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I simper at him, masking the fact that I’m drowning inside. I wish Don would just go away—without Clayton having to become my protector, without Don having to come to him and do his worst. But Clayton’s peaceful statement, ironically, highlights how hopeless my situation is, whether Don is in the picture or not. The wish he chose to tell me just now, which no doubt is the most important to him, is something that I can’t give.
“It’s a great wish,” I conclude.
“Hey, relax.” He shakes my arm as if sensing my guilt. “Really, that’s just my wish. An end-of-the-rainbow kind of wish. Don’t think I’m pressuring you. For now, let’s have fun. Go with the flow.” He rubs my arm. “How about you?”
“My wish?” I stretch, taking a glimpse of the carved ceiling spreading above me. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of how lavish this house is. “For my son to be happy.”
He cups my chin, stroking his thumb against my lower cheek. “I hope I can help give it to him.”
That hurts even more. He wants to be in my life—in Raffi’s and mine—and he sounds as sure as a man ready for a long journey.
‘Genuineness.’ When he said it, his eyes examined me—as if looking for clues. It’s in me. I have nothing to hide. I simply want him. Not his money. Not his lifestyle. Not his status.
Still, my consciousness is far from clear. I’m here because of him, but I haven’t forgotten that our togetherness happens because Don wants it to happen. So what does that make me?
I should be curling in shame now. But Clayton draws me closer, pulling my body flush against his, showering me with kisses of ‘everything will be okay.’
“Goodnight, Baby Belle,” he finally murmurs. That man has reached his limits. He’s shattered.
I watch him falling asleep under my kiss. The day has taken a toll on him. But perhaps not as much as our conversation has allayed his uneasiness about where we’re headed. He looks as peaceful as the two boys in the other rooms. He breathes softly, almost as if the sound doesn’t belong to such an imposing man. But it’s his—like the grace and tenderness he’s made of. I can listen to it all night, but I’ve got to step out and entertain what the outside world demands of me.
“Clayton…” I check.
He doesn’t respond.
I tiptoe downstairs to get to my phone. There are a couple of missed calls, but first, I check my text messages.
Give me progress.
The phone buzzes in my hand as if the caller could sense my presence. It’s past midnight, but it’s Don being my day and my night.
“Not a good time,” I gripe. I’m still pulsing from my climax, but right now, guilt is mixing in, mulching my heart.
“I don’t care! Time is ticking, Iz. Don’t think I have patience for you just because you’re the best person to get what I want.”
“Start treating people like adults, Don, and perhaps your life will improve.”
“My life is just fine, Iz. Tell me you’re ready.”
“I still need time. What do you need from him?”
“I want his access card,” he reveals. “Before you tell me it’s impossible, just remember what’s at stake here.”
I’ve noticed Clayton keeps a swipe card on his belt loop. Now it’s even there for me to take, upstairs on his bedside table next to his wallet.
“Don, I’m not stupid, and Hartley is not stupid either. But I’ve gained his trust. I know that much. Still, I can’t just get into his pocket and steal his card.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard, should it? You’ve got under his pants how many times now?”
“He’s going to take me on a tour of Hartley Marine. Trust me, when I have a chance to take his card, I will.”
“Okay. You sound sure, but don’t ever think of fooling me,” he threatens. “Give me Clayton Hartley’s access card by the end of next week, or else!”
Clayton is capable of defending himself physically. Don will have no chance against him. But I’ve seen what the Grim Reaper could do. He reserves his cloak and scythe for me because, against his enemies, he’s hardly a confronter. He’s a snake that comes from behind or under. When you don’t know what you’re up against, how do you protect yourself?
21
CLAYTON
