Chapter 8 - Harry
Harry
Iopened the door to my house and stepped inside, hitting the light before slipping off my shoes.
It had been a long day. I’d stayed at the office for eight hours instead of the usual twelve, but then there was the fundraising event afterwards.
Four hours of sweet-talking potential donors was still work, no matter what Mum said.
Dom swerved around me and disappeared through the door to my left, heading for the stash of beers that was a permanent feature in my fridge. He was over here at least three times a week, and it was his fault our stocks were always low.
If life had gone my way, I'd still be working at the Imperial Hospital with my friends.
Nestled in the centre of London, it was always bursting with activity, as opposed to the lazy, decadent lifestyle I was raised with.
But there were certain problems I had to fix myself, and one of those resulted in leaving the medical field, spending the past three years funnelling all my energy into taking over The Fischer Foundation, my family's prestigious non-profit organisation.
I scanned the hallway, eyes passing over the mismatched furniture and art scattered over the walls, looking for my cat. Almost everything in my house had been picked out or decorated by someone else, but I enjoyed letting other people make decisions. In my personal life, at least.
Mr Snuggles normally accosted me every time I walked through the door, but from the hissing coming from the kitchen, it looked like Dom had cornered him again. They never got along, and I had no idea why.
“Beer?” Dom shouted as I made straight for the sofa. We’d been sitting on hard-backed chairs for hours and I needed to relax.
“Yeah, sure,” I called back. I’d already had too much water tonight. I had to keep myself sharp in case one of the Board members attempted to trip me up. But I was free, and when I was so tired, I honestly didn’t care about waking up rough or hungover. Most mornings were a struggle, anyway.
Molly, my girlfriend—or, fiancée—had picked out this great emerald sofa that ran along two walls of our living room. I made a beeline to the corner, dropping onto one of the soft pillows, kicking my feet up on the coffee table, giving Dom plenty of space to choose from.
I loosened my belt, popping off my grandfather’s cuff-links and giving them a small smile before putting them in a bowl at the centre of my coffee table. They were a good luck charm, left to me when he passed twenty years ago.
Sighing, I finally leant back into the cushions. It was rare for me to get peace nowadays. Whether at home, in the office, or at various family events, I was always performing.
I shot a look to the kitchen as I heard the fridge door close. Even in front of Dom, I had to hide parts of myself. It was only in slight moments like this that I could break my lifelong pattern.
There was just one more thing I had to do tonight and then I could finally rest.
I really should have done it earlier. I’d been making endless excuses not to have the conversation with Dom because I knew him well enough to know how this would go. But the party to announce the engagement was already arranged. And I’d rather see Dom’s shock now than his hurt later.
Molly was on a late shift in the paediatric ward again, so I had the entire night to drag it out if I wanted to.
It should have been straightforward enough to tell my best friend I’m engaged, but Dom grew touchy about certain things.
He and Molly had been friends since we began dating three years ago. We’d go out every week with friends, have dinners together, go on holidays together. Dom had no problem spending hours with me choosing presents for Molly or sitting with me after a fight, convincing me to go home to talk to her.
There were some things that had set him off.
When Molly and I moved in together, when we bought Mr Snuggles, and especially when we told him we were buying a house.
If he was annoyed, he generally wouldn’t talk to me for days.
He actually went on holiday for two weeks after I told him about the house, though he insisted that it had already been planned.
There was another hiss as Dom popped the beers, followed by a light ting as he dropped the caps on the kitchen counter. He came sauntering into the living room, a wide grin on his face, handing me a beer. The cool glass was exactly what I needed to calm the heat humming in my palms.
“Man, I hate those things.” Dom said as he flopped down right next to me. It didn't matter if we had a whole theatre to ourselves; he always sat as close as possible. That was the thing about him: he liked contact.
Dom had a way of tinging everything he did with sex.
He reeked of it. From how he threw himself onto the sofa, his shirt lifting to reveal the light line of hair and the V of his hips disappearing under the waist of his trousers.
Or how his blonde hair fell over his eyes, to the way he tipped his head back, arching his neck to highlight the tight muscles that ran down to his shoulder.
I couldn’t not look.
He shot me a half-grin, tilting his head to the side as he brought the bottle to his lips. He moaned as he found the rim, his throat bobbing as he drank, sighing as he pulled his tie loose.
I took a sip of my own with considerably less flare before replying. “Just be glad I convinced Mum to keep you out of the running this year.” Last time we had a bachelor auction, eighty-year-old Lady Devereaux had won Dom for ￡107,000 and spent the entire date rubbing her hands over his ass.
“True, I guess.” He winked as he rested his right knee on the sofa, turning his body towards me.
He was attractive in all the ways I wasn’t; chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that got me if I wasn’t being careful.
Thick arms, strong legs, and wide hands he used to poke and prod whenever he could.
He liked to tease, and there were too many times where I let him go too far.
But he seemed to enjoy it when I scolded him for trying as well.
I wasn’t going to deny I was jealous, but I accepted our differences a long time ago.
“I swear to God,” he said as he stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his bottle dangling next to my shoulder.
“The next time another one of those socialites sticks to me, I’m going to kick off.
” He groaned. “It’s like they are obsessed with having a gay best friend.
Aren’t there enough of us floating around?
It’s fucking boiling pot for fuck’s sake. Why is it always me?”
I gave him a once-over, raising a brow, which he returned with another grin.
We both knew exactly why people wanted him on their arm.
He had already discarded his black dinner jacket in the car, his shoes abandoned some time between entering the house and sitting down. But it was his tight shirt outlining his abs that really drew people’s attention, along with his tall stature and naturally attractive face.
Dom had spent the last eight years working hard to maintain a place at Harris, Walsh & Sons, one of the most prominent London law firms, serving the wealthiest families in the country, including mine.
Both he and my sister, Cat, had steadily risen through the ranks over the years, as I had at the hospital.
“At least you don’t have people talking to you while their eyes are fixed on my parents,” I said, pursing my lips. It had been that way my whole life, but it was still frustrating maintaining a conversation that neither party was interested in.
“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” he replied.
“I just wish people put more effort into it. They could at least pretend they were listening to me.” Most people thought the easiest way into Harold and Mallory Fischer’s circle, aside from actually talking to them, was through hefty donations to The Foundation and schmoozing with the Acting Director, i.e.
me. My parents knew exactly how much power and influence they wielded and, unfortunately, they only used those powers for good when it benefited our family.
“Well, at least you don’t have oldies propositioning you all night.” He chuckled.
Dom had proudly mentioned how much some of my parent's associates had offered him for a night. Even though it was scandalous, it wasn’t uncommon, and Dom generally received higher offers than most.
Dom had been the same since we first met in university.
There was never a time when he wasn't out having one-night stands. That was his way. His relationships didn’t last more than a month, and I was the serial monogamist, hopping from one relationship to the next every three to four years. Until now.
“You don’t have to come to the parties, you know,” I said.
“Of course I do, handsome. I can’t leave you all alone.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as he grinned. I preferred to act ruffled at the nickname than tell him how it always made me feel at ease.
“You’re lucky you’re my friend,” I said, twisting my lips into a small smile.
“Hmmm. Or are you lucky that I’m so pretty that I can beat back all those socialites thirsting for a piece of you?” He notched his head back and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s amazing how often they conveniently forget you have a girlfriend.”
I paused, my bottle halfway to my mouth just as he met my eyes.
“Ah, is that it then?” he said.
“What?” I asked, knowing he’d seen right through me. He always did. It didn’t matter how well I thought I was masking, he still knew when I was hiding something.
Dom smirked as he lifted his hand, and it was a struggle not to follow the path of his thumb as it swept across his lips and disappeared into his mouth for the briefest second.
He pulled it out before he spoke. “You’ve still got your business face on even though we left the party ages ago.
And you’ve been doing that tappy thing with your hand all night. So, what’s up?”