Chapter seven
Emma's Apartment, Canary Wharf
December 2021
Emma
The perfectly laid-out living space looks plucked straight from a magazine.
The open-plan design means I can see the state-of-the-art black gloss kitchen, the huge blue suede corner sofa, and the polished oak dining set in one sweep of the room.
On the surface of the table, azure blue plates sit between meticulously polished silverware.
The bedroom is located off the living space.
A huge black velvet bed dominates the room; the only other furniture is a run of mirrored built-in wardrobes.
All the lighting is subdued and integrated into the walls or flooring.
The second bedroom has been set up as a workspace, a place for me to study.
I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that look out over Canary Wharf, the financial district of London. The River Thames is in view, and I watch the river taxis move commuters and tourists up and down the water.
Damon dropped me off an hour ago. I’ve been visiting the apartment, which will be my new home once the baby is born, every day to acclimatize.
Each time I come here, most of my time is spent trying to visualize myself living in it.
I can’t. The thought of no longer living in Damon’s house is unfathomable.
I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him. I’ll miss my bump.
The idea of coming to this place and living by myself after these past twelve months doesn’t sit right.
The one thing I am sure of…this isn’t where I need to be.
The front door opens. I turn and see Damon walking into the apartment.
He smiles when his gaze lands on mine. “Is it starting to feel like home?”
he asks, and I shrug. “It’s a stunning place, and in an ideal location for your office.”
He says the same thing every time we visit.
His attempts to reassure me do no good. I don’t want to be here.
“Yes, it is beautiful,” I agree, but my tone doesn’t convey excitement.
“And I don’t even need to catch the tube to work. So that’s a benefit. Think of all the money I’ll save on fares.”
He rolls his eyes at my sarcasm. The baby, his daughter, wriggles and kicks again.
She’s strong and, at nine months pregnant, she’s due to make an appearance at any moment.
The doctors have said if I don’t start labor in the next few days, they’ll induce me.
I wish this little one would get a move on. The horror stories online of induction are terrifying. My hands move to my swollen belly, my fingers splaying across the stretched black fabric of my winter wool dress.
“Is she kicking again?” Damon asks, and I nod.
He walks over then places his hand on my stomach.
His baby kicks again, and he beams. Genuine happiness seeps from him, his eyes fixed on where she lies.
“Freaking amazing,” he mutters to himself.
My heart skips again, the way it does every time he shows affection toward me.
Though it’s not really aimed at me, it’s for his daughter.
The thought is heartbreaking. He doesn’t care for me the way I do for him. Not that he knows; I’m always careful to keep my emotions in check. If he knew, he would probably refuse to see me again.
Things changed gradually over the past few months. After he secured the lease on this apartment, he seemed to relax around me. Perhaps he felt more settled knowing I was leaving. I know he hadn’t been comfortable with me in his home, especially since losing Connie.
“I need to stop by the office before we go home,” I tell him. “Just to pick up some files,” I add when his face contorts in displeasure at the news.
“You’re on maternity leave, and only meant to work one day a week.” His voice is filled with disapproval. “You shouldn’t be requiring any files.”
“Only until January, then my days are increasing. Harrison has spoken to the school, and they’ve agreed to adapt my degree to allow for more workplace experience. Ninety percent of classes are online anyway. It makes sense. Harrison is officially my mentor.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, surprising me.
“After everything that has happened this past year, you’re still going for what you want. I know you’ll be successful, Emma. Connie would have been proud of you too.”
His gaze drops away at the mention of her name.
I can almost hear his heart strain with the thought of her.
The pain etched across his face tells me all I need to know—he still loves her with every fiber in his body.
He’s still consumed by grief at losing her.
“She would be proud of you too,” I whisper as my emotion catches in my throat. I move for his hand without thinking, which still sits on my stomach. Our skin connects and he snaps his away.
“I need to go,” he says harshly then spins on his heel and strides to the door. “I’ll meet you at the car. Don’t be long.”
I watch him leave and my heart aches. Part of me thinks he senses the connection we have; the other part feels like he can’t wait to be rid of me.
Maybe there’s truth in both those statements.
With one final look at the place I need to call home, I wander out to the lobby and close the door behind me.
The elevator descends to the basement parking area. My apartment is on the tenth floor, so I use the few minutes it takes to compose myself. Damon is sitting, waiting in the subdued Ford Focus he insists on driving around the city. It’s silver with more dents than a golf ball.
“You do know the office is less than a ten-minute walk away,” I say, then grin at him as I climb into the passenger seat. He flashes me a dirty look, but a smile plays on his lips.
“I don’t want you having my daughter on the street, so we’ll take the car.” I laugh out loud. “I’m serious.”
As I sit down and settle myself, I tap my stomach. “This little one isn’t going anywhere soon I don’t think. Nothing seems to have changed—I feel the same as I did last week.”
“And how is that?”
“Sore back, swollen ankles, chronic indigestion, and needing to pee all the time.” He chuckles. “Oh, and never mind my insides being used as a punching bag.”
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I blink at him, shocked by the compliment.
He has never said anything like that to me before.
We stare at each other for a beat as my mouth dries, then someone rattles on the window, breaking the moment.
Damon shakes his head as if waking from a dream, then turns to speak to the man beside him.
He presses the button to lower the window.
“Are you leaving, mate?” the man asks. “The guest spaces in this fucking place are always full.” He looks at me, then down to my bump and smiles.
“Yes, we’re leaving,” Damon confirms.
“Brilliant,” he says. “I’ll just wait for you and park here. Thank you, and all the best for your new arrival.” He nods then turns and walks back to his car. Damon clears his throat.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, then starts the engine and we drive off out of the parking space.
***
Chase, Chase and Waite Law Firm is located in the center of Canary Wharf.
It extends across two floors of a modern office block and employs over one hundred people.
It’s become a home away from home since I started working here.
I love the diverse business and the tasks I undertake.
Working with Harrison has been eye-opening.
He’s shrewd and honest, freely sharing what he’s learned during his career.
Only in his thirties, he’s risen quickly, and I’m lucky to be able to learn from him.
Once again, we pull into the underground parking garage.
Damon reverses the car into the tiny space between two low-slung dark sports cars.
He steps out then walks around and opens my door.
He offers me his hand, and I extricate myself from the seat.
He pulls gently to help me rise—my nine-month bump is becoming more awkward by the day.
As I stand, I wobble slightly. His other hand shoots out to support me on my waist.
I giggle, and he smirks, then rearranges his features back to the grumpy impassive expression he tends to wear.
“You can wait here,” I tell him. “It won’t take long.”
“If you think I’m letting you disappear into that office and expect you to come back when you say you will, you must think I’m an idiot.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“It means if I don’t go with you, I’ll be stuck down here waiting as you get lost in your files. You’re a workaholic.”
I grunt, annoyed, but don’t respond. He’s right.
I love my job, and no doubt I’ll get distracted.
My “only” one day a week in the office tends to morph into three or four depending on my classes.
Over the past months, Damon has tracked me down here multiple times late at night still inspecting files.
“I need to see Waite anyway. We have business to discuss.”
“What kind of business?”
He scowls at me. “The kind you don’t need to worry about.” He drops my hand and removes the other from my midsection. I watch as he walks off in the direction of the silver elevator doors on the other side of the parking garage. “Are you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Yes,” I shout back. “But I have a beach ball on my belly. I can’t move as fast as you.”
I waddle after him. He waits and when I reach his side, he places a hand on the small of my back and we walk the remaining distance together.
When we reach the elevator, I rummage in my bag and remove my key card.
I swipe it across the entry pad and the doors open.
We step into the small white box which will carry us up to my office.
The sign on the wall tells us four adults should be able to fit in the compartment, but it feels crowded with two of us.
I am acutely aware of Damon’s breathing as we ascend.
His strong chest rises and falls with each breath.
My nipples harden, turned on by our close proximity.
I chastise myself. He’s given no indication he sees me any differently than he always has; this is all in my mind.
The ping of our arrival is a welcome distraction.
The doors slide open, and the familiar buzz of business fills the air.
The open-plan office is crammed with desks.
Each one has a person dressed in a smart suit who is either typing frantically on a keyboard or talking on the phone.
Occasionally, someone waves a piece of paper and shouts to a colleague.
Russell and Connor stride between the desks, every so often leaning down to speak to one of the members of their staff.
I haven’t worked directly with either of them, but they are always polite.
Russell looks in our direction. He lifts a hand, acknowledging our presence.
I notice Damon’s eyebrows draw together, and the two men stare at each other.
It’s obvious there’s an issue between them. Just then, Harrison appears.
“Emma, you’re on maternity leave,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to pick up a couple of files. I don’t want to fall behind. Time won’t be an issue for me over the holiday season to read and research, especially once this little one makes an appearance.”
I tap my stomach. Harrison’s gaze moves from me to Damon, then to my bump.
He smiles, then looks back to his friend.
“And what are you doing here, McKinney?” he asks. Damon narrows his eyes as if words are going unspoken between them—a conversation I’m not privy to.
“Emma was visiting her apartment.”
“Again?” Harrison says, skepticism clear in his tone.
“Yes, again,” Damon replies firmly. “She needs to be comfortable in the space for when she moves in.”
Harrison nods but makes no comment. “She wanted some files that are seemingly important. I don’t want her birthing my daughter in the middle of the office, so I’m here in case we need to make a quick exit.”
“Sounds plausible.”
“Plausible? It’s the truth,” Damon grumbles.
“I’m not sure what part of the conversation I’ve missed, but I’ll go get those files.”
I move over to my desk which is a dozen feet away.
The men continue to speak, but they lower their voices so I can’t hear what is being said.
Damon visibly tenses with what his friend says.
I start to rummage in a drawer looking for the paperwork I need while watching them, hoping they won’t notice.
What I am looking for evades me. I know it is here, but I can’t find it.
Damon approaches silently; he stands just behind my shoulder, causing me to jump when he speaks.
“Found what you’re looking for?”
“Shit,” I squeak. “Don’t do that, or I’ll have this baby between the photocopier and the computer.”
He laughs, his voice deep and throaty. It speaks directly to my libido.
My stomach flips as my cheeks heat. He affects me more each and every day, with both his words and his spontaneous, kind actions—simple things like opening a door or taking a bag from me.
Things like this make me wonder if he feels what I feel.
There’s this sense of being together being right, which grows in my heart each day.
“Do you really need the file? You’re not meant to be working.”
“I do,” I reply, snarky. My eyes land on a folder with the familiar blue sticker at the edge, crammed under even more disarrayed documents. “Found it! We can go now.” I go to lift the heavy pile of paperwork from on top of it.
“Which one is it?” Damon asks. I signal to the blue dot. He steps forward and removes the bundle of papers, which is about a foot tall, so I can get the file I need. “You need a better filing system,” he suggests.
“Or a secretary.”
“You’re the intern,” he reminds me.
“True, but my boss says I’m a shit hot intern, so maybe I’ll get a secretary.”
Damon chuckles then shakes his head. “You’re a confident spitfire, aren’t you?” His eyes roam over my face, assessing my reaction to his jibe.
I bite my lip and smirk right back at him. “I’d have thought you would know that by now,” I taunt, then flick my hair over my shoulder dramatically.
“It’s a good thing. You need to be ballsy to work in law. Strong opinions and self-confidence are a must. You’re going to go far.”
“It wouldn’t have been possible without you and Connie,” I remind him. “Your kindness, never mind the connections to Harrison, has opened up so many opportunities. I can never thank you enough.”
“What you are doing for me means so much more…”
He trails off. “You’re the reason I can succeed in bringing Connie’s dream to life.”
He hasn’t mentioned her so often in weeks, and her name takes me by surprise.
Over time, her constant presence has seemed to be diminishing.
She’s still there in photos and the odd memory, but she appears more in the past than the present.
But today her name keeps popping up in our conversation—she is firmly here with us.
“Connie’s dream or your dream?” I probe, knowing it will annoy him. His face contorts, irritated by the question. The relaxed banter between us disappears, and he reverts to being closed off and brooding.
“Our dream. Mine and my wife’s baby.” He straightens his shoulders. “Have you got what you need?” I nod. “Good, let’s go home.” His jaw tenses. “I mean, we are going back to my house.” After correcting his slip-up, he turns and walks away.