"Is that what you did?"
He stiffens. When he replies, his voice is thoughtful. "When I was in the enemy camp, and in the worst headspace possible, when I thought I was never going to see the light of day again, I made myself a promise. I told myself if I returned, I would not waste this second chance I’ve been given."
"You’re a better man than me," I mutter.
"Each of us has to cope with the ghosts that haunt us in the best way we can. You’ll know when it’s time. Just make sure it’s not too late, will you?"
"I’m sorry, I’m late. I got held up in the finance department and—"
"Take a seat, Mrs. Warren." I gesture toward the dining table that I’ve had put in by the kitchenette in my office. She was right when she said I’m more comfortable here than in my penthouse. The only other place I’m more at ease is the hidden room attached to the closet I had specially created. It's my comfort room, its spartan layout reminding me of my time as a new recruit in the marines. I had few creature comforts then, but the routine and structure of the training program gave me purpose. I felt more in control while I was following the rules and learning discipline.
A control I lost once I was captured. Control I’m trying to wrest back by shaping the future of my company, by creating my own destiny…by dominating Penny. It’s why I feel so compelled to order her to obey my commands. She elicits this powerful need to see her bend to my will. To break her down and build her back up in a form that soothes my broken spirit. To ensure she feels safe and secure, feelings that were denied me.
All of those days when my life was not my own, when I never knew when they’d come for me and pull me out of my cell and abuse me, when I never knew if I’d open my eyes again and see another day, when I didn’t want to live anymore—that’s when I swore if I survived, I'd always stay in control. And if that means sleeping in my hidden room, so be it. It’s bare enough that no-one can hide in corners and ambush me there. It’s concealed enough that no one can track me down. They can’t come for me there. They can’t pull me out and throw me into that cavity below the earth.
A cold hand grips my chest, and my breath speeds up. I manage to push away the dread that crawls in my guts and walk over to the kitchenette.
"I hope you like salmon."
"Excuse me?" she says from inside the entrance of the room.
"Salmon, Mrs. Warren, the fish that like to swim upstream and—"
"I know what salmon is. Also, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that?"
"Last I checked, you were married to me."
"Last I checked, this is an office, and you’re my boss."
"And you’re still married to me." I hold the seat back for her.
She looks at it, then back at me. "I thought you didn’t eat lunch?"
"I do now."
"What about your employees out there, who you prefer to also keep working around the clock without taking time off to eat?"
I narrow my gaze at her, then force myself to smooth out the frown on my face. I pull out my phone and type out an email. "All done."
"What’s all done?"
"I’ve sent out an all-employee email that, from today on, everyone is required to take an hour off for lunch from 12:45 pm on."
She blinks.
"Anything else?"
"There are people here who find it very expensive to juggle childcare with jobs. You arranged for pet-sitting on the premises, so can you—" Her voice trails off when she sees I’m looking down at my phone.
I shoot off another email. "Starting tomorrow, work will begin on half of the first floor of the building to convert it to a nursery. There will be qualified childcare givers on hand to take care of the employee’s children. Further, it will be free for all. And until all the arrangements for this are in place, I’ll reimburse childcare costs.”
"Oh." She draws in a sharp breath.
"Now, will you take a seat?"
She looks around the office as if looking for a way out, then slowly walks over and drops into the chair. I ease her in, then open up one of the containers of food. I slide some onto her plate, then fork up a morsel and hold it out. "Open."
She frowns. "Are you flirting with me?"
"It’s lunch time. I’m asking you to taste this lunch that was delivered by James Hamilton’s kitchen." I adopt the most innocent look possible on my face.
She opens her mouth, no doubt, to tell me off, and I take advantage and slide the food onto her tongue. Her gaze widens, then she closes her lips and licks the tines clean. The sight of her pink tongue and pinker lips sends the blood draining to my groin. A week without her presence at my home. A week during which I’ve used my hand to get myself off more times than I can imagine.
The only consolation is that I have Tiny for company. The mutt moped around the house, then curled up on her bed and went to sleep. I found him there, and abandoning all pretense that I did not miss her, I crawled in next to him. I woke up to Tiny trying to sit on my chest. For a few seconds I was sure I was back in the coffin my enemies had sealed me in, and that the ground had collapsed on me. Until Tiny licked my face and ensured I knew I was back in the now, and away from them. I managed to extricate myself out from under the almost 120 pounds of dog and staggered to my feet. Then, I took him out for a walk and fed him, by which time I felt more like myself. Nothing like scooping up dog-poop to bring a person back to the present. Nothing like taking care of another living thing to get perspective. Life doesn’t begin and end with me. There are others worse off. I have much to be grateful for, including Penny. Perhaps, this is the lesson my friends wanted me to learn when they foisted Tiny on me?
"May I have some more?"
I bring my attention back to her.
"The food." She glances at the container. "Some more, please?"
Of course. I scoop up more of the succulent fish and offer it to her. She wipes the tines of the fork clean, then cuts up a piece and holds it out for me. I pull up a chair and allow her to feed me. She watches my mouth, her green eyes flaring. "It’s good, isn’t it?" she murmurs.
"Excellent," I agree.
She cuts up another piece of the fish and holds it out. This time I wrap my fingers around her wrist and bring the fork to my mouth. I lick the food off the tines of the fork, taking my time. Her breath hitches. The pulse at the base of her throat speeds up. There will never be a time when we don’t feel this chemistry between us, so what are we doing apart?
"Come home with me." I slide the fork out of her hand and bring her fingers to my lips and kiss the tips. "I miss you. Tiny misses you. We can’t do without you."
She swallows, and when she tugs, I release her hand. She brings her fingers to her mouth and licks the same digits I had. She closes her eyes, savoring the taste, then turns to snatch up one of the paper-napkins. "I can’t, Sir."
60
Penny
"There. Looking good, Ma." I finish braiding her hair, then slide off the bed and hold up a mirror in front of her. My mother glances down at her reflection and a small smile curves her lips.