Chapter 20
Twenty
Damien
For weeks, it’s felt as though something terrible and inevitable is closing in on me.
I didn’t notice at first, too preoccupied with my many attempts to put Blair Porter back in the box she belongs—the one which labels her as the bratty, self-important, lazy, and entitled daughter of my employer—and failing over and over again.
I’ve tried to put my finger on when it happened, exactly, running through the past weeks in my mind and examining every interaction I had with her. Nothing has come to mind, however, no moment when I realized the lid didn’t quite fit correctly, or when the box began to pull apart at the seams.
She is too young and too impulsive, and her fucking attitude might drive me into an early grave.
I don’t like her.
I shouldn’t want her.
I definitely shouldn’t have fucked her, or be desperate to do it again.
The less sense I can make of it, the more infuriating the situation becomes.
So, when I received an email from Porter’s PA late last night, blaming me for not properly ensuring Blair completes her coursework—the coursework she told me she was on top of—I seized upon the situation with relish.
While I’m not particularly concerned with Lord Porter’s opinion on my competency, there’s an element of pride involved now, too.
Being here alone with her, having her in my face constantly, getting under my skin in the worst fucking way… Things got out of hand. Now, it’s a relief to have something to point at as incontrovertible proof she is exactly what I need her to be: impossible.
“If you’re going to behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”
Blair, whom I just directed into the chair behind the unused desk in the security office, merely smirks, crossing her legs. “Okay. I have a follow-up question, though. What is your stance on spanking?”
I grit my teeth, trying to remain authoritative and stern, while simultaneously dismissing the memory of my hand coming down on her bare ass, or the sounds she made when I did it.
The worst part of this is that Blair knows exactly what she’s doing. The typical, snarky repartee that’s existed between us since day one has taken on a decidedly sexual, bordering on flirty, edge, and no matter how cold I am with her, I haven’t managed to get us back to less charged territory.
The only way I’ve managed to get this woman to drop the attitude was by making her come on my face five times in a row, a remediation strategy which is now firmly off the table. No matter how much I wish it weren’t.
“Show me the modules you’ve completed,” I demand, not acknowledging her attempt to steer us off course.
Blair hums thoughtfully, tapping one manicured nail on the edge of her laptop. “So, just to be clear, that’s a no on the spanking? What a pity.”
If I bite at that, we’ll be bickering for an hour, and I have shit to do today. “Now, Blair. Christ.”
Letting out a loud, weary sigh, she opens her computer and inputs the password—changed since I guessed it in one try—and clicks around for a moment, before leaning back in her chair, expression guarded.
Holding my breath so I don’t catch the scent of her hair—because even the smell of her fucking shampoo sends blood directly to my dick these days—I round the desk and lean down to examine the home page of her study program.
I go from irritated to incensed in seconds.
Of the fifteen modules she ought to have completed by now, Blair has gotten through three.
“What the fuck?” I snarl, straightening up and looking down at the woman sitting before me, who is busy picking dirt from beneath one of her nails with the head of a mechanical pencil.
“It’s been weeks since you started this.
What have you been doing all day? Are you so lazy that you can’t manage an hour or two of actual cognitive activity? ”
She doesn’t look at me, but there’s a stiffness in her shoulders which suggests my words have found their mark.
Shaking my head in disgust, I cross back to my own desk, gathering up my keys, wallet, and phone.
“I have to meet the electrician at the main house shortly. Stay here until I get back, and work on your courses. If you haven’t made any progress by the time I return, I’ll send your father an email to inform him you are no longer cooperating. I’m done with this crap.”
Pausing only when my hand is resting on the doorknob, I look back—another set of warnings on the tip of my tongue—and see Blair seems to have curled in on herself. She’s staring at the computer before her like it’s the stuff of nightmares, arms wrapped around her middle, and eyes glassy.
If we’d never met, I might even feel sorry for her.
I do know her, all too well now, and I certainly know better than to think she deserves sympathy.
This woman has had every advantage in life, every opportunity, and more money than most people—including me—will ever see in their lives, and what has she done with it?
Why she is so committed to doing absolutely nothing with her life defies all logic.
Frustrated, bitter, and tired of the fucking games, I let out a noise of disgust. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, but you should be fucking embarrassed, Blair. A grown woman, with all the privilege in the world, and you can’t even be bothered to do your homework.”
For fuck’s sake.
I don’t want to look at her anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere near her. So, with one last furious, disbelieving shake of my head, I open the door and stride outside.
Even as frustrated with her as I am, I can’t help but experience a prickle of guilt as I cross the grounds on foot, my mind on the exchange we just had. I was harsh with her, cruel even, but even telling myself it was for her own good doesn’t absolve me, and I know why.
It isn’t just my attraction to her. The more time we’ve spent together, the harder it’s become to see Blair Porter as a two-dimensional character. She might be everything I expected—spoiled, entitled, and bratty—but I’ve also seen traces of humanity in her that aren’t so easy to dislike.
Could I have been so cruel to the beautiful young woman who was singing to herself in the kitchen that day? Or the quiet, withdrawn one who threw herself into the car following the event in Wyngate?
Probably not. Because I’m not a fucking monster.
Though I haven’t been employed by them long, it’s been enough to deduce that the Porters are very like the family my brothers were born into; one that comes with obscene levels of wealth and privilege, yet is emotionally bankrupt.
Plenty of people come from shitty, loveless families, however, and plenty of people rise above it.
Blair isn’t unintelligent. She has the ability to go out into the world and make a life that will make her happy, but she won’t fucking do it.
I refuse to feel sorry for her. There are actual victims of circumstance, but Blair Porter isn’t one of them.
I’m still seething when I reach the main house.
The electrician wrapped up in the basement yesterday, and I need to check his work is completed as the contract specifies before I write a check for the next phase of the project.
My boots have barely hit the gleaming wood floor in the downstairs hall, when I have to step back against the wall to avoid running headlong into a woman.
“Sorry!” gasps the new maid, Summer, clutching her chest. She’s an American college student, brought in part-time by the household staffing agency, and I only completed her background check a few weeks ago.
“No problem, it was my fault.” I shake my head and offer her a reassuring smile, already moving past her.
Before I can get far, however, Summer calls after me. “Can I ask—” She winces as I turn to face her, frowning. “Sorry, it’s none of my business, I was just wondering if Blair is alright?”
“Blair?” I echo, bemused.
“Porter? She lives here?” Summer clarifies hesitantly. “We’ve become friendly since I started, and usually she’s around when I get in. She said she’d be here today, so I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t sick or anything.”
This is news to me. I’ve wondered what Blair does with the time she isn’t driving me mad, but paling around with the maid certainly never made the list.
I cross my arms. “She’s fine, doing some schoolwork in the security office. Less distractions out there. I hope she hasn’t been bothering you.”
Summer’s eyes widen. “Oh! Not at all, she’s been really kind.
My first day here, she offered to help me with the bathrooms, and it’s become our thing.
Work and chat, you know—not that I expect her to!
” she hastens to assure me, obviously worried she’s said too much, and that allowing the lady of the house to scrub floors might be forbidden.
It seems to take more effort than usual to swallow. “She’s fine. Just busy today.”
Bobbing her head, Summer retreats, scurrying off in the direction of the kitchens.
I don’t move, though, still reeling at the news that Blair has been helping the maid clean Thornhurst.
Why?
In the few short interactions I’ve had with Summer, she seemed like the soft-spoken, mild-mannered type, quite the opposite of Blair. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what interest the new maid would hold for Blair, unless… My stomach sinks.
I haven’t kept up on monitoring Blair’s communications.
As days turned to weeks and she still hadn’t attempted to do anything illegal or forbidden by her parents, to do so began to feel less like precautionary surveillance and more like spying.
There is a difference, ethically anyway, so I reduced my check-ins to weekly scans of her call and text logs, ensuring there weren’t any numbers popping up that might raise red flags.
There haven’t been.
In fact, there have been very few calls at all.