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“Mrs. Hart. Miss Anne.”
My gaze is drawn to where he stands in the open front door. His stance is tense, as if he’s on the verge of breaking up a fight. Like Anne, he takes in my attire, but does a better job of keeping his face blank.
“Thanks again for the clothes,” I say before hurrying away.
Back in the room, Damian regards the bundle in my arms, but he doesn’t ask questions. When I step from the bathroom, dressed and my hair brushed, he’s waiting for me.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “I thought you’d be gone.”
His lips twitch. “No such luck.” He picks up his car keys and jingles them on his way to the door as a gesture for me to follow. When I don’t move, he says, “Come on.”
“Where to?”
“We have an appointment.”
He doesn’t pause to offer an explanation. He simply walks from the room, knowing I have no choice but to go along. I could throw a temper tantrum and refuse to budge until he tells me where we’re going, but he’ll only carry me to the car in full view of Anne, Zane, and the guards. I don’t mind them so much seeing, but I don’t want to disillusion sweet, normal, perfectly nice Jana. I don’t want to give the only person in this house who treats me normally a reason to start treating me otherwise.
Hastily pulling on a pair of flats and grabbing my bag, I follow Damian outside to his car. He holds the door for me and fits my seatbelt as if he doesn’t trust me with the simple task.
Once we clear the gates, I try again. “Where are we going?”
He shifts gears and shoots me a glance. “Shopping.”
His hand, big and masculine on the gearshift, is the same hand that brought down the axe on an alleged thief’s fingers. It’s the same hand that curls around my throat when he holds me with frightening tenderness and a promise of dominance. It’s the same hand that uses paddles and whips to make me come. I bite my lip hard, willing my thoughts away from the shameful images of me bent over his desk and with legs spread wide on his study floor.
His gaze slips over my attire in another once-over. “You don’t like shopping?”
“No.”
His grin is unapologetic. “Too bad.”
He parks in the Brooklyn Center and comes around to open my door. With his hand firmly on my arm, he steers me to a restaurant with a terrace.
“I thought you were going shopping,” I say.
He indulges my little verbal rebellion, pulling out my chair. “Breakfast first.”
Like during our wedding dinner, he orders for both of us, a mushroom and sweet pepper omelet for me, and poached eggs for him. While we wait to be served, he works on his phone, and I’m secretively relieved for the reprieve of his attention, but the moment our food arrives, he pins me with a stare.
Leaning back in his chair, he straightens his tie. “I bought out the shareholders of Dalton Diamonds. Ellis and I are the only ones left.”
I cut into the omelet. It’s thick and fluffy with gooey cheese on the inside. “I’ve gathered.”
“I’m suing Dalton for damages based on mismanagement and fraud.”
Delicious. I fight not to close my eyes. “Mm.”
“The plan wasn’t for you to find out like you did.”
Oh, my God. This omelet is so good. “Are you offering me an apology?”
“No.”
I shrug. “Then it doesn’t matter.”
“You know what’s going to happen to Dalton.” It’s both a statement and a question.
“He’ll be sued for every last penny he owns and his reputation ruined.”
“This doesn’t bother you?”
I stop eating to look at him. “Do you want me to be bothered?”
“It’s not the reaction I expected from daddy’s little girl.”
“I’m not daddy’s little girl.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I guess you’ve been fooled.”
He stares at me as if he can’t make up his mind about whether I’m telling the truth, but finally picks up his fork and takes a bite of egg. We’re like war opponents, watching each other eat. He wanted to punish me through Harold. I could’ve pretended to be upset, but it’s simply too much energy, plus I doubt I can fake an ounce of care. I let him stew in his thoughts until he pushes his plate with half-eaten food away.
I wave my fork at the eggs. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”
“I’m saving space for the fruit salad.”
It will be a sin to waste something looking so perfectly delicious. I pull the plate closer. “Do you mind?”
He seems amused. “Knock yourself out.”
I clean the food off his plate and then tackle the fruit salad.
The rest of our meal takes place in silence, except for two telephone calls he answers while we’re sipping our coffee. While he speaks, I rearrange the sugar packets in the glass container. Then I spread them out like cards on the table, absorbed in the task and no longer aware of the man ignoring me. I look up when I realize he’s spoken my name twice.
