Page 71 of The Pact

Damian’s room is the only one on the ground floor. The hallway is long and through a cracked door on the left, I see a bathroom. To my right, there’s another door. It’s shut. Probably a closet. The corridor spits us out into a large bedroom.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this. The first thing I notice are the floor to ceiling windows that line two of the walls. Heavy ivory drapes frame each. Beyond the glass is pure greenery. A deck runs the length of the windows and I imagine how amazing it must feel with the door propped open during fall.

Damian sits at a tidy computer desk off to the right. His room is a mix of darkness and warmth. Is that a reflection of himself? Is there warmth hidden deep down in Damian?

The walls are a rich black, yet everything else is in varying shades of brown—from ivory to a deep walnut. Opposite of where he sits is his bed—large and framed by a rustic slatted wood headboard. The mess of covers and pillows are the only untidy things about his perfectly put together room.

In front of me, between his bed and the desk, there is a sitting area with a small love seat and two armchairs facing towards a modest TV. It makes me wonder what kinds of things Damian watches—there’s nothing I can imagine. I make a note to ask him once I get to know him better.

Joining him, I hand him the tablet and point out the app icon for the booking software. On my phone, I pull up the list of appointments I’ve found with issues. “These are all the ones that were changed. All moved a day ahead, only the date changed, not the time.”

Damian taps the screen repeatedly, much too fast for me to realize what he’s doing.

While he’s distracted, I decide to tell him I’m grateful for his help. “Damian, I just wanted to say thank you for what you did… with the studio rent. It really wasn’t necessary.” I want to kick myself for adding the last part out of habit.

“Yes, it was,” he says absentmindedly. “If you have to worry about rent, then you’ll be distracted when you’re spending time with us.” He glances up at me briefly before turning back to the tablet. “We want your full attention and if that means paying your rent so that you can relax and not worry for a couple of months, I’m happy to do it.”

“It’s too much. We hardly know each other. I don’t want you to think that I expect this kind of thing. I’m not here to take advantage.” That familiar need to provide for myself rises. I can’t help it.

This makes him swivel in his chair to look at me. His face is all hardness from his narrowed eyes to his lips set in a straight line. “Would it be so wrong for you to expect things like that? Do you not deserve to be taken care of?” I open my mouth, but don’t know how to answer. No one’s ever asked me anything like that before. “Taking care of you makes me feel good. Sending water to you at work. Helping you with computer stuff. Paying your rent. Knowing that it’ll make your life easier makes me happy. Do you want me to be happy, princess?”

“I-uh, yes?” It’s more of a question than an answer. The hardness in his face sets in deeper. “Yes, yes. I want to make you happy.” He smiles and his face softens, then he turns back to his desk and continues tapping away on the tablet.

“Besides, if I thought you were taking advantage of us, you wouldn’t be here at all.” He gives me a look that I don’t quite understand. Something reminiscent of smugness. “Check your phone.” As soon as he says it, I get a notification and open it. He takes my phone and forwards the email to himself.

“What was that?”

He pulls up his browser. “I downloaded the data from the app. I needed it sent to me, so I forwarded it.” Damian clicks the email and opens the file. I try to decipher what’s on the screen, but he’s moving too fast for me to grasp onto anything. “Here.”

I let out a sigh of frustration. “Damian, I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

He smiles, glancing up at me from the corner of his eye. “I’ve filtered all the lines of data that are flagged as manually modified. These lines are inputs of the bookings you’ve recorded. Any time there is a change to an existing booking, a new line is created and flagged as manually modified.”

“How did you figure out how to do that?” I lean over him to study the hundreds of lines in front of me. I’m truly astonished at how quickly he could get the data and sort it.

Suddenly, I’m aware of our closeness, so I back up.

“I’d love to take the credit for impressing you with my genius, but I got lucky this time. Not all apps have an option for this. And most probably wouldn’t have a log of changes. Looks like the universe is on your side today.”

I grin and scan over the lines on the screen. The appointments I noted on my phone are all there, twice. “These ones…” I point to the latest set of data. “They’re from when I corrected all the bookings. And these…” My finger travels up higher on the screen. “These are the ones that were changed from the original booking, right?”

“Exactly,” he confirms.

“What’s the date on that first set of changes?”

He scrolls up and points. All the changes were recorded on June twenty-sixth.

Why does that date feel important?

Pulling up the calendar on my phone, I flick to the month prior and click on the twenty-sixth. My parent’s visit.

“That’s not possible,” I say in disbelief. “I took that day off work. My parents were visiting. I couldn’t have changed it.” I turn and start walking aimlessly around the room, trying to think. “Does it show what time the changes happened?”

He pores over the data. “Around eight fifty p.m.”

“Cassie wouldn’t be at the studio that late. What the fuck?” My hands are shaking and I want to blame it on anger, yet in my heart, I know it’s fear. “How…?”

Damian comes to stand in front of me, taking my chin between his fingers. “Hey.” I look him in the eyes and the intensity of his stare feels too heavy. “I think we both know that this is probably Gavin’s handiwork. But I don’t think he’s going to be a problem anymore. To be safe, I’m going to install security cameras in your reception area. Okay?”

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