Chapter Ten
Damien
Talking with Zoe shifted my thoughts from Cameron to my father's murder.
Before all of this happened, I would have said that I wouldn't be able to work in the same place my father got murdered. But as awful as it might sound, being here makes me feel closer to him. Not that we were all that close while he was alive. My whole family unit was absolutely fractured during my entire childhood.
When I was really little, my mom ran off with another man, and my dad did his best to raise us, but he was constantly stretched thin and stressed out and angry. I can remember as a small child creeping out and listening to him talking on the phone with a friend saying this isn't what he signed up for. As a child, those words nearly destroyed me. As an adult, I can completely understand being in a relationship with someone and things not going as planned.
I can’t imagine deciding to have a family with someone for them to just bolt and leave me holding the bag while they start a new life.
I tried to reach out to my mother on social media back when I was a fresh adult. Some part of me always hoped that she regretted her decision and that she wished she'd been part of our lives and that she actually loved me deep down. The reunion I'd hoped for - one where she welcomed me with open arms and wanted to know about my life and me as a person and everything she'd missed over the years - never came to fruition.
I recline back in my desk chair, remembering that awful week. I can still recall my stomach flip flopping as I sent her the message. Then, the waiting. Agonizing seconds gave way to awful moments turned into humiliating hours. Then numbing days. Nearly a month later, I got a response from her, finally.
She blocked me.
Not a single word was said, it simply went from available to unavailable.
Even now, I remember that fresh feeling of pain. It was such a powerful response; not once, but twice, she'd thrown me away like trash.
Which made the horror of losing my father so much worse. He was the only parent I'd ever known, and while I wouldn't necessarily go so far as to say he was a good dad, he did the best he could with what he had. I could count on him to be there. Like the time he'd been there to bail me out of jail when I punched a bully in the face and broke his nose. He taught me an important lesson that night; that silence can be more powerful than fighting. I'd learned a new way to stand my ground and that having a criminal record wasn't going to serve me for the rest of my life. He taught me to be aloof, distant, and cold. He taught me that the more people know about you, the more ammunition you give them to use against you.
Harsh lessons for a twelve-year-old boy, but invaluable lessons, nonetheless.
And now that he's gone, I wish he could teach me one more lesson in that gravelly voice of his.
But the fact that Zoe wants to help me solve the mystery surrounding my dad’s death gives me hope that one day other people might believe that his death wasn’t just an accident. He was by no means the world's greatest dad, but he did work hard to make the best out of the shit sandwich excuse for a life the universe had handed him. The least I can do in return is to try to figure out who killed him and why.
The problem is my PI isn't able to uncover anything substantial. The cops hid every last shred of evidence, and nobody will talk to me about the now-closed “accident” case.
Being shut down at every turn hasn't helped me come up with any answers, but it sure as hell has made me a lot more suspicious about what really happened.
I glance at the security camera in time to see Cameron standing outside the building. Max refuses to let him in by holding a hand up at about chest height, and Cameron throws his hands up in the air and brings them down in a violent gesture before turning and walking away. I watch him shove a frustrated hand through his hair and hold back my amusement.
By now he knows that whatever key logger he tried to install absolutely is not working and will not work. Any information that's vital, he doesn't have access to. He can't remote enter my computer and glean company secrets. And all of that makes me happier than it should. I have to be a step ahead and I'm good at it.
But as my gaze lands on the manila folder on my desk with the pitiful amount of evidence I have with my father's accident, I wonder why I’m so far behind in this regard.
My dad deserves better and I'm letting him down.
I glance at the clock and realize it's time to start getting ready, even though most of the things for tonight's dinner with Zoe are already in place. I came up with the idea in the setup, but I'm not doing all the heavy lifting myself.
I stand up and make my way to the hidden closet built into my office. That and the sleek pullout couch were the best decisions that I made to this space, because it means I can sleep here without anyone being the wiser and get changed first thing in the morning. And the full bathroom with the hidden shower compartment make it so that I can virtually live at the office and never have to go home and no one will have any idea.
Maybe it's not the healthiest setup, but I am absolutely a workaholic. I wonder if Zoe can forgive that fact about me.
It's amazing to me that in a world where I feel like I can trust no one, I trust her.
Of course, someone here at my work betrayed my dad, and if I’m right, he was murdered. I have no idea who, and there weren't any cameras installed on the night he lost his life. Not that I'm sure I could stomach watching whatever happened, but it sure would make it easier to prove there was nothing accidental about his death.
But I just have this gut feeling that I could tell Zoe anything, and everything I say would stay with her. I really want to sit down and really dig into the few facts that I have around my father's death, just to get her perspective and see if she agrees. Letting someone else in might give weight to my fears. Or maybe she would tell me that she actually believes it's an accident, and I can finally put all of this to rest. I don't know what response would scare me more.
I pull out my clothing and take it into the bathroom. After a quick moment in the shower to rinse away the day, I get out, dry off, and get dressed. My pulse is pounding in my ears and my throat, and I realize this means a lot to me. I don't want to screw things up between Zoe and me; I really like this woman.
After several days of not hearing from her, I've been genuinely concerned that she wouldn't call. Hearing from her had flooded me with an absolute, indescribable relief. But as I slick back my hair and glance at myself in the mirror, I think about how I’d like this dinner to go.
I have no plan to focus on what happened to my dad. Instead, I'd like to focus on us, her and me, our potential relationship, and the promise I see there. I have to act normal in front of her. The last thing I want to do is scare her off. She's smart, kind, funny, and beautiful. Our first date here at home needs to be as relaxed and normal as possible.
She doesn't know about my dark secrets, and I don't want her to.
And that's why I planned the surprise for her. A romantic table for two without anyone else around, just the two of us. And the view will be absolutely unparalleled. Why am I so nervous? I have an excellent plan, something that she will almost definitely love, that's romantic, personal, private, and beautiful.
I pull the lapels of my jacket, wishing I had a pair of sweatpants and a casual sweater to wear instead. I swear on the cruise she'd been more impressed with me being relaxed than she had been with me being dressed to the nines. It's a far cry from the type of woman I'm used to. If any of the women I casually date saw me in something other than a suit, they'd probably faint.
With one last glance at myself in the mirror, I decide it's time to check and see how things are coming along. I make my way out of my office, down the hall to the elevator, and take it up to the roof. A few moments later, I step out of the door into the chilly evening air.
The sun is low, hanging low over the horizon, ready to set very, very soon. Our table is already set up with candles and flowers and two comfortable chairs. All around us, the city is already lit up and I inhale. Right after my dad died, this was the one place I felt I could breathe and clear my mind.
I'm going to share the space with Zoe. She is the first woman I've ever brought up here; even Felicity hasn’t come up to the roof. It's a special moment for a special woman. Even though Zoe might not understand the significance, it's significant to me. Maybe one day I can describe how incredibly important this place is to me, but for tonight, I just want to enjoy her company.
I walk past the table and make my way toward the edge of the building. Clasping my hands behind my back, I gaze out across the buildings around mine, watching windows light up in the growing darkness.
My phone chimes and I glance at it, seeing my access message that he is escorting her to the elevator. I'm appreciative of the warning and take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Placing both hands on the railing, I scan the buildings and think about my father’s wisdom. I think about how women have only ever served one purpose to me before. I think about how far I’ve come in this life, and how far I’ve yet to go. But mostly I think about how important it is to not fuck tonight up.
A few moments later, I hear the door open and turn around.
She's standing there, framed in the doorway, looking stunning in a hunter green warm knit sweater over fitted black leggings with warm brown boots that come up just under her knees. It's not the type of outfit I'm used to my dates wearing, but she looks absolutely beautiful, and I wouldn't trade her look for anything.
Her gaze locks with mine, and her teeth flash white as her open mouth curves into an inviting smile. I want to walk over, pull her into my arms, and kiss her deeply, but I refrain.
Instead, I let her come to me. And she does, walking over with slow steps, her attention never leaving my face. “Hi, Damien,” she says in a low, sweet voice that sounds like Christmas morning. “It’s beautiful up here. But there’s something I have to tell you.”
She's piqued my interest, and I lean in to hear her better.
“Telling me your secrets already?” I ask as a shiver rolls through her. Her eyes widen as if she’s stunned by her own reaction to my words, and I see goosebumps race up her neck as her cheeks go pink.
“Yes,” she says. Her voice lowers, and her words come hesitantly. “I'm afraid of heights.”
Wouldn't that just figure?
Without thinking about my actions, I pull her into a hug. Her arms loop around my shoulders and she holds me tight, her breath warming my face as her curves press to my body.
“I just wanted to do something special for you.” I wish I'd known she was afraid of heights before planning this date - I'd have gone with something a little less sentimental and a little more phobia-friendly.
“Oh, Damien, it's beautiful and it is special. It's my fault for not telling you I'm afraid of heights.” Her fingers lace with mine as she leans in close, keeping her soft body against mine in a way that wakes a dark hunger in me.
“I can't tell you how much it means to me that you’re here tonight.” I want her to know that this means a lot to me.
She smiles up at me. “Are you kidding? I'm just glad that you're entertaining the idea of having a date with me after I took so long to call you.”
I chuckle. “Three days is not an unreasonable amount of time.” What I don't want her to know is that it absolutely felt unreasonable while I was waiting. I take her hand and lead her toward the table. I'd hired an incredible chef to cook dinner for us and I know it’s about time.
I pull her chair out for her, and she sits down as I gently scoot her back in. “Wine?” I ask, taking my seat and picking up the bottle from the chilling dish beside the table. She nods, stars shining in her eyes as she looks up into the nearly-night sky. The last rays of sunlight are dying, and the stars are out.
I pour some wine into her glass and then mine. She lifts her glass in my direction. “To new starts.”
I lift mine. “To you, to us, to tonight.” We both take drinks of the delicious deep red as the chef brings out our plates. All around us, the city lights twinkle as the mouthwatering aroma of steak, shrimp, and asparagus greets our noses.
She glances down at the food, then gives me a disapproving glare. “Okay, who told?”
She's too damn smart for her own good. Of course, I'd reached out to her friends to ask what her favorite dish was, but I didn't expect her to catch on.
“I swore to take my secrets to the grave, little lady,” I say, while making an x across my chest with my index finger.
“Well, there's at least one secret you have to share,” she says, popping a hot shrimp into her mouth, then pressing the back of her hand to her lips as she smiles at the chef and gushes about how good the food is. He nods at her before leaving.
“And what secret is that?” I ask, cutting a bite of my steak before meeting her stare over the table.
Her gaze scans the rooftop as if she's not sure she's safe to speak freely, and she lowers her voice, leaning toward me as she whispers, “The secret about the case you're working on?”
I can hardly believe she's bringing that up right now and I can't help but smile. I hadn't expected this to be as important to someone else as it is to me. “And here I thought we could have a date before bringing up business.”
She looks horrified for a moment. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories-”
I lift a hand to cut off her apology. “You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just teasing. I promised myself I wouldn't bring it up on this first date, but now that you have, all bets are off.”
We dig into our food and talk. She tells me about movie night with her friends last night and how she wished I was there. I tell her about how intrusive she is to my thoughts while I'm trying to work. She laughs and apologizes, and I tell her that that's not something to be sorry for. I tell her that she looks beautiful tonight, and she tells me that I am handsome myself. We bask in one another's attention, and I feel the warmth emanating from her. There's something so easy about our conversation and interaction. I'm not worried that I'm going to say the wrong thing, and I'm not walking on eggshells with what I share.
There's something so freeing about talking to her.
She feels safe, like coming home. And when she smiles and tilts her head slightly, I realize I want to kiss her. No, I want to do more than kiss her. I want to take her home and kiss her all night long, touch every inch of her skin with my lips, taste her with the tip of my tongue until she begs me to stop. I want her.
When we finally finish our food and drink, I sense she’s relaxed a little.
I stand up and offer her my hand. She smiles up at me, clearly unsure what I'm going to do next. So I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn on some music, placing it face down on the table as it serenades us.
“May I have this dance?”
Her smile widens as she takes my hand, standing up and curling her body into mine. I plant my chin on top of her head as we rock back and forth under the stars. With my arms wound tightly around her, I wish this moment could last forever.
When she lifts her head off my chest and gazes up into my eyes, I know that I’m done for.
I lower my lips to hers and she lets out a stunned squeak as I lift her up. Her legs wind around my hips as our tongues meet.
Tonight, she’s mine.
We can sort things out in the morning.
Right now, I need her. More than I’ve ever needed anyone.
And unless she tells me no, I’m going to have her.