Well, Declan is cocky. He thinks he own the place, and I’m sure he looks down on Rogers. Declan sees Rogers as just some kind of mindless servant, around to pour coffee and fetch the dry cleaning.
He has no clue what the man is capable of. For that matter, I’m not so sure myself, but we’ll find out together.
Hazel comes into the room a moment later. I cock my head at her as she curtsies in front of my desk, eyes lowered to the floor.
“You called for me, Daddy?”
I smile. “Go stand over by the window in your normal morning spot.”
She does as I command.
I turn to her, a wicked grin on my face.
“Don’t move a muscle until I tell you.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I turn back to my computer and go through the numbers one more time, trying to ignore the girl standing near the window.
I wonder how long she’ll last. I wonder how strong she is.
But I already know, if I’m honest with myself.
She’ll stand there for as long as I tell her to.15HazelI watch him work for nearly four hours.
At first, I think he’s going to call me over, make me sit on his lip, and kiss me. It’s strange how much I crave his touch and his kiss now. It’s like I can’t go ten minutes without feeling his fingers on my skin, and if I do, I have these phantom touches all along my body.
Instead, he keeps me standing. He barely looks in my direction. Minutes slip past, and then hours. My legs start to hurt, my back aches, my feet scream for me to just sit down for a second or at least move around.
I don’t move a muscle. I do lean back against the wall, ever so slightly, just to keep myself from passing out. Otherwise, I stay right where he told me to stand.
I watch him closely. I watch his every movement, every sound. He watches his computer and reads while moving his mouth ever so slightly, and I bet he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He has a habit of leaning against his right hand, fist on his chin, elbow on the desktop.
I want to reach out and brush my fingers through his hair. I don’t care how long he wants me to stand around. At least I get to watch him.
I don’t know how long he leaves me there. Time stops meaning anything. I just watch him closely like the best television show I’ve ever seen. Any little twitch, any movement, it’s like a revelation.
I study him. I feel like it’s the most intimate thing imaginable.
Finally, after some time has passed, he looks at me. He smiles.
“Come, sit down.” He stands and gently leads me over to the couch.
I practically collapse. He gets me some water and gives me the glass. “Drink,” he says.
I sip it, looking up at him. “I’m okay,” I say.
He smiles. “I know you are. Stronger than you look.”
“Stronger than you are.” I make a face at him.
“Tell me where it hurts.”
I sigh. “I told you—”
“Tell me where it hurts,” he repeats.
“My feet,” I admit. They’re so sore it’s like I can’t feel them.
He takes my shoes off. I groan in relief as he slowly starts to rub my right foot, his practiced, strong hands easily starting to bring some life back into it.
I bite my lip.
“Better?” he asks.
“That’s nice.”
He nods, smiling a little. “Good.” He keeps rubbing my foot. “I used to do this for my mother.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. He rarely talks about his parents. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention his mother.
“She was very smart,” he says. “And very beautiful. She spent most of her time organizing charity events and gossiping like every other wealthy woman in her position. Late at night, she’d get drunk and ask me to rub her feet, and I’d do it. We’d watch late-night TV together in silence while she drank and I gave her foot massages.” He laughs softly, almost sadly. “It was the nicest she ever was to me.”
I watch him carefully. I can tell this is difficult for him.
“She died of cancer,” he says. “I wasn’t there at the end. She refused to let anyone near her, other than my brother and her nurses. I didn’t get to say goodbye, but I think she preferred it that way. She wanted everyone to remember the woman she was, not the woman cancer turned her into.”
“I can understand that,” I say softly. “But it must have been hard.”
“It was,” he admits. “Three years later, my father died of a heart attack. He was out on a boat with his new mistress. Allegedly they were fucking, but who really knows.”
“Both parents in three years,” I say softly.
“Losing my father wasn’t so hard. The hard part came after that.”