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Dante leaned in, a silent observer riding the waves of the call’s ebb and flow, not wanting to miss a word or a nuance in Derek’s body language.
“Okay. Hmm-mm,” Derek continued, his fingers tapping on the desktop—a sign that the news was positive, but the situation was still precarious.
Dante’s gaze flicked to the older man’s face, searching for clues, reading the play of emotions across Derek’s features.
“Butterfly Room? Okay. Yes. Thank you,” Derek said, with gratitude woven into his tone.
Dante felt a thread of tension release at the mention of the Butterfly Room—a place of innocence and play, a sanctuary within the chaos of grown-up concerns.
“Yes, we will. See you, Jared.”
As Derek hung up, Dante finally sipped again from the amber liquid. With every second that passed, the smell of books, wood, leather, and the scent of the whiskey’s earthiness grounded him back to the present.
Derek set the phone down with deliberate care, turning to face Dante fully. “She’s in a safe place, surrounded by friends,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “They’re taking care of her in the Butterfly Room.”
Dante let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A myriad of questions raced through his mind. Dante silently acknowledged the situation and Derek’s handling of it with a nod and waited. The gravity of Master Derek’s seasoned leadership was not lost on him. In that office—a sanctuary of sorts—he found peace as he attempted to control his emotions. He—who always stayed cool and collected. The irony wasn’t lost on Dante.
He finally looked up. “Is she...?” he whispered, unable to finish the question.
Derek leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Rebecca’s safe,” he said simply, his voice firm and reassuring. “Lawson caught sight of her heading toward the stables and informed Jared who was nearby. Jared found her and kept her safe until Sadie, Erika and Blake arrived to take her to the Butterfly Room.”
“Thanks, Derek,” Dante said. The tightness in his throat eased. He took another sip of the whiskey, its warmth spreading through him. His gut told him to get up and find his woman. Decorum and respect kept him seated. Dante’s grasp on his glass loosened incrementally. The room, with its imposing mahogany desk and the aroma of leather and quiet authority, engulfed him and became a familiar haven rather than an echo chamber for his anxieties.
Dante glanced at the implement closet, its presence a silent reminder of Derek’s experience as a Dominant. This was a stark contrast to Dante’s uncertainty and inner turmoil. He noted the orderly bookshelves, the titles on law and ranch management, a reflection of Derek’s multifaceted dominion over both legalities and land.
“So, what are you planning to do?” Master Derek asked, watching Dante over his steepled fingers.
The question hung in the air. Dante glanced away from the other man and through the French doors behind Derek. A vista of vastness reminded him of life’s scale beyond immediate crises.
“First, I’m calling the prosecutor’s office. I know they have a vacancy and I’m going to apply. Then I’m going to go get my woman and sit her down for a talk.”
A bright smile appeared on Master Derek’s face. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Thank you, Derek,” Dante managed, his voice a shade stronger. He downed the rest of his whiskey. Alcohol was a rarity in this space, typically reserved for certain guests, but today it served as a small comfort to him.
With a deep breath, Dante rose from the leather chair, placing the glass back on the desk. With a nod to Master Derek, he left the office. Passing by the benches outside, he remembered that Rebecca was just a short distance away, in a place designed for care and nurturing. The knowledge eased the tightness in his chest. He knew the steps he had to take next would be the most crucial for achieving understanding, reconciliation, and perhaps a new beginning.
With purposeful strides, Dante ventured into the guest wing and the sanctuary of his room. Once inside, he reached for his phone, pacing the floor, each step an attempt to rein in the day’s turmoil.
Roger MacIntosh from the District Attorney’s office answered on the third ring. “Dante? I hadn’t expected to hear from you this soon.”
“Roger,” Dante said, his tone carrying the undercurrent of a purposeful man, “I’m interested in the opening we discussed.” The fingers of Dante’s unoccupied hand tapped a staccato rhythm on his outer thigh. “What are the specifics?”
There was a brief silence on Dante’s end as Roger delved into the details. Finally, he boiled it all down into a few short but important words. “Well, it’s a demanding role, much like what you do now. Only for the good guys,” Roger answered. “Requires courtroom experience and a knack for complex cases.”
After they talked for a few minutes more, Dante requested, “Transfer me to HR, please.” His tone shifted to brisk efficiency, signaling his readiness to end one chapter and begin another.
The phone line clicked and buzzed as the transfer was made. Dante walked to the window and glanced out over the sprawling Ranch that had played such a crucial role in his life. The window mirrored his tall figure that waited in expectation as HR picked up.
“Human Resources, this is Janine,” came the chirpy reply.
Dante didn’t waste a moment. “I’m calling about the vacant position. Dante Malone.”
The conversation with HR was quick and decisive. “Monday it is, Mr. Malone. We’ll see you then,” Janine confirmed before disconnecting, and Dante hung up with the satisfaction of a man who had set the wheels in motion. With this piece of his future settled, Dante left his sanctuary, exited the Guest Wing, strode through the lobby, and entered the Littles’ Wing. His footfalls transitioned from the solidness of aged wood to the cool certainty of marble tile.
He paused before the fifth door marked with playful butterflies. Laughter and conversation wafted through the door.
Pushing the door open, Dante stepped into a riot of color and cheer. The Butterfly Room was alive with the imaginative play of the Ranch’s playful Littles. Blocks and puzzles lay scattered in creative disarray, while the art on the walls vibrated with stories only children could tell.
