Chapter 18 - Damian
DAMIAN
I should not be smiling. But I am.
Amber’s exit should have rattled me, what with her threats about Meron. It should have tightened the vise of consequence that always clamps down when she decides to be theatrical.
Instead, I’m impressed. The only other person I’ve seen cow Amber is my mother, and even Mother is too nice about it since Amber gave birth to her grandson.
Perry sits across from me like she just swatted a mosquito instead of dismantling my ex-wife’s composure in under sixty seconds.
“That,” I say slowly, “was reckless.”
“That,” she replies calmly, “was necessary. Amber needed to be put into her place. In fact, I’m thinking she’s needed that for a long time.”
I lean back in the booth and exhale. “You don’t understand how vindictive she can be.”
She arches a brow. “I dated your son.”
Fair. “This isn’t social maneuvering,” I continue. “Amber’s boyfriend—or fiancé, depending on which one is speaking—is my department head. You are my patient. Amber will weaponize both of those facts.”
“I am your former patient,” she corrects.
“That distinction won’t matter if she doesn’t want it to.” The more I say it aloud, the more the reality crystallizes. Meron already hovers. Already looks for procedural missteps. Give him an incentive, and he will escalate. “She’ll talk. She’ll imply impropriety.”
“And?”
“And hospital boards do not enjoy scandal.”
Perry studies me carefully. “You’re spiraling, Damian.”
“I’m assessing.”
“You’re spiraling. I know because you’re making the same face I always do when I’m spiraling.”
The word sits uncomfortably close to truth. I rub a hand across my jaw. “Amber enjoys destabilizing my life. If she senses leverage, she’ll use it.”
“Okay,” Perry says calmly. “Go regroup.”
I look at her. “Excuse me?”
“You’re wound tight. Go splash cold water on your face. Give yourself one of your very best pep talks. Then come back and eat your tacos.”
The absurdity of the suggestion disarms me. “This is not a pep talk scenario.”
“It absolutely is. You’re letting her ruin dinner by fearing she will ruin your life. Cold water on the face, then tacos.”
I hold her gaze for a moment. She’s not dismissing the risk. She’s refusing to be intimidated by it. And that difference unsettles me in a way I don’t expect. “You’re not worried.”
“I’m not letting her win by ruining my dinner. This food and the company are too good to let her win.”
The steadiness in her tone does something to my pulse. “Two minutes. If I don’t feel better after the cold water, then I go home for my Xanax.”
“Or, you order a third margarita, and I drive your truck to bring you home.” She lifts her glass in acknowledgment. “Go.”
I walk toward the back hallway of the restaurant, past the bar, past the kitchen doors, tension still threading through my shoulders.
This is exactly the sort of entanglement that complicates everything I’ve built.
Amber is a giant pain in my ass, and even though we’ve been divorced for a while now, she’s getting worse.
Would she really get me fired, though?
I push open the men’s room door. The room is empty. Good. I brace my hands against the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
You are not reckless. You have handled worse. Amber cannot dismantle you unless you panic.
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water against my face. The shock steadies me. I straighten, dry my hands.
Perry was right—it helped.
I am fine.
The door opens behind me.
It’s Perry.
“What are you doing in here?” I say, sharper than intended. The question is absurd the moment it leaves my mouth.
She steps toward me like she belongs here. “Regrouping.”
“This is the men’s room.”
“That’s why I knew you’d be here.” She smiles seductively. She looks different under fluorescent light. Less softened than in the booth. More defined. Determined.
The sink still runs faintly behind me. Water drips steadily into porcelain, echoing in the small, tiled room.
“Maybe I need to spiral. You don’t understand what she can do,” I say quietly.
“I understand what you’re letting her do.” She steps closer. Close enough that I can feel her warmth through the thin space between us. “Damian,” she says, and my name in her mouth is both soothing and incendiary, “you are not a man who lets someone else dictate your mood.”
“This is not about mood. It’s—”
“Yes, it is.” Her hands settle at my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. The contact sends a current straight through me. “You’re wound so tight right now,” she murmurs.
I catch her wrists instinctively. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but this is reckless.”
She tilts her head. “Didn’t you say you like measured risk?”
“This isn’t measured,” I reply. “This is…a public bathroom.”
She leans in, pressing her lips to mine. Not softly. The kiss steals my argument. My grip on her wrists loosens without conscious decision, and her hands slide lower, deliberate, testing.
My breath shifts. “This is a public restaurant,” I murmur against her mouth. “Anyone could walk in.”
“Which makes it exciting.”
The thought spikes through me. I should step back. I should reestablish control. Instead, I feel my restraint fracture under the combined pressure of fear and desire.
Her hands move to the front of my jeans.
My body responds before my brain finishes protesting. “Perry—”
She presses a finger lightly to my mouth. “Relax.” The word feels less like a suggestion and more like a command. She drops slowly, gaze never leaving mine. Not even as she unzips my jeans.
I look toward the door. Unlocked. The risk heightens everything. My pulse pounds hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. “This is insane.”
“Yes, it is,” she agrees. Then she licks all over my cock, before swallowing me down.
And then I stop speaking altogether, because the line between panic and arousal dissolves completely, and I’ve forgotten how to make words.
The room feels smaller than it did a moment ago.
Or maybe I’m simply more aware of it. Tile.
Fluorescent lighting. The faint hum of ventilation.
The thin, inadequate lock on the door that would not prevent interruption, only delay it.
Fuck me, her mouth is magic.
My hands brace on the counter behind me, knuckles whitening. I should step away. I should say something intelligent and decisive. Instead, I’m watching her, and my brain has left the building. “We could get caught.”
She glances toward the door briefly, then back at me. “Mm-hmm.”
The agreement is not reassuring. It is gasoline.
My pulse is a living thing now—heavy, insistent. The fear of discovery coils around the desire and tightens it into something almost unbearable. “You’re not thinking clearly—”
She merely shrugs and shuttles up and down my cock like this is what she was made for.
Her plump lips squeeze on me for emphasis, as if she’s trying to shut me up in the nicest way possible.
Her hands are featherlight on my balls, and I have to bite back the instinctive sound that threatens to escape.
This is reckless. Professionally indefensible. Socially catastrophic. And yet, in this narrow, fluorescent-lit space, those consequences barely register.
I close my eyes briefly. This is a test of control. And I am losing. And I no longer care. I’m right on the edge of madness, thanks to Perry.
The door handle rattles faintly.
My eyes snap open.
The sound of retreating footsteps follows. The adrenaline spike is instantaneous. Brutal. Sweat trickles down my lower back.
She looks up at me, a flicker of triumph in her expression. “Still panicking?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But not about Amber.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No,” I rasp. “Never.”
There’s a moment where I recognize exactly how far I’ve crossed from proper to something else entirely. The fear sharpens everything. That soft mouth. The absolute certainty in her touch.
I reach down, fingers tangling briefly in her hair to guide her back and forth. She’s brought me too far—I can’t hold back. But I can’t say much more than her name in a warning tone.
Instead of pulling away, she grabs my hips, pulling me deeper, and it undoes me. I grab a fistful of her hair and groan when it hits, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my composure. I exhale hard, braced against the counter, pulse hammering.
She swallows, stands slowly. Adjusts her clothing like nothing extraordinary just occurred. “You’re welcome.”
I stare at her for a breath, then laugh and yank her in close for a kiss. This crazy woman might ruin me, but I’ll thank her for the privilege.