Page 21 of Damaged

Looking for a Team Player. Rockstar. New member of the family!Followed by the fine print.Must be willing to work mandatory overtime, Saturdays, Sundays, and nights. Must have a master’s degree in a related field and seven years’ experience. Many of our top-performing employees put in 60 hours a week, and we expect this level of dedication from new hires.

This job is not remote. One-week paid vacation. Two-weeks after three years. No dental.

Sometimes I wish I was a cat. Steve comes purring into my lap, stepping on my laptop keys with abandon, like he can sense my existential dread. I pet his back as he arches for more scratches. “You’ve got it good, buddy,” I say aloud.

He’s a fat orange tabby with furry ears. Healthy fat. Sincerely big boned. He was about twice the size of the other kittens in his litter.

I close my laptop and lean my head back. It’s been more than a week since James bought the gallery, and so far, therehave been no noticeable changes. It’s business as usual. I should suck it up and realize how lucky I am to have my job.

I have a warm, quiet apartment. I don’t have to destroy my body for money. I can move files around on the internet and type words and make enough money to live comfortably. Could things be better? Could I have a partner to love and a future to set my sights on that isn’t work?

Sure, but I need to be happy in the moment, and I don’t have to work tomorrow. Wednesdays are a day off for me. But I have no one to go out with. Alana isn’t up for staying out late on a Tuesday and Hailee is in Washington.

Oh well. Tuesday nights are movie nights in with Steve.

I put my laptop away for the night. The sun still sets early. It’s one thing I like about winter. There’s no guilt about starting a movie this early when it’s still so cold and dark outside. I crank my heat up, get naked, and settle under a faux fur blanket on the couch.

I don’t typically lounge naked, but Alana got me a fake chinchilla blanket for Christmas, and it’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt.

I find a new thriller that looks somewhat awful, but I like the actress and I’m sick of scrolling through movies.

The movie is okay. I think. My thoughts are mostly on my life. I’m about a half hour into it when I hear noise from the apartment above.

Since I accidentally called James out on his rowdy and impure behavior, he’s quieted down. But now there’shammeringcoming from directly above me. It’s so loud I have to crank the volume to hear.

I scowl at the ceiling and cross my arms. It sounds more like construction than sex. I hear a drill and more pounding. Does he have a contractor over? Doesn’t this jerk know it’s nighttime?

I turn the volume up more and more, fighting the banging from above. At the same time in my movie, the killer is chasing his first victim into the woods. He corners her against a tree, and she screams bloody murder as she fights back. I feel bad for my neighbors on either side, but they can deal because I don’t think their bedrooms are directly below James’s.

The woman screams louder, and I have to plug my ears. Steve stares up at me with a bored expression of displeasure. The scene switches to the forest in the morning. It’s quiet now. I turn the volume down and look up. It sounds like he got the message—I don’t hear any hammering.

I hit play with a victorious smirk. I’m about one minute into watching again when there’s a bang on my apartment door. Not a knock. A bang. And it’s loud. I stand and walk to where I can see the door. I’m standing naked and staring at my apartment entrance, when suddenly the door explodes open.

I see a dark-suited leg land on the ground after performing a kick. I scream, thinking I’m about to get murdered, but then I’m staring at James in shock.

He’s wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearm muscles are flexed, bulging as his veins and muscles vie for space. He holds a hammer in one hand, while the other is clenched in a fist. His green eyes burn.

“What the hell are you doing?” I finally say. I’ve been too shocked to remember I’m naked, but I do once I see his eyes glance down my body. He doesn’t look away in an instant like he should. He seems to be in shock, too. His gaze lingers, and I feel like there’s a charge of electricity buzzing through my blood until he moves them to the wall at lightspeed.

“I’m sorry. I heard a woman screaming.”

I dart to the couch and wrap myself in my blanket. Then I stomp back. I’m too breathless to even be embarrassed.

“It was a movie, genius. My door is destroyed.” I look at it. It’s buckled and hanging by one hinge. It’s halfway to the floor like a boxer in the process of falling to the mat.

“I’ll pay. The screaming was loud. I could hear it over my work.” He tilts the hammer in his hand for emphasis.

“Yeah, because I was trying to make you notice thenoiseof your work. It’s like seven p.m. What’re you even doing?”

“Putting together a couple bookshelves.”

“Can’t you pay someone to do that during the day?”

“You think I pay someone to wipe my ass, too?”

We stare at each other. James Callaway just kicked down my door. He looks hot when he’s distressed. A few locks of hair have moved in front of his forehead. Why, of all things, are these my thoughts?

“I’ll put a work order in tonight. I’m sure we can find someone to fix the door by midnight,” James says.

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