My legs are deliciously sore when I wake Saturday morning. I roll over, searching for Damien, but he isn’t there. I consider staying in bed—after all, at some point he has to come back—but the lure of coffee wins out and I head for the kitchen.
The man knows me well, because the note he left for me is taped to the coffeepot.
A few things came up. At the office. Loved last night. The image of you naked and bound, spread wide for me, is burned into my mind. I expect that I will find it difficult to concentrate. I may just have to spank you later for distracting me so …
I smile and tuck the note into my purse. Then I shower and change before heading through the door in the back that connects the apartment to the office. When I finish navigating the maze of hallways and find myself in the reception area, Ms. Peters greets me with a smile.
“Good morning. He and Mr. Maynard are on the phone. Would you like to wait?”
“That’s okay. He’s obviously busy.” I think about the reporters and what they said about an indictment. If Charles is here, there must be some legal wrangling going on with one of the Stark International divisions.
Edward isn’t working until later, but Ms. Peters arranges another car for me. Only the cat greets me when I come through the door. Jamie, I assume, is with Raine.
I haven’t been alone that much lately, and it’s nice to be in my room with my things. Especially since so many of my things now remind me of Damien.
I look over at the Monet he gave me—haystacks at sunset. It’s stunning, and thank God it’s insured. I’m still nervous, though, but at the same time, I don’t want it anywhere else except the room in which I sleep. Well, the room in which I sleep when I’m not with Damien, anyway.
I settle in front of my computer and start looking through my image files. I should be doing work stuff, but I so rarely have time to spend on the gift I’m making for Damien—a scrapbook filled with mementos of our time together. A snapshot of the Monet. Dozens of pictures of sunsets, and lots and lots of images of the two of us together. As much as I hate the paparazzi, I have to admit they’ve captured a few nice candid shots.
I work on organizing the pictures and writing captions for a few hours, then decide I ought to tackle cleaning the apartment before I shower for tonight. Weirdly, “cleaning” includes making up the bed in our living room.
As I vacuum, the sound of grunts and moans comes from next door, loud enough to be heard over the machine. I close my eyes, silently thankful that Jamie is not still sleeping with Douglas, our too-loud, too-fucked by too-many women, neighbor. Mostly, I wish she hadn’t fucked him in the first place, especially since he’s been making hints about wanting her again.
By the time Jamie gets home, Douglas’s latest fuck buddy has gone and I’ve moved on to the kitchen counters.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re hired.”
I lift a brow. Jamie’s idea of cleaning is to let the place get completely trashed, then spend an entire day complaining about how much she hates cleaning. It drives me nuts.
“Will there be food tonight?” she asks.
“Appetizers and drinks,” I say.
“Wanna grab a late lunch?”
I shrug. “Sure. Edward will be here at six to get us, so we want to leave time to come back and change.”
“In the limo?” Jamie perks up.
“I don’t know,” I say, tossing her a sponge. “But if you go wipe down the bathroom counters, I’ll text Damien and tell him that’s what we want.”
And that, I think as she trots off to clean, is how to manage a roommate.