Page 24 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

13

XANDER

Afew days had passed since Laurence’s surprise visit to my office. Amelia and I hadn’t spoken about it, not so much as a passing thought. I had gotten so busy with the good problem of handling incoming inquiries for potential projects, I hadn’t even called her to my office, and my body was feeling the strain of sexual tension.

From where I stood now, behind the tinted glass of my office window, I had a perfect view of the café across the street. My eyes had drifted there out of habit, and now they refused to move. Amelia was sitting at one of the umbrella-covered tables with Godwin, just two tables over from where she sat with her father a few days ago after that comical shock she had. I’d have liked to see how far she took her little striptease for me that day had we not been in her father’s presence.

Today, however, the tension I felt wasn’t eased by her smile or the way she seemed to glow in the sunlight. It only swelled as she laughed at Mr. Tharmor’s jokes, touched his arm lightly, leaned in toward him to look at his phone screen. He ate up that attention like a man dying of thirst in a desert, while I watchedon from several floors up with my hands fisted in my pants pockets.

I recognized his laugh before I even noticed her hand on his shoulder. Too familiar. Too comfortable. The way she leaned into him, the tilt of her head, that full-bodied laugh she gave him—it scraped something raw inside me.

She didn’t laugh like that with me.

He said something and she touched his arm again, fingers curling briefly before pulling back. And it wasn’t even the touch itself—it was how effortless it looked. So natural.

If she moved on, if she started dating someone like him, there wouldn’t be room for our arrangement anymore. She’d have to commit to him, draw a line. End us.

And she looked like she could. From where I stood, the natural chemistry they had seemed so fluid that any moment she would lean into him and kiss him, give him that gaze-locked expression she held for me alone. Or had she? Had I been too blind to notice this intimacy she shared with him leading up to my request for a no-strings arrangement with her?

I turned away from the window with my peace rankled, sinking into the sofa across my office. My hands rose to scrub my face of stress, then slid upward to my forehead where my fingers tangled in my hair. I planted my elbows on my knees and let my eyes close to block out the image of her next to him, but my thoughts refused to obey me.

It wasn’t just the way she looked at him—it was the way he looked at her. Like he understood her. Like he deserved to. That bothered me more than anything else. It felt unfair—how some people seemed to move through life forming bonds without trying, like emotional gravity just pulled people toward them. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this orbit I couldn’t escape, watching from a distance. Too much history under my skin, too manywalls built too high. I didn’t even know what it felt like to laugh like that with someone.

Amelia had that. At least with Godwin, and it made me feel like an intruder in a life I only got to borrow in pieces.

Maybe I was stupid to think I could keep things casual with her. That we could have this thing and pretend it didn’t mean more. Because now that I’d had her—tasted the version of myself that existed when she was around—I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t not want it, even if I’d never say it out loud.

I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer. But all it did was press the silence deeper into my psyche and drive me insane. I hated this part—when I got too far inside my own head.

Something about watching Amelia so open with someone else scraped at an old wound. One I thought I’d buried deep enough to forget, but the scar of which was still permanently etched in my heart. But it came back, sharp and uninvited as the day I felt it the first time.

I was eight years old again. Standing at the front door in my pajamas, bare feet on cold tile, watching my mother zip up a suitcase with hands that didn’t shake. I begged her not to go. I held her wrist. I remember that clearly—how small my hand looked against her skin. How tiny I felt knowing that no matter what I said I couldn’t change her mind.

“Please,” I’d said. “Please just stay. I’ll be better. I swear.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t kneel down or soften. Her eyes were dry and hard when she slid her arm free from my grasp, not in an overly harsh way but not the kindness of a mother’s touch either.

“It’s time for you to be a man, Xander,” she’d said. “You don’t need me for that.” Then she walked out. Just like that.

That was the day I learned what it meant to be a man: it meant being alone. It meant silence where comfort should be,pride where softness used to live. And I’ve carried that definition with me every goddamn day since.

Even now, with Amelia—especially with Amelia—I could feel it there between us like a wall I didn’t know how to tear down. Wanting her didn’t change the fact that I didn’t know how to let her in. And God, I was furious about it.

Furious that everyone else seemed to know how to be close. How to be loved without it slipping through their fingers. Furious that after all these years, I was still that kid standing at the door—watching someone walk away.

My hands shook as I took out my phone. The surge of jealousy over her smiling laughter with Godwin Tharmor had me feeling impulsive, obsessive even. I sent her a message telling her I needed her as I rose off the couch and strutted to the window, already loosening my tie.

Xander 12:13 PM:Come up

Just two words. I didn’t even add a period. Didn’t need to. She’d know what it meant.

I stared out the window. My pulse was louder than it should’ve been. She was still at the café. Still laughing. But then she glanced down at her phone. I saw the shift, even from across the street—her smile faltering, hand retreating from where it rested on Godwin’s arm. She stood abruptly, said something too quick to catch, then leaned in and hugged him. That made my jaw clench.

She didn’t hug me like that.

Then Amelia turned and scurried across the sidewalk, weaving through traffic without waiting for the crosswalk light. She half jogged up the steps to our building, her hair catching in the breeze, her body tense with purpose.

Moments later, I heard the elevator ding and the soft click of her heels against the tile hallway. The door to my office openedwithout a knock. She stepped inside, cheeks pink, eyes searching mine.

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