Chapter 7

Amelia

"I saved your ass," Damian snaps as Edgar starts driving back to my office. "A fucking Indian burial site, Amelia?"

"You didn't save my ass," I hiss, boiling with rage. "You just went in there to undermine me. You just proved to those fucking misogynistic jackasses that I can't be in charge."

"Yeah. Which is why I had to jump in. They were going to tear you to shreds and use the pieces as a fucking coat!"

I spin to him, my eyes blazing. "Things are not as they seem. And you should have let them," I screech. "I would rather do everything alone, every sexist comment, every article about my shoes, everything, than having a man come in and think he's some goddamn hero! What do you think I'm going to do? Fall at your feet and suck your cock in gratitude that you saved me from the big, scary journalists that actually have no say in what I do or think as someone in charge of this company?"

Damian sets his jaw but doesn't respond to my rhetorical question. Good.

"Amelia, what do you mean things aren"t as they seem?"

"Not now. You just made my job ten times harder because of that, you bastard."

Damian shakes his head and scoffs but looks out the window. I'm physically shaking with anger, but I know as soon as I get out of the car, I have to be back to the calm, collected Amelia Garrett that I've always been.

Damian sighs. "My mom is trying to get me to take your and Jackson's house."

"I know," I say through gritted teeth. "She's as subtle as a stampede of horses in a glass store."

His lips crack with a smile.

"I mean, did she really think I wouldn't know that you're the only one not in a MVM property? Or that a Garrett has to be living in it? I can't even walk in the fucking front door, so by all means. There's a whole lot of coffee in it and about six dead lemon trees in the backyard."

He glances over at me. "About six? Can you not count to six?"

I lick my dry lips, the grief souring through me all over again. It's never far away. "I don't know how many Jax planted. I stopped counting after six."

Damian reaches out to put his hand on my wrist. A gentle motion. I pull it out of the way as if I've been burnt. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asks gently. "To your house."

"No." My voice is tight with restraint. "I still have a month until the house is given up. I'm sure I'll be able to move back in with the time I have left."

Damian hums. "Look, my mother is not going to give up until she wins. She wants you out."

"So do you."

"No. I want me in. In whatever way that is."

I scowl at him. "Was that a dirty joke?"

He laughs in surprise. "No. But, fuck, Mila… that too." He rubs his chin as his eyes cloud over. "God fucking damn," he murmurs under his breath.

There's a shiver down my spine at how low his voice just got, but I ignore it, looking away from him. Once was enough. I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it. "My name's Amelia. Mrs. Garrett to you."

"Oh no, my Mila doll, there's something—"

"You want a doll, Damian? Buy one. I am not something to play with."

"No," he murmurs. "You need to be worshipped."

There's that sizzling sexual tension again, my veins vibrating with need. I shake it out of my head and try to channel it back to anger. Anger is good. Anger can achieve something. Fucking my enemy will create even more problems I can't afford to solve. It helps that my office is filled with people—board members, lawyers, a representative from the architect— and the anger swims back through my brain.

I storm to my desk and get everyone's attention. "Jeremy, what happened to the surveys?"

"I didn't do them, ma'am. Victor never put it through."

"No, but I did. Over a year ago."

Jeremy smiles awkwardly. "Well, sure, but that doesn't mean anything. It had to come from Victor or Jackson."

"No, it had to come from this office. Which it did," I growl. I look down at my desk. "You're fired. You have a week to finalize all the work you're not doing. Get out."

He splutters in protest, and everyone around scoffs. "You can't just do that, Amelia."

It's Damian who speaks up, yet again coming to my rescue. "Yes, she can. And it's Mrs. Garrett. Get out. If anyone thinks that's unfair, you can leave too."

Jeremy stares at him before setting his jaw and turning to Amelia. "You're not going to get away with this, sweetheart. I've been working here for seven years! I was a good friend of Jackson and Victor—"

"Yes, well, I'm in charge now," I snap. "Which means you actually have to do your fucking jobs. Whatever happened with Victor or Jackson is changing. I don't give a fuck what you got away with. You're not getting away with it here. You're going to do your jobs, you're going to do them well, or I'm replacing you with younger, more experienced, and less whiny employees. You've got thirty seconds to get out of my office before I call security."

Jeremy's eyes might pop out of his head before he storms away, slamming the door behind him.

"Anyone else have something to say?" I growl.

A man named Robert clears his throat. "He's got a family to support."

"Good for him," I snap. "Robert, set up a meeting with the local tribe chief. Adam, you're taking Jeremy's workload. Get me an approval of a new ecological survey. And find all the surveys that have been completed. I don't think Jeremy was correct or truthful about the surveys. Andy, work out the cost of the financial hit for the excavation and reburial for the bones. That's final. Everyone out of my office."

Someone scoffs, but I don't see who it is. "You're running this into the ground, lady. You think anyone's going to go to a resort that had once been a sacred site? That reporter was right—"

"Out," I order. "Now."

Damian ushers them all out, and I glare at him when he shuts the door behind him.

"You too," I growl.

"No." He moves to lounge on the sofa I have placed against the wall. "What's your plan, Mrs. Garrett? Rachel was there. She'd had that information already. Why didn't you?"

I growl. "Robyn!"

She quickly opens the door. "Yes?"

"Can you give me a list of everyone that was at the event today? As well as everyone that was at the press conference the other week. Then you can go to lunch. Cancel all appointments for the next two hours. No comments, no questions from anyone, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She disappears, and I turn to Damian, the rage in my stomach turning into a burning desire for sexual release. I need Damian out of here before I act on it. I can't do that again. It'll ruin any chance I have of staying sane. "Get out."

"No, Amelia," he says with a frown. "You—"

"You came to my fucking rescue again. I told you to let me do it. Just stop acting like the fucking hero all the time! I don't need it!"

"You do." He frowns and sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, I have access to more information that you don't have. I'm a Garrett. We have more access than anyone else. Especially not an outsider."

I scowl at him and pace back and forth, trying to stop the dizziness in my head. I've been able to get some medication to stop the morning sickness, but the nausea is still there, hovering just out of reach.

"There are very few Garretts left," I growl. "You don't have as much access as you think you do."

He stands up and takes my shoulders, stopping my pacing. Once I've stopped, he takes his hands away. "I can help. Rachel's ears are pricked up over something. You need to be protected from what she can do. I know her. She won't rest until she's brought whatever she thinks is right to light."

I narrow my eyes and stand up straight, looking him dead in the eye. "You think I'm going to trust you? When your ex-wife is out there threatening to bring this whole company down? You think that I'm going to trust you? If Rachel won't rest until she's brought whatever she thinks is right to light, why has she never brought you down?"

"She divorced me, that was enough," he snorts.

"She's never so much as mentioned your divorce in public."

"Why should she?"

We're interrupted by Robyn knocking on the door and slipping in, handing me a stapled document of the list of names. "Thanks. Lock the door on the way out. You can go to lunch."

There's a hint of surprise in her eyes, but she doesn't question me. She locks the door from the inside before pulling it firmly shut.

Damian and I stare at each other until I hear the beep of Robyn's pass letting her out into the elevator. The look in his eyes tells me he's feeling this, too; he's as hungry as I am. I can't give in. Not now. I have the upper hand, and I need to stay mad. Boiling mad, raging mad. Except the boiling and the raging seem to be collecting somewhere deep in my body, mixing with a strange sensation of lust and desire.

We move without meaning to. His hands circle my waist and I pull his neck towards me, our lips finding each other naturally. It's fierce and angry and biting, but I mold my body to his, hearing him grunt into my mouth as I grind my hips into his.

He pushes me gently back to rest on the edge of my desk, leaning just far enough back to wrench his jacket off. I fumble with the zipper on my skirt. "You make me so mad," I hiss through my teeth as the zipper won't budge. I give up and attack his shirt buttons. At least one goes flying, but he ignores it, tugging my shirt down to kiss as much skin as he has access to.

"Mad's not the word I'd use right now," he pants, managing to get my zipper down on my skirt much easier than I could. I shimmy out of my skirt, and he shoves my panties aside to touch the spot I've been aching for him to fill ever since he did it last time.

"Oh fuck," I moan.

He cups my face and lowers his lips to mine, pulsing his fingers in a way that I didn't know I liked. That thumb of his knows tricks. "I've been dreaming of this," he murmurs against my lips, his breath heavy. "You're a sexy little fuck, Mila. Anywhere you want me, I'm yours." He tugs my hair back, exposing my neck. "Anyone else call you Mila?"

"No," I breathe. "Just you."

"Perfect," he hums across my skin. "Can I take you on your desk, my Mila?"

I respond by roughly pulling his lips back onto mine. He draws away before sinking to his knees. I'm not sure I have the patience for his tongue, and I'm surprised he's willing to do it. Almost as if he can read my mind, he glances up at me. "We're in your office, baby. You think I'm going to play the hero like this, too? You hold all the power."

I whimper as he puts his mouth to better use, making me fall apart while perched on the edge of my desk.

When I drag him away once I can feel my legs again, he stands up to strip his pants off.

"I'm not going to suck your cock in here."

"No need," he murmurs. He spits into his hand, which seems both impossibly sexy and lewd all in the same motion before standing back to observe me. "You pick the position."

I don't really care, if I'm honest. The need to have him scratching that itch inside me that I can't get anywhere else is overwhelming the part of my brain that normally makes decisions. Instead, I twist on the desk so I'm face down, shoving my photos of Jackson as far out of the way as I can, and urge him closer. He doesn't hesitate for a second. I'm barely lying down before he's there, gripping my hips and sliding inside me, making us both groan in desire. There's almost a relaxation at having him so close again that surprises me. Maybe all I needed for the last few months was to get laid, and all my stress would have been eased.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Damian hums through gritted teeth as he starts up a rhythm that has the both of us too loud for my office. I don't care right now. I want him to make me come undone like this, sprawled across my desk, his pants around his ankles, my panties shoved to the side.

And he does.

"Oh fuck, Mila," he pants, one hand gripping my hip and the other wandering across my back to my shoulder. His words give way to rhythmic groans as he speeds up, losing his composure as his control unravels at my hands.

He stills with a strangled groan of my name before he folds forward, pressing his lips to my spine as we both take a second to breathe.

"If you keep giving me the best sex of my life, I'll never leave," he murmurs against my skin. "Goddammit, Mila."

I chuckle as he slowly stands up, pushing himself off me. "You've been married three times, and I'm giving you the best sex of your life?"

"There's a reason they all ended in divorce. And why that number's not higher."

We take our time getting dressed again. I hate that I feel calmer and more collected now that I've had my brain scrambled across my desk. Damian watches me as I straighten the photo frames of Jackson.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, fixing his shirt collar. "It shouldn't be me fucking you on your desk."

I sigh and turn to look out the window. "If he was here to do it, it wouldn't be my desk." I straighten my shirt collar and turn towards the bathroom. "And he wouldn't have done that anyway. You can go now. Keep that door locked behind you."

Damian watches me for a second. "Mila?"

"What?"

"Come to my place tonight. I'll cook for you. You don't have to do a thing."

I stop with my hand on the bathroom door. I contemplate saying no, giving myself back the power that I lose every time I have a conversation with this man. Instead, I twist to look at him. "Okay."

Damian looks pleasantly surprised. "Around six?"

I study his expression before turning back to the bathroom. "I'll be there."

Fuck. What have I done?

Alone in the bathroom, I place my hand on my stomach while looking at it in the mirror.

Three months, my doctor confirmed. Three whole months. I let out a shaky breath and put it out of my mind.