Chapter 23
Harry
At midday at my office desk in the Fischer main building, I was still attempting to type up a proposal for a housing project in Detroit that I had been working on for weeks. But all that was coming out of me was pure sludge.
And Anita knew.
She stood in front of me, arms folded, looking down at me with one eyebrow raised. She’d placed a round cardboard tub in front of me as soon as she reached my desk, one that I was very deliberately avoiding. I preferred dealing with her eagle-eyed look of disapproval than whatever was in that tub.
“You look like shit,” Anita said bluntly like she always did.
My eyes shot up from my screen to meet hers, along with my brows.
“I’m guessing you haven’t put anything healthy in your body since yesterday?” she asked.
I assumed she didn’t mean the two fingers I pushed inside myself last night while my ass was in the air as I begged to be fucked.
I hired Anita as my assistant when I gained traction within The Foundation. She was the only one out of all the applicants who wasn’t desperate to please me. At fifty, she’d seen enough to not let me get away with slacking off, and I appreciated her deeply for it.
She always wore dark, sharp suits, her grey hair cut short. Never any make up, but a French manicure, and a harsh glare that made her angular face even bolder, especially when she was on a mission.
“Possibly. I may have sneaked in an apple last night.” But only because I knew how she morphed into a dragon hellbent on enhancing my fibre intake.
If I didn’t have her and Dom, I would be living off cheap takeaways and coffee like I normally did with Molly.
I only knew how to cook because Dom refused to let me buy my meals when we first met.
One of the ways he wiggled into my life was inviting himself over to teach me and eat together.
It was a habit we kept up, though not as frequently since I left the hospital.
Anita unfolded her arms, pointedly dropping a fork next to the tub. It was exactly as I feared: salad.
I grimaced as she gave me a look. Of course she would catch me.
If she checked my bottom drawer, we both knew she would find the empty box from the bougie bakery I ordered cakes and pastries from every morning.
She let me get away with that, but I couldn’t escape her office lunchtime order unless it was a business lunch.
I eyed the tub, full of all the healthy things I didn’t want to eat when I was pent up.
I may be overweight, but it mostly came from stress.
Dad liked to argue it was just our genes, whereas Mum said fatness was a mental state.
I preferred to believe it was simply that I was perpetually stressed, and I had been all my life.
If I stopped working, or rather, if I stopped trying to help people, I might eventually lose some weight.
But one was considerably more important than the other.
“I have the Hastings proposal all ready for you,” she said as she leant forwards to tap the top of the A4 folder she had left when she brought me coffee an hour ago.
“I’ve put notes on where you need to negotiate edits with his team, as well as places to sign.”
“Thank you. I’ll make a start now,” I said, pulling the file towards me. There was no point in typing anything. I could at least let my eyes scan the report and try to take the information in.
I had an hour of sleep last night, at most. I was too wired to do anything but lie there after another session with Molly.
I came twice during the night, and once this morning, rereading sexts and trying to relive the best moments I’d shared with her before she left for Norway.
But I still couldn’t see her face when I came.
And I was stuck with the look Dom gave me at brunch three days ago.
Guilt was already gnawing at me anyway, even if it was for a reason other than not being able to focus on potentially life-saving projects.
“Are you sure?” she said. “How long have you been sitting at your desk?”
I frowned. She was right, of course. I hadn’t stood up for over four hours, though from the way my hips ached, it could have been the entire day.
But I knew without a doubt it was because I had spent at least five nights spreading my knees wide enough that the muscles in my thighs screamed as I came.
“Long enough,” I replied. “What else is there to do?”
“Do you honestly want a list?” The corner of her mouth hitched. “Or shall we skip to the part where I tell you to rest for an hour so that by the time Lord Hastings arrives, you don’t look dead on your feet?”
I added a sofa to the bathroom a year ago for exactly that purpose. A nap did wonders for me, though I felt like an old man whenever I said it out loud.
I threw a longing glance at my private bathroom on my right. The door was next to a hidden closet that contained emergency suits, and they were incredibly useful for a quick change if I needed to hop from a meeting straight on to a party. Which is why my grandma had it installed in the first place.
“Make it half an hour,” I said with a shrewd look.
“I’m not going into the meeting unprepared.
” It didn’t matter if Lord Hastings had been a family friend since before I was born; he was still slippery.
If I didn’t stay on my toes around him, he’d rope me into agreeing to things I’d later regret: like allowing Mum to sit on the Board if the vote went my way.
Anita nodded briskly, her sharp grey eyes dropping to the tub of salad in front of me before sweeping back up to meet mine.
“Yes, yes. Fine.” I rolled my eyes, reaching for the tub and popping the lid as she folded her arms again. “Well, are you going to stand there and watch me eat it, too?”
Her lips curved into a smile, and she shrugged. “Just making sure.” She chuckled. “I’ll be back in later.” She turned and headed towards the door.
If I didn’t have Anita, Cat, and other heads of departments keeping an eye on all the threads that made up the tapestry of The Foundation, I couldn’t see how I’d run it.
The moment the door closed, desire quietly rose in my body again. It had been waiting under the surface for my mind to drift and remind me how much pleasure was waiting for me if I just gave in. Tonight would be the seventh time we did it, if Molly actually responded.
It seemed rather mad that I’d gone from being hesitant about sexting her to spreading myself out before she was even ready. I was so eager for it, and I kept telling myself it was because I wanted to connect to her, even though I felt more distanced from her each time I came.
I looked down at the swirl of lettuce, chicken, raw vegetables, and seeds in front of me, sighing at the sorry state of the thing. I knew it was good for me. I just didn’t want it to be.
Pulling out my phone, I shot my fiancée a message before I picked up my fork with a grimace. The quicker I ate it, the quicker I could lie down and let sleep take me, even if it was only for half an hour.