Page 118 of Damaged

How much longer can I keep doing this? I just need to kill this lawsuit. Get the votes from The Society, and we’ll have our evening hour on the couch and night having sex in bed.

But I don’t know how to do either of those things quickly. And even when I do win, I’ve been in this game long enough to know that two completely unique, yet just as difficult problems, will no doubt arise. And I’ll be back to this game of whack-a-mole.

It's like gardening. Pulling weeds. Killing beetles. Watering. The second you let a business go unchecked for a moment, some new issue pops up. But unlike gardeners, I don’t get the winter off. “This isn’t ever going to end,” I say aloud and drink my scotch.

I have to find more time for Sophia. I could give Mark, my VP of Accounts, more authority. Let him act a little on my behalf.

Hell, my company only has me as a CEO. We don’t have a president. I could create a new position and promote Stephanie Warner to Mark’s old position and Mark to president.

There we go. I always find a solution. This one just requires me to let go of a little control. Something I can do happily if it means keeping Sophia.

I should plan something nice for her. A getaway to mark another fresh start. New York has become stale in the grayness of early spring and the monotony of work.

It’s an ugly season. It’s all dead trees and the appearance of trash that was hidden in snowbanks.

I go back to the table refreshed and turn on the charm and wit. I quickly have everybody laughing. It’s not the scotch. It’s the fact that I’m thinking about Sophia. She’s alone.Disappointed and perhaps contemplating the worth of this relationship.

But she has no idea that when I walk through the door tonight, I’m going to lift her into my arms and promise her that we’re spending a week together soon.

I’ll get her laughing, too. I’ll have her cheeks burning and head lowered towards her stomach as she belly-laughs.

When dinner is over, I almost tell my driver to step on it. I’m that excited to rid the haze of the last couple days and make Sophia beam.

I get home to a quiet apartment. I check my watch. It’s only nine. Steve comes trotting up to me from the kitchen. I drop to a crouch to give him some scratches.

The cat has grown to like me, but he doesn’t usually come trotting to say hello. Maybe something is wrong.

I stand quickly.

Sophia never texted me that she was going out. Even if she was upset, she’d always let me know where she was going. I try to see if her shoes are here. But there’s too damn many on the rack by the door for me to figure that out.

“Sophia?” I say with some volume and listen for a response. None comes. This place is big, sure, but the mostly open floor plan makes sound travel well. And she sticks to only a few rooms. Unless she is in a bathroom with a shower running, I’m fairly certain she’d hear me.

I start to walk faster. I check the living room. Race past the dining room and throw open the bedroom door.

Sophia is in bed. The reading lamp is on, but her eyes are closed. A book lies open where it fell on her neck.

Her chest rises softly with each sleeping breath. I walk over to her and gently move the book and pull the covers up around her. She stirs ever so slightly as I kiss her gently on the forehead.

“I’m going to get you excited again, snowflake. Tomorrow.” I whisper my promise and stroke her hair just once. Then I turn off the light and go back towards the hall. But I pause and turn around. I can’t help but watch her sleep for another moment. Another minute.

My own excitement will have to wait.

Sophia

I wake up disoriented. I can guess from the amount of sunlight coming through the blinds that it’s midmorning. I slept late for turning in so early.

I sniff the air. It smells of something sweet and bready. There’s that idyllic sound of a wooden spoon tapping a bowl. I get up out of the sheets like a zombie, entranced. I shuffle into the kitchen to see James standing over the stove.

“I was afraid I was going to have to wake you up,” he says with a smile.

I look him over for a moment. I know he’s trying to make up for the last few days of being gone all the time. I come over to him and hug him from behind. “I’m pretty sure you did wake me.”

“Were you dreaming of lemon sugar crepes before you woke up?”

“Is that what you’re making?” I break the hug and lean forward to look in the pan. Golden brown deliciousness. The crepes sizzle in butter.

James is in a good mood, and it infects me. When he plates the crepes, I dash to the breakfast nook, where he’s already put silverware. I sit and hold my knife and fork up at the ready and grin like an idiot.

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