Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
I knocked on Dominic’s door the next evening, my stomach churning. Pushing my purse strap up my shoulder, I turned my body away from the door camera and waited.
Sleep had eluded me for most of the previous night. My eyes were dry, and my head pulsed with a dull ache. I didn’t know what I was going to do.
The door opened and he was there, gorgeously dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, the collar unbuttoned. “Come in.” His jaw flexed. “You know you don’t need to knock.”
I followed him inside, stopping to drop my things in the empty bedroom.
“Glass of wine?” he asked.
“No, thanks.” We walked into the kitchen, and I slid onto a bar stool.
He rubbed his cheek, staring at me. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
I stared down at my hands.
He put his arms around me. “I’m glad you did.”
Then he was kissing me, and I sank into him—glad to escape from the confrontation that we needed to have. He carried me to bed and made love to me—it felt like an apology. Especially when he pulled me against his chest afterward and cuddled until I was ready to fall asleep. I think I passed out at eight o’clock.
In the morning, I wandered around with my mug of coffee, marveling that I was already starting to feel at home in a place like his condo. I made him another apple cobbler and watched the sunrise on the balcony—until it started raining, and I ducked inside, chilled.
Dominic woke up and we both pretended like there wasn’t anything to talk about. He made a big breakfast, and I did the dishes with one of his news programs on in the background.
“We’ll look at furniture today.” He swung his gym towel over his shoulder. “For the spare bedroom.”
I nodded but wished that he had asked me. It was always declarations or orders. The front door shut behind him, and I took myself to the couch for a nap. I wasn’t a take charge kind of person, but Dominic’s bossiness felt off—like a front he was hiding behind, or armor. And he hadn’t apologized.
My phone vibrated with incoming messages from Maria.
Maria
I forgot that I still had a Google Alert for Dominic. There’s an online article about him from the Tribune.
It’s bad. I’m sorry to mess up your day with this but I think you need to know.
Sorry to hype it and not explain the story. One of his nightclub employees is saying he sexually harassed her.
The reporter keeps hedging saying it’s unverified. Heard, ‘from a witness on the scene.’
Sorry. I feel really bad. Call if you need anything.
I found the story and read it three times, hunched over my phone and rocking. It had been published online that morning. The incident seemed to have happened Thursday night—when Dominic had threatened to sleep with other people if I didn’t see him enough.
Dizzy and reeling, I stood and paced back and forth across his living room. I went into the spare bedroom and stared at my piles of things stacked in the closet. Lip trembling, I pulled out my suitcase.
Dominic returned twenty minutes later and went straight for the shower. I waited for him in the kitchen, forcing myself to sip a glass of water.
He came in wearing one of his casual sweaters and jeans and filled a glass with filtered water from the fridge. His eyes widened when he glanced at me. “Did something happen?”
I nodded. “ The Tribune posted a gossip column about you online. That an employee said you sexually harassed her.”
His glass landed on the counter with a thud. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I waited for an hour while he stormed around, making phone calls and pounding on his computer. While he was in his office, I slipped out and loaded my car. When I returned, he was in the spare bedroom, staring at the empty shelves.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t shout at me.” I don’t think I’d ever used that firm voice with anyone. “I want to sit down.”
He stomped out of the room and into the living room. I followed and sat on the couch.
“You think I’d do that—pressure one of my employees sexually?” He stared at me like he didn’t know who I was.
I took a deep breath. “You don’t think I need an explanation? The same night you texted me that you wouldn’t be exclusive if I wasn’t sleeping with you enough?”
“It was one of the managers, and the employee came to me for help.” He paced back and forth.
“Okay.” I forced myself to pause. The back of my throat ached— do it now. “I’m sorry that’s happening. But there are other issues with us.”
He turned his back on me and stared out the window. “Oh, do go on.”
I folded my arms across my chest, shaking my head at his sarcasm. “I want a partner. A family. Half of the time, you treat me like a sexual convenience.”
He flinched. “I’ve been honest about what I can offer.”
“I’m sorry, it isn’t enough for me.” My voice caught. I went into the kitchen to find something to wipe my face. “I need to change—try to do what’s best for me. Thank you…for everything. I’m sorry.”
Pressing on my chest, I waited. He stayed where he was, a hand over his eyes, angled away from me.
I left, stumbling out the door, and ran for my car.