Page 115 of Damaged

“How come?”

“After what happened at the gallery…”

“I seriously never even thought of that. It’s a lot different when you’re not being kicked in the stomach,” I joke.

James grimaces. It’s like somehow, he’s the one more hurt by that night. He looks guilty. “Well, I’m glad you don’t have anything lasting from that.”

“Just you,” I say.

“You had me at the ice rink. I didn’t need to save you.”

“Mmm. Let’s not tell people that. The hero part makes for a better story.”

“Okay. Fair enough.” We kiss again, and I’m the one who breaks it this time. I’m dizzy from being strung up.

I go over to a leather armchair and plop down. “I think I need some water after that.”

“Let me get you some,” James says. He puts on his pants before walking shirtless towards the kitchen.

I close my eyes. The cold leather feels amazing against my hot skin.

I hear a distant siren. A window makes up the entire back wall of James’s office. His big wooden desk is in front of it. I hear a ding and see a screen light up.

James has a work phone on his desk. I don’t know why—maybe it’s because my brain is broken from sex—but I stand up and go over to it. I spin it around so the screen faces me.

It’s an older model iPhone. A nine or something. It only has the one camera lens. The contact’s name that texted is TS2. Okay. Cryptic. My curiosity gets the best of me. I don’t even consider the fact that I’m prying. But the phone is so old, it doesn’t have the privacy settings updated. I can read the texts while the phone is locked.

TS2:And you’re positive she has no idea? Because if she does, we have a problem.

I frown. This text could be about anyone. There are a few women executives at James’s company.

It would be stupid and very presumptuous to assume theshein this text was me.

I’m too high on amazing sex to even care. I turn around, and James is standing in the doorway with a glass of water. I smile at him, but it fades quickly as I notice his own expression is tight with worry.

His eyes dart towards his desk before he’s able to regain his composure and walk to me.

“I had a sip. I did most of the work, so I figured I’d earned it.” He turns on that charm like a light switch, but I have a little pause.

I saw the emotions on his face.

I saw there was something he didn’t want me to see. Was it the text?

But of course there are things he would have to keep from me. We’ve only been dating a couple months. He has iron-clad contracts with defense contractors and governments.

I’m being foolish. There are things helegallycan’t let my eyes touch.

I force my smile back and take the glass. I have a sip and then set it down. “So, what’re we doing for the rest of the night?”

“What if we went out?”

“Do you have reservations?” I ask.

“Oh no.” James twists the corner of his mouth in a grimace. “I’ve spoiled you. You know, Sophia, there are places in New York where you don’t have to call ahead to eat,” he teases and hugs my naked body.

I’m a little horrified that I just associatedgoing outwith sitting down at a white tablecloth and perusing the wine list with an inquisitive squint, pretending like I know a damn thing about the bottles, when really, I’m practicing pronouncing them in my head.

But that is James’s version of going out. Black tie. Oysters on ice. Waiters with rigid posture and swift movements.

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