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“That was a very nice starter,” I tell him. “Kinda salty. I’m ready for my main course now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Damon
Sometime later, we’re sitting across a table from each other, tucking into dinner. Belle announced that she was in the mood for tapas, and we went for the chef’s ‘Feed Me’ option. The waiter delivered a selection of amazing dishes for us to try: deep-fried potatoes with salsa, king prawns with chili and garlic, chorizo in hand-crafted cider, roasted pork and beef meatballs, ham croquettes in aioli, and lots more.
We decide to have a wine tasting, too, and the waiter brings us half a dozen glasses each in a rack, with a small sample of red, rosé, and white wines. Four samples in, we’re relaxed and merry, thoroughly enjoying ourselves.
The restaurant is busy, but I slipped the waiter a fifty for a table by the window overlooking the gardens. While we eat, Belle talks about her studies and how well she’s doing even though she doesn’t really enjoy law, and then speaks with enthusiasm about her magic, and the parties she loves doing for kids’ birthdays.
I watch her talking with enthusiasm about the pirate one she did today, and I feel a surge of affection and desire for her. She’s now wearing a short black skirt and a thin, lilac-colored sweater with a V neck. She changed in the bathroom, so I’m intrigued by what she’s wearing beneath her clothes. The way her breasts move suggests she’s not wearing the underwired bra she wore last time, and I caught a glimpse of lace when she bent forward, so I’m thinking maybe a bodysuit or some kind of camisole top. Mmm.
I can’t stop thinking about how she went down on me, either. Well, at least it’s given me something else to think about, other than what’s been bothering me for the past couple of days.
“Come on,” Belle says, “spit it out. What’s on your mind?”
Surprised, I say, “What do you mean?”
“You look haunted.” She takes my hand. “Has something happened? You were going to tell me about the meeting you had on Monday with the guy accused of sexual harassment. How did it go?”
I blow out a long breath. “Badly.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
I give her a rundown of my meeting with Lewis. “He was really upset,” I add. “He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. But the worst thing is that I saw Jessica right afterward—the one who spoke to Helen. She was angry that I’d spoken to him. She said I’d made things worse, and that she could have handled him herself.”
“Oh dear,” Belle says.
I lean back, removing my hand from hers, and finish off one of the glasses of wine. “I feel so confused by all this.”
“Of course you do.” She smiles. “You’re a paladin, Damon. A knight in shining armor. You rescue women. It’s what you do. I know you’re president of the Women’s Refuge. Juliette told me. You want women to feel safe and secure. It’s why you treat them like goddesses. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a beautiful, sweet thing to do.”
“But you said yourself that you didn’t need rescuing. And yet you yelled ‘no’ and ‘stop’. Should I have just stood back? With Jessica, should I have let her handle it herself, and waited until she made a formal complaint?”
She tips her head from side to side. “The fact is that, in the workplace, you can’t really speak to the head of HR off the record. Helen can’t ignore a possible case of sexual harassment. It’s her job to protect the company, and I think you were right to have an informal talk to Lewis for the same reason. It’s not your fault that both of them reacted badly. It’s a shame you became the target of their frustration, but that’s one of the drawbacks to being senior management, unfortunately.”
It’s a very adult conclusion to draw. Yet again, I’m reminded that she’s a law student. “And what about you?” I ask softly. “Should I have left you to handle Cole on your own?”
“No, not at all. You heard a friend cry out, and you did absolutely the right thing. He won’t come near me again, I know that. Could I have handled it on my own? Maybe. I like to think so. But there’s no real way of telling. He’s a guy—he’s stronger than me. I’d rather you stepped in than I discovered I couldn’t deal with him.”
I fiddle with my fork. “I hate it when I hear stories of men abusing women, that’s all.”
“Of course you do.” She reaches out and strokes my face. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
I lean my cheek into her hand for a moment, meeting her eyes. Once again, I’m reminded of the way she went down on me, setting me alight.
“So,” I say, lifting the last glass of wine. “About what happened upstairs.”
Her lips curve up and she gives a delightful girlish giggle. “I’ve been doing some research.”
“Oh?”
“Did it work?” Her look turns hopeful.
“Couldn’t you tell?” I ask, amused.
