Page 17 of Damon

Chase, Chase and Waite Law Firm is located in the center of Canary Wharf. It extends across two floors of a modern office block and employs over one hundred people. It’s become a home away from home since I started working here. I love the diverse business and the tasks I undertake. Working with Harrison has been eye-opening. He’s shrewd and honest, freely sharing what he’s learned during his career. Only in his thirties, he’s risen quickly, and I’m lucky to be able to learn from him.

Once again, we pull into the underground parking garage. Damon reverses the car into the tiny space between two low-slung dark sports cars. He steps out then walks around and opens my door. He offers me his hand, and I extricate myself from the seat. He pulls gently to help me rise—my nine-month bump is becoming more awkward by the day. As I stand, I wobble slightly. His other hand shoots out to support me on my waist. I giggle, and he smirks, then rearranges his features back to the grumpy impassive expression he tends to wear.

“You can wait here,” I tell him. “It won’t take long.”

“If you think I’m letting you disappear into that office and expect you to come back when you say you will, you must think I’m an idiot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap.

“It means if I don’t go with you, I’ll be stuck down here waiting as you get lost in your files. You’re a workaholic.”

I grunt, annoyed, but don’t respond. He’s right. I love my job, and no doubt I’ll get distracted. My “only” one day a week in the office tends to morph into three or four depending on my classes. Over the past months, Damon has tracked me down here multiple times late at night still inspecting files.

“I need to see Waite anyway. We have business to discuss.”

“What kind of business?”

He scowls at me. “The kind you don’t need to worry about.” He drops my hand and removes the other from my midsection. I watch as he walks off in the direction of the silver elevator doors on the other side of the parking garage. “Are you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Yes,” I shout back. “But I have a beach ball on my belly. I can’t move as fast as you.” I waddle after him. He waits and when I reach his side, he places a hand on the small of my back and we walk the remaining distance together. When we reach the elevator, I rummage in my bag and remove my key card. I swipe it across the entry pad and the doors open. We step into the small white box which will carry us up to my office.

The sign on the wall tells us four adults should be able to fit in the compartment, but it feels crowded with two of us. I am acutely aware of Damon’s breathing as we ascend. His strong chest rises and falls with each breath. My nipples harden, turned on by our close proximity. I chastise myself. He’s given no indication he sees me any differently than he always has; this is all in my mind.

The ping of our arrival is a welcome distraction. The doors slide open, and the familiar buzz of business fills the air. The open-plan office is crammed with desks. Each one has a person dressed in a smart suit who is either typing frantically on a keyboard or talking on the phone. Occasionally, someone waves a piece of paper and shouts to a colleague.

Russell and Connor stride between the desks, every so often leaning down to speak to one of the members of their staff. I haven’t worked directly with either of them, but they are always polite. Russell looks in our direction. He lifts a hand, acknowledging our presence. I notice Damon’s eyebrows draw together, and the two men stare at each other. It’s obvious there’s an issue between them. Just then, Harrison appears.

“Emma, you’re on maternity leave,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to pick up a couple of files. I don’t want to fall behind. Time won’t be an issue for me over the holiday season to read and research, especially once this little one makes an appearance.” I tap my stomach. Harrison’s gaze moves from me to Damon, then to my bump. He smiles, then looks back to his friend.

“And what are you doing here, McKinney?” he asks. Damon narrows his eyes as if words are going unspoken between them—a conversation I’m not privy to.

“Emma was visiting her apartment.”

“Again?” Harrison says, skepticism clear in his tone.

“Yes, again,” Damon replies firmly. “She needs to be comfortable in the space for when she moves in.” Harrison nods but makes no comment. “She wanted some files that are seemingly important. I don’t want her birthing my daughter in the middle of the office, so I’m here in case we need to make a quick exit.”

“Sounds plausible.”

“Plausible? It’s the truth,” Damon grumbles.

“I’m not sure what part of the conversation I’ve missed, but I’ll go get those files.” I move over to my desk which is a dozen feet away. The men continue to speak, but they lower their voices so I can’t hear what is being said. Damon visibly tenses with what his friend says. I start to rummage in a drawer looking for the paperwork I need while watching them, hoping they won’t notice. What I am looking for evades me. I know it is here, but I can’t find it.

Damon approaches silently; he stands just behind my shoulder, causing me to jump when he speaks.

“Found what you’re looking for?”

“Shit,” I squeak. “Don’t do that, or I’ll have this baby between the photocopier and the computer.”

He laughs, his voice deep and throaty. It speaks directly to my libido. My stomach flips as my cheeks heat. He affects me more each and every day, with both his words and his spontaneous, kind actions—simple things like opening a door or taking a bag from me. Things like this make me wonder if he feels what I feel. There’s this sense of being together being right, which grows in my heart each day.

“Do you really need the file? You’re not meant to be working.”

“I do,” I reply, snarky. My eyes land on a folder with the familiar blue sticker at the edge, crammed under even more disarrayed documents. “Found it! We can go now.” I go to lift the heavy pile of paperwork from on top of it.

“Which one is it?” Damon asks. I signal to the blue dot. He steps forward and removes the bundle of papers, which is about a foot tall, so I can get the file I need. “You need a better filing system,” he suggests.

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