“I’m not sure. Should I?”
The charge that goes through me at her words is just as intense as the one that pulsed through me not even an hour ago. Permission. She’s already requesting permission. My sweet little submissive. I remind her, if only to give her more space to consider what occurred and to give myself time to ensure I will do right by her, “We had a session. We’ve talked.”
“We were interrupted.”
“I know.” We were interrupted at the worst possible moment. Or the best possible moment. I don’t know which it is. I might not ever know. “There’s no rush to continue tonight,” I tell her, keeping my voice as level and professional as I can. “If you’re tired, we can always have another session tomorrow.”
We will have another session tomorrow. I’ve already decided it. No matter what happens, Ella and I will have another session.
Her lips part, and I hold my breath. If she says it again right now—
“You’re right. I’ll head up.” Her body shifts toward me almost imperceptibly, but then Ella holds up her hand in a little wave. “Good night, Z.”
“Good night, Ella.”
I wait until I hear her footsteps on the stairs before I sag against the countertop. Z.
I wait another five minutes before I take out my phone, dial, and put it to my ear.
“You’ve got me.” It’s Silas. He always says “You’ve got me” when he answers the phone.
“I want you to look into the manager for me. Kamden Richards.” Silas has previous experience with military intelligence, and he’s the one on our team who conducts the research that can’t be done with a simple internet search. “Background check. As far as you can go. Get me a file on him.”
There’s no hesitation, only a huff of a laugh. “You got a hunch?” he questions.
“I am … uncertain.”
“All right. Need anything else?”
That’s the other thing I like about Silas. He’s a no-bullshit guy. He does his job, he does it well, and he rarely rocks the boat. “No. Thanks.”
We hang up the call, and I bring up the app on my phone that shows me the security cameras. Upstairs, Ella pads from the bathroom to her room and then leaves it. She pauses at the top of the stairs, like she might decide to come back down.
I’d fuck you, Zander. I’ve already fantasized about it.
After another long moment, she goes into her bedroom and closes the door.
The text comes in while I’m still looking at the camera feed.
Damon: Going through last night’s records. Missing a chunk of time off the video. Did you notice any glitches?
I don’t answer him.
Zander
Any threats to the client will be dealt with quickly and severely. All legal ramifications will be the burden of The Firm.
The waiting room at 304 Pinewood Circle is the same it’s been since the first time I set foot here, in this strip of professional offices. White walls. Black, modern furniture. All of it’s comfortable, sturdy, and nonthreatening. No art in frames, just a blue accent wall in the back. I asked Harrison about it at my first session. He said that one of his clients once had a reaction to a watercolor painting, so he stopped displaying art after that.
It takes great effort not to tap my foot against the floor. Moments like this are good for practicing patience. You can’t allow the nervous responses to get in the way when you’re on a job, and almost no one starts out with enough patience to be that way in high-pressure circumstances.
The soft click brings my attention forward as Harrison opens the door to his office. “Zander. How are you?”
“Good,” I answer as I rise, exhaling and preparing myself. “How are you?” I follow him in, nodding at his polite answer. The office is a smaller version of the waiting room, except the furniture is larger and sturdier. I take my seat in a black armchair, and Harrison takes his seat in a gray wingback. Like always, he appears unflustered and calm. Clean-shaven. Dark, closely cropped hair above a neat white shirt and equally neat tie.
“What brings you in today?”
The words I’ve been planning to say stick in my throat. Harrison is a patient man. He’s one of those obnoxiously tolerant people who will outwait you no matter how long it takes. It’s one of the things Damon told me about him when he recommended I see him—he knows how to shut his mouth and wait, a quality I appreciate in people more than most other things. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Harrison tilts his head to the side and continues waiting. The clock on the back wall is nearly silent. But there’s still a steady ticking sound in the room. Punctuated by my heavy exhales.
No matter how much practice I have at being patient, he is better. And part of me wants to crack. It’s not that I want him to know the details. The urge to keep this secret is strong. It doesn’t seem to matter that I decided to talk to Harrison about this—now that it’s time, some protective instinct rears up and tries to keep me from saying a damn word. But it’s misguided. This conversation is about Ella’s welfare. Her well-being is the most important thing.