Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
London
I grabbed a bottle of water, took it up to my room, and pulled open the drawer to the nightstand where my bottles of pills lay. I closed my eyes for a moment as a throbbing headache emerged.
“No. Not today, Teaghan. I wanted to go out and see things,” I spoke to myself. “Damn you!”
I took my pills and lay down on the bed. Maybe I’d rest for a while and then work on my blog and update all my followers on what I’d been doing while in New York.
When I awoke, I looked at my phone; it was two o’clock. Shit. I’d been asleep for six hours. I also noticed I had six text messages from Damien. I heard the elevator ding, so I climbed out of bed and stood at the top of the stairs.
“Why the fuck can’t you respond to my text messages?” Damien asked in anger as he stepped off the elevator.
“I just saw them. I was taking a nap.”
“Since nine o’clock this morning?”
“Yeah. I had a headache. I didn’t plan on sleeping that long.”
“Is your headache better?” he asked in a calmer voice.
“Yes.” I smiled. “Why are you here and not at work?”
“Because you didn’t respond to my text messages. I thought maybe you disobeyed my orders and moved to Harlem.”
“Disobeyed your orders?” I laughed. “You cannot and will not order me around.”
“Okay, maybe I worded that wrong.”
“To put your mind at ease, I’ve decided to take you up on your offer and stay here until my time in New York is up.”
“Good. You’re a smart girl.”
“On one condition.”
“What is your condition?” He sighed.
“You take me to see the sights of New York.”
“I can’t do that, London. I have a job and a lot of work to do. I run a company. A company I built from the bottom up. I’m not taking time away from that to show you around the damn city.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “Then I guess I’m moving to Harlem.”
“The hell you are.” He pointed his finger at me.
“Damien Prescott,” I spoke as I slowly walked down the stairs and stood in front of him.
“This is the last time I’m going to say this.
” I pressed my finger into his chest. “You do not get to tell me what I can and cannot do. You are not my keeper. You are not my husband. You are not even my boyfriend. You have no claim on me whatsoever. Understand?” I spoke in a firm voice.
His jaw clenched, and anger filled his eyes.
“I’ve been traveling alone for months. I’ve been on my own since my mother passed away, and I don’t answer to anyone.
Got it? You came all the way home to yell at me for not answering your text messages.
You’re here and don’t need to return to the office.
I want to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I would like you to come with me,” I spoke sternly, my finger still pressed into his chest.
“Fine,” he spoke with anger. “You want to go to the damn museum, then let’s go!”
“Thank you. I need to change. I’ll be right back.” I smiled.
Damien
The nerve of that woman. Who the hell did she think she was? I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Joslyn.
“Hello, Mr. Prescott,” she answered.
“Joslyn, I won’t be coming back to the office today. Reschedule my four o’clock meeting with the staff.”
“What? You’re not coming back? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m feeling fine. I have something I need to take care of,” I sternly spoke.
“Okay. See you tomorrow morning,” she said.
I ended the call, and within seconds, my phone rang, and it was Scott.
“What?” I answered.
“Joslyn just said you aren’t coming back, and you canceled the staff meeting. What the hell is going on?”
“I’m taking London to the art museum.”
“What?” He laughed.
“Just be quiet. Did you talk to Madison?”
“Yeah. She told me I could come home tonight. I’ll swing by and pick up my things.”
“Okay. Just let yourself up in case I’m not home.”
“Will do, Damien. Have fun.” He chuckled.
“I’m ready.” London smiled as she walked down the stairs.
“Just for the record, I’m working the second we get back here.”
“That’s fine.”
We exited my building, and I hailed a cab for us. When we climbed inside, the cab driver was the same one who drove us the other day from her Airbnb to my penthouse.
“Hello there.” He smiled. You two again?”
“Hi.” London smiled back.
“Metropolitan Museum of Art,” I spoke in an irritated tone.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just mad because I’m taking him away from his work.”
“He was mad last time he was in my cab,” the driver said.
“He’s always in a constant state of madness. And you want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because he works too much.”
“You,” I pointed to the driver, “concentrate on the road, and you,” I pointed to London, “be quiet.”
She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“You’re going to be okay, Damien.”
I sighed as I shook my head and looked out the window. The driver pulled up to the museum, and I slid my credit card through and handed him a cash tip.
“Thank you.” London smiled at him as she climbed out.
“You’re welcome. Have a good time.”
“May I ask why you wanted to come here so badly?” I asked.
“I love art. When I was a kid, I read about Renaissance artists. Plus, this is the largest art museum in the United States.”
I purchased our tickets, and our journey began.
I watched her as she looked around at the architecture of the building.
Her eyes danced with delight as a smile never left her lips.
Being here made her happy. We walked around and looked at all the various art.
I’d been here a thousand times, so none of it was new to me.
But to her, it was, and I could tell she was taking every bit of it in.
She stopped in front of the first painting she saw by Claude Monet and stared at it intently.
“Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand as if it were necessary to understand when it is simply necessary to love,” she spoke.
“Huh?” I glanced over at her.
“That was a quote by Claude Monet. He’s saying we don’t need to understand what he paints. We just need to find the beauty in what we see—kind of like people. Sometimes we don’t need to understand them or try to understand them. We just need to love them.”
“Oh,” I spoke. “Did you know he tried to kill himself because of financial difficulties? See, money was important to him too.”
She rolled her eyes at me and walked away.
“What? It’s true.”
They announced over the speaker that the museum would be
closing in fifteen minutes.
“We better wrap this up. They’re getting ready to close. Plus, I’m starving, so we need to grab dinner.” I took hold of her hand, the first time since we’d been out, and led her out of the museum.
“What are you in the mood for?” I asked.
“Pizza.” She grinned. “Okay. We’ll go to Serafina’s, then.”