Chapter seventeen
The Level Boardroom, Canary Wharf
Damon
Wednesday rolls around once more, and I’m headed to the boardroom to meet the boys.
It’s been a long week already. Things are complex in the office as my investigations with the police cross paths with those of The Level.
Sunday had been a near miss—the boss had called me to the office to discuss our current situation.
He told me to dress smart as we might have company.
What he called company, I would call every asshole in the force with a higher rank than me.
And all of the bastards were there for blood.
We’ve made little to no progress tracking down Connie’s killer or proving that Benton is at the top of the pyramid.
Each week more debtors are being attacked by the money laundering circuit’s enforcers.
From the intelligence we have collected, the tactics used to get people to pay are getting more violent.
Hunter Devane’s name had been brought up in conversation, and my heart sank. It’s been noted he’s showing interest in the scheme, and no one in the police force knows it’s on behalf of me. Yet.
Then there’s Emma, the woman that confuses me more on this planet than anyone.
It’s obvious she has little to no experience with children.
Luckily, once again Harrison has offered Mrs. D’s services to help support her in this new stage of her life as a nanny.
The idea of her being my nanny is absurd, but it seemed a sensible solution at the time.
The risk to Emma’s life isn’t gone, merely quietened. Moreno isn’t the kind of man not to see through revenge when he wants it. I know he’ll be waiting until he can try again. Men like him always do. Winning is necessary to their sanity and ego.
Security guards are posted at the front and rear of my home.
Emma and my daughter will be going nowhere without me or our team.
This is a stipulation the little madam wasn’t happy about.
She’s been back in my house a matter of weeks and already it feels like she’s the boss.
Emma exudes an undercurrent of authority that I don’t think she even realizes is there.
It’s the way she takes command of a situation, whether she knows what she is doing or not.
She’s independent, self-assured, and fucking stubborn.
But hell, she is completely captivating, and it takes my whole self-control not to grab her around the waist and bend her to my will when she questions me.
I’m never sure if I want to shake her or fuck her—maybe both.
Yesterday, she had been in the small room I converted into a nursery for Annie.
In the corner stands a tall wardrobe; plastic boxes filled with baby supplies are stacked on top.
My daughter had been lying in her crib gurgling away happily while Emma moved stuffed toys and other paraphernalia around.
Through the half-open door, I watched quietly as she worked, tidying then rearranging each item on the small wooden bench at the bottom of the crib.
After she was happy that every teddy bear was in the picture-perfect position, she stood back and surveyed her handiwork.
“Perfect,” she told my daughter with a nod.
“We can see all your teddies’ faces now. Don’t you think?”
There was what could be considered a laugh from the tiny human.
Emma walked over and looked down at her.
My daughter kicked her legs merrily as the woman looking after her came into view.
“You are the bonniest baby in London,” Emma told her. I smiled to myself as I listened.
The floor creaked under my bare foot as I tried to disappear without being seen, not wanting to interrupt the private moment.
Emma spun to face the door, her bright blue eyes focusing on me.
Aggravated eyebrows drew together in annoyance.
Guilt and embarrassment by being caught snooping wedged in my throat.
“It’s rude to stare,” she snapped. “Especially at a woman’s ass.”
Taken aback by the accusation, my mouth opened then immediately closed.
I had no idea what to say. She turned fully to face me.
Already changed for bed, the simple white pajama set she wore left little to the imagination.
The shorts barely covered her round butt cheeks, and the tiny tank top decorated with stars exposed clear skin surrounding a dainty belly button.
She cleared her throat, and my eyes raised to hers. Caught staring again—fuck.
She flicked away a strand of long blonde hair from her eyes, then wiggled her shoulders as she straightened to her full height. Plump breasts jiggled beneath the soft fabric. My cock stirred in my shorts.
“I thought you were at the gym,” she said. “You’re back early.”
“What is this? An interrogation?” I grumbled. “I got home ten minutes ago and wanted to see my daughter before she went to bed. It’s nine o’clock, bedtime is eight.” Emma chuckled and shook her head. “What’s funny?”
“Listen to you, Daddy Daycare,” she retorted. “As if an hour is going to change anything. She’s four months old. Surely, she should sleep when she’s tired.”
“Routine is important, Emma,” I argued. “Julia implemented a firm schedule. You’ve been in charge for a matter of days, and it’s all gone. What time did she wake up this morning?”
Emma shrugged dramatically, causing her chest to bounce merrily.
My cock stirred again then started to swell.
“It’s your responsibility to maintain her routine.”
“Oh, piss off, Damon. I am not a professional nanny. I’m merely a woman with no freaking idea what to do and…”
She paused then took a step toward me. “I’m doing the best I can. Like it or find someone else. In all honesty, I have no idea why I’m here. This…”
She waved her hand around. “Is all a bit fucked up don’t you think?”
“Language, that mouth of yours needs washed out with soap.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise,” I snapped, then continued before she could argue again. “Someone tried to kill you, and I need childcare. Messed up or not, this is the best solution to an insane problem for both of us.”
“Maybe.” Her tone softened as her gaze dropped away.
“Maybe?” I prompted. She looked up at me with nervous, wide eyes.
“I feel the problem for me could be getting bigger.”
“In what way?”
“You know what…” Before I could respond, a foul smell filled the room.
My daughter picks her moments. “We need a new pack of nappies,” Emma said then walked over to the wardrobe, stretching up to try to remove a box from the top.
I watched her lithe body ripple as the tiny shorts rose, exposing pert buttocks.
Her fingertips grazed the plastic, and she sighed before looking around the room. I assume for something to stand on.
“I can get it,” I told her, walking over to her side.
“No,” she mumbled, not looking at me. “I need to be able to do this myself.”
“Bring a box down from the wardrobe?”
“No, look after Annie,” she replied. “You’ll be busy with work, the gym, and whatever else. I need to do this properly.”
“You’re not on your own, Emma. I plan to be a hands-on dad.” My hand lifted to her shoulder, squeezing gently. She froze. “We’ll navigate this together. Figure out what to do next. Now let me get down the damn box.”
***
The boardroom of The Level is quiet when I arrive.
No one else is here yet. We each have a key to the elevator which accesses the room, so we’re able to come and go as required.
The room is perfectly laid out as it always is, the long glass table polished to a high shine and surrounded by black leather chairs.
The expanse of windows that look out on the city below provide a panoramic view of the setting sun.
In the center of the table is an ice bucket filled to the brim with what I know will be perfectly chilled beer.
It’s a detail that isn’t required, as there are fridges stocked better with alcohol than a lot of bars, but we enjoy leaning forward and plucking a beer from the bucket.
It’s a small thing that makes our boy’s nights seem more normal.
I’m standing, looking out over Canary Wharf when the door opens and Harrison walks in.
He’s not going to enjoy hearing the news I have for him this evening.
I considered phoning ahead, but with everything that’s happening, it’s probably best to update the whole team together.
My head is filled with so many warring opinions, it’s hard to know what is right and wrong.
The older I become, the less I believe in either.
What is right for one person is wrong for another. Perhaps everything is merely warped.
“Evening, McKinney,” Harrison says. He’s still dressed in his suit from a day’s work.
No doubt he was in the office at seven this morning and has come straight here after returning home.
The white shirt he’s wearing sits as if it’s freshly laundered—I know Mrs. D has a love of starch. “Are you as ready for a drink as I am?”
“More so.”
“Doubt it. What a shitter of a day. Throw us a bottle,” he grunts.
“You’re closer,” I mutter before walking over and grasping one from the bucket. Once I pass it to him, he throws himself down in the chair beside where I stand. I collect a second bottle for myself then sit in the next chair. “Whose been busting your balls?”
“You’d be better to ask who hasn’t,” he replies. “But the Chase brothers are perpetual thorns in my side. How they haven’t drowned each other in the Thames I don’t know. My day started with Russell stealing all Connor’s personal belongings from his office.”
“Why?” I ask, having no idea what Russell would want with his brother’s stuff.
“Because Connor wore a pair of Russell’s Armani jeans without asking on a date with the girl Russell had his eye on.”
“That doesn’t surprise me; Russell has always been an overgrown spoiled brat. And has the school bully actually dated this girl?”
“No.”
“Spoken to her?”
“No.”
“Was Connor aware of his brother’s silent infatuation?”
“I doubt it, but you haven’t asked me where he put the belongings,” Harrison says with a smirk.
“Let me guess…the center of the office or outside on the street?”
“Close.” He starts to laugh then closes his eyes, trying to control himself enough to tell me the rest of the story.
“He set up a stall next to the entrance of the office with an honesty box. Then he put a sign on the table that said…”
He hollered this time at the memory. “Everything one pound. Take what you need and drop the coins in the box.”