16. Dominic
16
Dominic
I throw myself into work, spending longer hours at the office than necessary, taking meetings I could delegate, reviewing documents that don’t require my personal attention. Anything to keep my mind occupied.
The days since our contract signing have begun to blur together. Day 7. Day 9. Day 12.
And now Day 14 looms large on my mental calendar.
Tomorrow.
The second clause fulfillment.
I tell myself I’m looking forward to it. Why wouldn’t I? It’s a man’s fantasy, isn’t it? No strings attached physical release with a beautiful woman. The first time was efficient, clinical even.
I got what I wanted.
So why does the thought of tomorrow night fill me with such unease?
I’ve been avoiding her. Not obviously enough that she would notice, but enough to maintain my sanity. Cursory hellos when we pass in the penthouse. Dinner plans that I mysteriously cancel at the last minute. Work communications conducted primarily through text and messenger.
Need your input on the sustainability metrics for the east wing. Can you review and send notes?
Investor meeting pushed to Thursday. Will need updated projections by Wednesday.
Professional.
Distant.
Safe.
It’s easier this way. Easier than facing the complexity of our situation. Easier than acknowledging the grudging respect I feel watching her work. Easier than confronting my reaction to her cool efficiency during our first encounter.
Easier than admitting I’m still thinking about that night when I found her watching me by the window, her silk robe catching the city lights, her voice soft as she told me torturing myself wouldn’t change the past.
And that’s the crux of the fucking problem, isn’t it? She saw me at my weakest. Raw. Exposed. No one sees me like that. No one. I’ve spent years building walls to keep people out and she slipped through a crack I didn’t even know existed.
I can’t let it happen again. I won’t. Letting her in means talking about the past. About him. About that night. No fucking way. Some ghosts need to stay buried.
So yes, I’ve been avoiding her.
I check my Rolex for the fourth time as I step from the town car into the crisp evening air. Eight fifteen. Not late enough to be rude but not so early I look eager.
Jake nods as he holds the door then wordlessly positions himself near the entrance, next to the other security details my friends have already brought. He’s a reassuring presence in what promises to be an uncomfortable evening.
The Polo Bar’s warm lighting and wood paneling welcome me as I step inside. The hostess recognizes me immediately.
“Mr. Rossi, your friends are already seated in the corner booth.”
I follow her past tables of New York’s elite, feeling eyes track my progress. The whispers aren’t my imagination. Since Vegas, I’ve become tabloid fodder in a way I never was before. Even with all my wealth and previous notoriety, this marriage scandal has elevated me to a new level of public interest.
Fucking annoying.
Marco spots me first, raising his glass with a grin that’s half welcoming, half mocking.
“The newlywed finally graces us with his presence,” he calls out, loud enough to turn heads.
Leo and Sam scoot over to make room in the booth. I slide in beside Sam, signaling the waitress for a scotch.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, though I’m not. “Traffic was a bitch.”
“Yeah right,” Leo says, his smile all teeth. “Couldn’t tear yourself away from the wife, could you?”
I force a laugh, remembering how Tatiana looked this morning, precisely aligning her coffee mug with the edge of the counter. The memory is oddly comforting amid this forced performance.
“Some of us have actual businesses to run,” I counter.
Marco leans forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So how is married life treating you? Is she as good in bed as she looks?”
My jaw tightens involuntarily. “Be very careful what you say next...”
“Whoa,” Leo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Since when are you so protective? You’re the one who always said marriage was a prison sentence.”
My drink arrives, and I take a long swallow, grateful for the burn.
“Speaking of marriage,” I turn to Marco. “How’s yours going? All of what, two weeks old now?”
Marco grins. “Just like yours! But it would’ve been nice if my best man hadn’t bailed on my ceremony to go get hitched himself.”
The guilt hits harder than expected. “I was there for the reception.”
“Yeah, for like twenty minutes,” Marco scoffs. “You showed up, danced with your new secretary for half a song, then stormed off when I tried to dance with her like the place was on fire.”
“She’s not my secretary,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended.
A brief silence falls over the table. Sam gives me a curious look.
“Right,” Leo breaks the tension with a laugh. “She’s Christopher’s secretary. Or personal assistant, whatever. Same difference.”
“It’s not the same.” I try very hard to keep my tone casual, but tonight, these friends of mine are getting deep under my skin. “And she has a business degree. She’s actually helping me with some aspects of the Costa Rica project.”
“Letting the wife play businesswoman,” Leo winks. “Smart move. Keep her busy while you’re out with the boys.”
I take another drink instead of responding, knowing my temper is already too close to the boiling point. These are my friends . This is our usual banter.
Why is it suddenly grating on me like sandpaper?
“Seriously though,” Marco says, signaling for another round. “What happened in Vegas? One minute we’re all at my bachelor party, the next thing I know, I wake up with the worst hangover of my life and find out from Page Six that you got married. Still can’t believe I missed seeing that.”
“No one remembers anything,” I say with a shrug, trying to sound casual. “It was spontaneous. We’d been seeing each other casually for a while.”
The lie tastes bitter. I’ve repeated it so many times now in public that it should roll off my tongue, but tonight it sticks.
“Bullshit,” Leo declares. “I call complete bullshit. That sounds like reputation management training at its finest. I never once heard you mention her name before that weekend. Not once. And suddenly she’s your wife?”
Sam nods thoughtfully. “It is strange, Dom. We all woke up with zero memory after those vials. Then the news breaks with pictures of you two leaving some wedding chapel?”
“Speaking of those vials ,” I counter, leaning forward and giving Leo a hard stare, “maybe next time don’t hand out GHB at a bachelor party. None of us remembers a damn thing from that night. Thanks to you.”
Leo at least has the decency to look vaguely guilty. “Hey, that was just supposed to be a good time. Not my fault you decided to go get married during your blackout.”
“Bros before hoes, man,” Marco adds, nodding. “Always bros before hoes.”
Something in me snaps. “Don’t call her that.”
Marco blinks in surprise. “What?”
“Don’t call her a ho,” I repeat, my voice dangerously low. “Her name is Tatiana.”
“I wasn’t calling her that...” Marco tries to explain. “It’s just an expression. I—”
An uncomfortable silence settles over the table. Leo glances at Sam, who’s been quietly observing the entire exchange.
Sam clears his throat. “So the Costa Rica project is still on track? I was worried with all the... unexpected developments.”
I’m grateful for the change of subject. “It’s proceeding. We’re finalizing the last round of funding next week.”
“And Tatiana’s helping with this?” Sam asks, his tone genuinely interested rather than mocking.
“She identified a flaw in the construction timeline related to seasonal rainfall patterns that nobody else caught,” I admit, surprising myself with the pride in my voice. “Saved us from a potential six-month delay and millions in cost overruns.”
Leo whistles. “Damn. Maybe she did trap you. Smart and hot is a dangerous combination.”
I ignore the comment, focusing on my drink.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of superficial conversation. I make an effort to participate, to laugh at the right moments, to seem like my usual self. But I’m acutely aware of Sam’s thoughtful gaze. He’s always been the observer of our group, the one who notices when things aren’t quite right.
As we’re preparing to leave, Sam hangs back while Marco and Leo head toward the door.
“You okay, Dom?” he asks quietly. “You seem different. More stressed than usual.”
“I’m fine,” I reply automatically. “Just a lot going on with the resort.”
Sam studies me for a moment. “Is it the resort, or is it marriage?”
Perceptive bastard.
“Everything’s fine,” I insist. “The wedding was unexpected, sure, but we’re making it work.”
“If you say so.” Sam doesn’t look convinced. “Just remember I’m here if you need to talk. Really talk.”
I clap him on the shoulder, a gesture meant to seem casual but also to end the conversation. “Appreciate it. But there’s nothing to worry about.”
Outside, I wait until Marco and Leo have disappeared into a waiting Uber before signaling for Jake to bring the car around. Jake sends a quick text to my driver Ric, and soon I’m on my way.
My phone rings as we’re halfway to my place. Christopher’s name flashes on the screen. It’s an encrypted call, safe from eavesdropping.
“Blackwell,” I answer, slouching back against the leather seat. “Bit late for a business call.”
“Not a business call,” Christopher replies. “Just checking in on how things are going with you and Tatiana.”
I tense. “Why? Has she said something?”
“No,” he sounds surprised. “Should she have?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “Everything’s fine. Professional.”
“Good to hear. She showed me the report she did on the supplier negotiations. Impressive work, as always.”
“She’s more than a PA, you know,” I say before I can stop myself. “Her business insights on the resort planning have been invaluable.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“I’m well aware of Tatiana’s capabilities,” Christopher says carefully. “She’s been indispensable to me for two years. Always exceptional.”
“Right,” I mutter, embarrassed by my defensiveness. My voice comes across a little more sharply than intended.
“Dom,” Christopher says after a moment, “is there something going on I should know about?”
“No... I’ve told you everything.”
“If that’s true, why do you sound personally offended when I compliment my own assistant’s work?”
I rub my forehead, feeling a headache building. “Sorry. Long day. Had drinks with the guys.”
“Ah,” Christopher says knowingly. “Yes. Sorry I couldn’t make it. Lucy maintenance. How did it go?”
“About as well as expected. They think the whole thing is hilarious. Especially Leo.” I stare out at the passing city lights. “They keep calling her ‘my secretary,’ like she’s some kind of trophy I picked up.”
“That bothers you.”
It’s not a question.
“Of course it bothers me,” I snap. “She deserves more respect than that.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“Dom,” Christopher says finally, his voice cautious, “you remember this is... temporary ... right? In two weeks, after the resort funding closes, you’ll go your separate ways. As agreed.”
The reminder hits me like a punch to the gut. Of course I know it’s temporary. That was the whole point. Thirty days, then an annulment. Clean, simple, back to normal.
So why does the thought suddenly make me uneasy?
“I know,” I reply, my voice rougher than intended. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good,” Christopher says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Because I’d hate to see either of you get hurt when this ends.”
I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Nobody’s getting hurt. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“So you say...” Christopher replies. “But I’ve noticed you getting rather defensive about her tonight.”
“Just tired of people reducing her to ‘my secretary,’” I mutter. “She deserves better than that.”
There’s a pause on Christopher’s end.
“Interesting,” he finally says.
“What’s interesting?”
“That’s exactly my point, Dom. You care about how people see her. That’s not typically how you approach business arrangements.”
I don’t have a good response to that.
“Anyway,” Christopher continues, “I should let you go. Early meeting tomorrow.”
“Yeah, me too,” I reply, grateful for the out.
The call ends, leaving me alone with thoughts I don’t want to examine. As the car glides through the nighttime streets of Manhattan, I find myself wondering what Tatiana is doing right now. Is she reviewing documents in her perfectly organized workspace? Is she sleeping peacefully in the guest suite? Or is she counting down the days until she’s free of me and this fucked-up situation?
Well, one thing’s for certain.
Something is definitely changing.
The lines are blurring in ways I never anticipated.
And I’m no longer sure that’s entirely a bad thing.
Now, I just need to figure out a way to survive fucking Day 14 without throwing away everything I’ve worked so hard for.