CHAPTER 8 #2
It’s pretty shocking how openly they talk about what they do when they think no one around them cares. They’ve always thought I was too busy looking for my next high or for my next hookup to understand what they were saying.
Idiots.
So with that, I spend the next three days working my way down the list, cross-referencing as much as possible and adding some names they missed.
During this time, there is always a movie playing in the background, but I never watch them; instead, I use them as timers.
After every three movies, I crack the door just enough to leave out my empty plates and the silver tray dusted with cocaine.
The staff takes them away and knocks once they’ve left the next meal and a new, clean tray outside the door.
And that’s it.
As long as I stick to that exact routine, stay entirely off my phone, and eventually come out with my father’s business solution, absolutely no one questions what I do here. Well, no one except Rafael.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally finish the list. I plug in the lip balm USB, transfer the files, and eject the drive once I’m sure they’re saved. Then, I trigger a hard factory wipe on the laptop.
I watch the screen go black, the progress bar wiping every single trace of the document, the operating system, and the keystrokes.
I’m officially done.
“Oh, my freaking chihuahuas!” I groan as I stretch my stiff body.
Spending three days on my bathroom floor is not the best for my back.
Ughh… I need a shower and like twenty massages.
I stand up, strip off my clothes, and step into the glass shower, cranking the water as hot as I can physically stand it.
I lean my forehead against the wet tile, letting out a long, exhausted breath as thick steam fills the room.
For the past three days, I was so focused on cross-referencing that list and solving my father’s ledger that I somehow managed to keep that night in his car out of my head. Not gonna lie… It took a lot of effort.
No matter how many times my brain tried to wander back to him, and there were many, I forced myself to focus on the work.
But now, without a single thing left to do, all I can think about is Damián.
My heart does a pathetic little flip as I remember the weight of his hands on my hips when he hauled me onto his lap. He was so sexy and effortlessly strong.
And the kiss…
God, the kiss.
The way his mouth took complete ownership of mine, the way his tongue tasted, and the masculine growl he made in his chest when he came.
So damn hot…
Without thinking, I lift my hand and trail my fingers over my own collarbone, down the center of my chest.
But in my mind, it isn’t my hand.
It’s Damián’s.
I imagine his large, calloused palms scraping gently against my skin. I let out a shaky breath as the hot water beats down on my shoulders.
What would it feel like if we weren’t pretending?
What if we were alone in his apartment and he wanted me as much as I want him now?
My mind spirals, painting a vivid picture.
I imagine Damián pressing me back against the shower glass. I imagine his lips trailing down my jaw, biting gently at my neck, mapping the skin of my chest. I imagine him dropping to his knees, his hands gripping my thighs, telling me to open them for him… his mouth moving lower, and lower…
My eyes snap open as my heart beats like crazy.
Oh my God!
I snatch my hand away from my own body as if I’ve just been burned.
“No, no, no,” I gasp, my face burning with mortifying shame.
I wrap my arms around my chest, suddenly feeling completely exposed and incredibly foolish.
What the hell am I doing?
I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this.
Damn it, Oliver… of course, your first crush had to be with the man who is kissing you as part of his job.
If he knew I was in the shower, blushing like a desperate teenager and fantasizing about his calluses—uuugghh… he would be horrified.
Even I am horrified.
Crawling with shame, I turn the water from hot to freezing, which does wonders to snap me out of my fantasies.
Once I’m done showering and getting ready, I give one last check to the bedroom and bathroom. I chop the list into microscopic pieces and flush them down the toilet, right along with whatever cocaine I didn’t already use to dust the silver trays and my nightstand.
“Okay, you can do this.” I take a deep breath, mentally preparing for my least favorite part of these benders… I rub menthol under my nose and around my eyes until they turn so red, puffy, and watery that I look like a man who has been stuffing his body with drugs.
“Jeeezzzz—suuu fuck!” I groan in pain as my eyes bloat and cry, and my nose reddens.
I check the mirror by the door, and yes… I look like I’m dying.
Perfect!
I slip the encrypted lip-balm USB into my pocket because there is absolutely no way I am leaving it behind. I know for a fact that the second I walk out that door, Rafael’s men are going to toss the room, checking every single nook and cranny to figure out what I was doing in there.
I leave the formatted burner laptop sitting on the bed, logged into a multiplayer game so it looks like I spent the last three days geeking out while high.
I grab my father’s book and head downstairs.
When I reach the dining area, I see Elijah, Serena, and Rafael are already seated at the dining table, having breakfast.
Or more like a royal buffet.
“Good morning!” Serena picks up a big bowl of fruit and places it in front of an empty plate that was set for me.
“Morning.” I walk over and hand my father the book. “Here. The solutions to both of the problems you had.”
My father takes the book and starts reading it.
“Ollie, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think what you are doing is healthy,” Serena says gently. “You look like you’re dying.”
“Leave him alone; genius always requires benders like this,” Elijah says, his eyes glued to the pages. “This is incredible work, son.”
I smirk at Rafael, and he glares at me.
“I know what he’s doing is good for the business, Elijah, but he needs to take care of himself,” Serena argues. “How about we go to the spa this afternoon and have dinner there?”
Ahhh… The spa sounds great, but I should really get this USB out of here before something happens.
Maybe I can leave it with Zara until I see Damián.
Wait… Should I tell my family I am dating Damián? Start warming them up to the name.
It could take like a month, but I think after mentioning him a lot, I’ll be able to bring him here without causing suspicion.
Yeah, great plan.
“I’m fine, Serena. Anyway, I can’t today; I’m meeting my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?!” Serena gasps, so excited that her fork drops onto her plate. “You have a boyfriend? Like… dating, committed, ‘hey look, this is my boyfriend’ boyfriend?”
“…I do.”
“OMG, Ollie! Who? When? Where?”
“His name is Damián. We’ve seen each other around at parties before, but we really hit it off at the gala. We made it official a couple of weeks ago.”
“Well, cancel your dinner plans,” Serena beams. “Bring him here!”
“Yes, Ollie,” Rafael says with a menacing tone. “Bring him here.”
Holy! No… this is bad.
I can’t bring Damián to this house without at least talking about our timeline or having some sort of cover.
What if I say the wrong date or mess up our ‘meet cute’ story?
And if something goes bad, Damián doesn’t know the layout… I haven’t told him any information about this place. He won’t know where to run.
No. I can’t.
It’s too dangerous to bring him now.
“Absolutely not. We just started dating, so I don’t—”
“Who cares! The weather is gorgeous. Tell him we have tons of bathing suits.”
“Stop it, Serena,” Elijah sighs, turning a page. “Oliver is almost thirty years old. He can do whatever he wants.”
“I don’t care if he’s thirty or fifty! He is my stepson, and I want to meet the man he likes.”
“Fine, I’ll text him. But I make no promises,” I relent.
Serena cheers and leans over my shoulder to see what I will write.
Okay, so there’s no getting away with this…
I pull out my phone and type:
OLIVER: Come to the house. Serena says we have bathing suits here.
I click send, trying not to worry about it because Dami is smart. He knows it’s way too soon for him to come to the house, especially without a plan.
Yes, that’s right… Just calm down, man. He’s a damn agent.
He knows it would be best to be prepared first. He will see my text, know something is strange, and suggest another day to meet.
I relax a bit and wait, knowing he will know what to do and how to make up an excuse for why he can’t come.
Not even a minute later, my phone buzzes. I open the reply, ready to read Serena the perfect excuse he came up with…
DAMIáN: See you in fifteen.
What… the… fuck…