? Right, that's all I am to you, isn't it? A job, a client to protect. Nothing more. Tell me something, did you feel anything when we kissed this morning? Or was that part of your job too?”
Dakota's face turns dangerously expressionless.
“You're not going to answer? Did you feel something or not? It's a very simple question, even for you.”
“I think you've had too much to drink. We'll talk about this another time,” she murmurs without looking away.
“I want to talk about it now, damn it!” I yell, slapping the dashboard, which only succeeds in hurting my hand. “Because I know that if we'd been somewhere more private, I would have torn your clothes off with my teeth. But of course, that's what I feel. For you, I'm probably just a fat paycheck at the end of the month,” I add, hiding my face so she won't see the tears rolling down my cheeks.