16. Harper
Harper
I left Dawson alone in his office shortly after we finished. It felt strange just walking back over to my room as if nothing happened, but I did. I turned on the TV and grabbed my sketch pad, taking a seat at the desk and trying to lose myself in my work.
Now, it’s been hours, and I haven’t heard from him. I don’t know what’s normal for a situation like this, but this sure as hell isn’t. I always imagined that I would be with someone who couldn’t get enough of me—both in and out of the bedroom.
I don’t know what to feel about Dawson and me.
He can’t keep his hands off me sometimes, and that’s something I’ve come to terms with.
Dawson is extremely good looking, and I enjoy the sex, but I wish there were more intimacy involved.
I might enjoy cuddling and spending quality time with each other afterward.
I don’t always want to feel like I’m being discarded after being used.
Thinking about me and Dawson just makes me anxious and confused.
In a really odd, fucked-up way, I’m closer with Dawson than I am with anyone else in my life.
I’ve told him things I’ve never even dreamed of sharing with other people.
It hasn’t even been a full week yet. I don’t fully understand why I opened up to him the way I did, but it’s done, and it’s out in the open now.
The more I think about last night and how I told him about Dave, the more anxious I grow.
Dawson and I have a complicated relationship, to say the least. He’s not fond of me working for him, but there’s a part of him that’s extremely protective and possessive of me.
He’s unpredictable and does what’s best for him at any given moment.
He could take this information and use it against me somehow.
I’m not entirely sure how he would do that.
By anyone’s standards, I’m the victim in the scenario, taken advantage of by someone in a position of power over me.
But the world is a messed-up place, and anyone can spin a narrative in their favor.
Even thinking about that, I don’t think Dawson would use something like this against me. Right?
I guess I don’t know him all that well if I have to question it.
I can’t be 100% certain about anything that Dawson does.
I would be a fool to put all of my trust in Dawson right now, so I still have some walls closed up regarding him.
It’s just so much more complicated now that we’re having sex so casually.
“What the hell is my life?” I sigh, dropping my pencil on the desk and running my fingers through my hair.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I’d be sleeping with my boss, who also happens to be my stepbrother. What would people think if they found out about this? To say that it’s forbidden is an understatement.
Henry and Dawson are both public figures, and something like this would be a scandal for the ages.
They could lose funding and investors. Henry could divorce my mom.
I would probably lose my job because, let’s face it, women in this position are always discarded.
Then what would I do? The only reason I’m working with Dawson is to get into art school, and that won’t even be an option if someone finds out about this.
I’ll have put myself through hell for nothing.
I pinch my eyes closed and take a few deep breaths to try to stop my racing mind in its tracks.
Dwelling on all of these things is useless when there’s nothing I can do about it now.
What’s done is done, and Dawson and I can’t go back to the way things were before.
I have to adapt, and that’s what I’ll do.
It’s getting late, and Dawson still hasn’t come out of his office. I peek my head out of my bedroom door every now and then to try to get an update on what’s going on. Even though it’s a Sunday, I’m still on call for him. I never know when he’ll need me.
Normally, I wait until he’s ready to go to bed to lie down just so I don’t get reprimanded for sleeping on the job. This really is an impossible to navigate contract, but I digress.
I’m exhausted, and I can’t wait for him any longer, so I slip into my pajamas and climb into my own bed tonight. Whatever he’s doing in his office has him occupied, and I don’t want to disturb him. Besides, it might be nice to have a little bit of time to myself.
“Alexa, turn off the lights,” I say as I get cozy under the covers, letting the warmth creep through my muscles as I settle down. I close my eyes and sink into the pillow, letting my body relax.
The door bursts open, and I jump up, looking toward the door with surprise etched on my face.
Dawson is standing in the doorway with a disgruntled look on his face.
I don’t know what this is about. I’ve left him alone for several hours now, so there can’t possibly be anything that I have done wrong.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dawson asks, flipping the light switch on for the overhead light that blinds me as soon as it’s lit.
“Sleeping?” I say, blinking away the sting in my eyes from the sudden light.
“Why are you sleeping here?” he asks, taking a step closer. I’m confused, and he must see that because I just shake my head with a dumbfounded look on my face.
“Why am I sleeping in my bed?” I blink a few times and try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is my new normal.
“Get up and walk to my room now or I’ll carry you,” Dawson demands. His voice is low and serious, which I’ve come to learn means I can’t disobey. I wouldn’t want to repeat what happened in the living room when he accused me of insubordination.
But everything I’ve been spiraling about for the past few hours replays in my mind, and all I can do is shake my head.
“Dawson, this isn’t a good idea. What’s happening between us isn’t right, and I think we need to cool things down before it gets out of hand.
Both of us have a lot riding on this relationship. ”
Dawson doesn’t say anything as he stares at me in silence for a moment.
At first, I think he is listening to me for the first time and actually taking in what I have to say.
But then he just huffs and moves closer, tossing my blankets aside.
Before I can ask him what’s going on, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like I’m some kind of a rag doll.
“What the fuck, Dawson!” I shout as I squirm against him, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. Every time I move, he just squeezes me tighter, like a cobra with its prey. As he walks through the penthouse, I just give up. Why waste my energy fighting him?
He opens the door to his room and plops me down on the mattress as soon as we get there. I just sit upright and stare at him with annoyance in my eyes.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dawson says with a casual shrug. “Now, be a good girl for me and lie down. If you try to get up, I’ll have to handcuff you to the bed.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and my stomach twists at the demand. It’s an insane thing to say to someone, but I know he means every word of it. He doesn’t want me to leave this room tonight, and he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that I don’t.
I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into living here with him.
It’s confusing and terrifying, but there is a part of me that finds it exciting.
Dawson has a darkness to him that I never would have expected when I first met him.
He’s shown me a side of himself I should be terrified of. But something about it intrigues me.
I want to know what exactly made him this way. He’s already told me about his mom, and I know that has to have contributed to it. But there has to be more. There has to be some reason I’m so drawn to him the way that I am.
Dawson smiles at me as I do what he says and slide the covers aside to warm myself up under them.
When I’m lying down in the bed, I flash him a smile that silently asks him if he’s happy now, and he smirks before walking around to the other side of the bed.
He doesn’t change into pajamas, only slips out of his slacks and takes off his shirt so he’s in his briefs and nothing else.
I try to ignore what seeing him like that does to me.
I’m about to roll over and close my eyes, but before I can, he pulls me closer and presses me against him.
Once again, his arms wrap around me, and I feel every muscle in his body as he moves.
It’s comforting while being a reminder of how much bigger he is than me at the same time.
I don’t think it would hurt me, but as I’ve said, he’s unpredictable.
“Tell me about art school,” Dawson says, almost whispering it in my ear as he gently moves a few strands of hair from my face.
I look over my shoulder at him before rolling over to lie on my back. If we’re going to have a conversation, we should be looking at each other.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t gone yet,” I say with a shrug.
“What do you plan to learn from art school that you don’t already know?
You’re a really talented artist. Is there really anything else they can teach you?
” I know he means this to sound supportive, complimentary of my work, but every single person I’ve told about art school has said something similar.
Everyone thinks you shouldn’t have to be trained to be an artist; it should be some sort of innate ability that you have.
“I already know how to draw, but I want to study the techniques and get better at it,” I say.
“I want to be able to look at sketches from Leonardo da Vinci and Albrecht Dürer and see what their technique was and learn from them. Plus, I doubt I’m going to make a living just being an artist. I need the skills to market myself and figure out how to take my drawing technique and transfer it into the real world. ”
“If you could do anything at all with those skills, what would it be?” Dawson asks, his eyes tracing my face as he watches me think.
It’s something I’ve thought about a lot.
I love to draw, but drawing itself isn’t a particularly lucrative career.
Of course, I could become a world-renowned sketch artist and have original pieces in galleries.
I could open my own gallery and sell my work directly to clients.
But then there’s the whole world of animation and design that my skills would be suited for.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I just want to be able to do what I love and make an impact on the world with my art,” I admit. Dawson nods and pulls me a little closer as he watches me, letting his hands roam against my body. “What did you go to school for?”
“Business, of course,” he says with a laugh. “I didn’t have much of a choice. My dad made it clear from an early age that I was going to be working at the business.”
“That’s unfortunate. Is there anything else you would have wanted to study?” I ask. Dawson thinks for a moment and shakes his head.
“I accepted pretty early on that this would be the life I have. Not that I’m complaining, it’s a pretty damn good life.
” He laughs and gestures to the luxurious penthouse around us.
A lot of people would kill for the life he has, and it’s comforting to know that he realizes how privileged he is.
“I did take some elective courses in film while I was in school, though. Maybe I could have done something in production or talent scouting.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised he would have an interest in anything so creative. He’s never struck me as a right-brain type person. I would have imagined he only thought about numbers and profit margins, things like that.
We spend a little more time talking, and I listen as Dawson tells me about some of the films he watched, and the impact they had on him.
It’s interesting to learn about his favorite directors and listen to him critique the performances of the actors with such detail that I can see it’s something he truly does care about.
After a while, I can’t hold my eyes open anymore, and they flutter shut as he talks. Dawson just laughs before wrapping an arm around me and tucking some hair behind my ear. He gives me a gentle kiss on the top of the head before letting me fall asleep in his arms once again.