Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Thanks to my cough, I didn’t have the best night’s sleep. By the time the next morning rolled around, my body ached like hell, I was running a fever, and my nose was leaking like a tap.

Yeah, I wasn’t going to work today.

Flat on my back in bed, I let my head loll to the side. Dax lay squarely in his “spot” on the large mattress, his eyes closed, his breathing even.

Given how much I’d coughed during the night, I was surprised he hadn’t gone to sleep in one of the spare bedrooms at one point. I’d offered to do it so that he could have an interrupted sleep, but he’d glared at me like I’d suggested removing my rings.

“You sleep in this bed. Our bed. No other,” he’d then stated.

Though I’d told him it wouldn’t be a big deal for me to spend one night in another room, he’d insisted I sleep beside him. Personally, I failed to see why he’d be so affected by my not being here. It wasn’t as if my absence would be missed, given we slept on separate sides of the mattress and didn’t cuddle. Though—note to self—I should really burrow into him one time just to freak him out for the fun factor.

A tickle scratched at my throat, and there was no holding back the cough. A wheezy cough that went on and on and on, making my chest and throat burn. I weakly sat upright, nabbed my glass from the nightstand, and took gentle swigs of my water, letting the cold liquid soothe the burn.

“I hope you’re not going to insist on heading into work,” said Dax, his voice thick.

“Not today,” I rasped, the words barely audible.

He let out a gratified grunt. “I can’t take the day off, but I’ll come check on you between meetings.”

Aw, that hit me in the feels. “You don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine.” But considering my voice was a pitiful croak and I had to look like a bag of shit, I wasn’t surprised that he raised a dubious brow my way. “Fingers crossed you don’t catch it.”

“I won’t catch it,” he said with total conviction, like no germ would dare try to infect him.

I rubbed at my throat. “Well, I hope you’re right.”

“I’m right.” Again, such conviction.

I merely shrugged. “If you say so.”

Before leaving for work, he set me up in bed with everything I needed—drinks, pills, tissues, healthy snacks, menthol lozenges, and even a soothing throat spray. He went about it in a very methodical and businesslike way as opposed to acting in any way nurturing, but my chest went warm all the same.

Throughout the day, wanting to get at least some work done, I handled emails while watching movies and documentaries on the TV mounted on the wall opposite me. For obvious reasons, taking and making calls was a no-no.

True to his word, Dax popped home here and there. Each time, I assured him that it wasn’t necessary. But he totally ignored me and did as he pleased.

What’s new there?

I wasn’t annoyed, though. I found it sweet. Touching. Especially when it was clearly so out of character for him.

Later on, when I went to his office in search of him, I saw that the room was empty. Noticing that the balcony doors were open, I made my way toward them … which was right when I picked up an unfamiliar muted voice.

Stepping onto the balcony, I found no Dax. I realized then that the person speaking was actually outsidethe villa. As the balcony was positioned on the side of the building, I could see only a portion of the driveaway from this angle. Right then, what I saw was Dax standing near his car with his back to me, facing a short, dorky-looking dude who appeared to be somewhere in his twenties. A dude who was wearing a sly grin.

“I personally would have married the sister,” he told Dax. “Alicia’s her name, isn’t it? Yeah, pretty sure that’s it.” He hummed. “Damn, she’s got great skin. And those fucking legs go on forever. Am I right, or am I right?”

I gaped, honestly unsure what bothered me more: the sleazy way this prick spoke of my sister, or that Dax didn’t say a single word.

“Come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t had a few fantasies about that girl,” Sleazeball went on, still smirking.

Apparently, Dax indeed couldn’t tell him that. Because he didn’t.

“Seriously, why didn’t you put your ring on that one’s finger? I’m not saying the eldest isn’t hot. She’s a babe for sure.” The stranger’s nose wrinkled. “Just a little too curvy for my tastes. And she always struck me as a bit vain and uppity.”

I gritted my teeth, anger flaring in my belly. Not merely at the crap he was spouting, but at how Dax remained completely silent. Thanks, hubby.

“She has a great rack, though,” Sleazeball seemed to hesitantly grant. “And we all love a great rack, don’t we?”

Seriously, who was this motherfucker?

His smirk went up several notches. “The youngest one’s a beauty, too. As is her ass. Hmm, I’d like some of that.”

My back snapped straight. If my voice wasn’t a mere croak, I would have yelled down that I’d disembowel the little prick if he went anywhere near Harri or Alicia.

Dax cocked his head. “Haven’t I seen you with Wal Stroeder on occasion? He’s a chef at one of my restaurants. He’s also one of my tenants.”

I felt my brows snap together. Who gave a damn about Wal Stroeder, whoever the hell that was?

Fuck this shit. If Dax wasn’t going to deal with Sleazeball, I would.

Furious—and yeah, kind of hurt—I hurried out of the office, stalked across the upstairs hallway, banded down the stairs … and saw Dax returning inside.

I made a beeline for him as he closed the front door. “The fuck was that?” I demanded, which would have sounded much more assertive if the words weren’t so hoarse and raspy.

His brow puckered in confusion.

“I was on your office balcony, I saw a preview of what happened out there,” I explained.

With a sigh of realization, he rubbed at the corner of his eyebrow.

I perched my hands on my hips. “How could you not have punched that sack of shit? I heard the crap he said about me and my sisters.”

Dax dropped his arm back to his side. “Addison—”

“Know what I didn’t hear? You telling him to shut the fuck up. You defending my sisters. You defending me.” Anger tinged with humiliation sparked in my gut and caused my face to burn. “No, you were more interested in talking about Wal … whoever.”

“There’s a good reason for that,” Dax appeased, calm as ever. Yeah, calm.

I felt my brows fly up. “There’s a ‘good’ reason for not saying anything in my defense, or in telling some creep to keep his distance from my sisters?” Try as I might, I couldn’t see one. “And if I’m honest, it also wasn’t real nice that you didn’t deny having fantasies about Alicia or thinking maybe you should have married her. I mean, if that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel, but still.”

Set on ignoring the frog in my throat, I swallowed around it. Uh, ow.

Dax took slow, measured steps toward me, his eyes regarding me with incredulity. “Do you really think that’s actually the case?”

“What I think is that if the situation were reversed, I’d have shut that shit down. I wouldn’t have tolerated anyone talking smack about you.” The backs of my eyes burning as hot as my cheeks, I threw up my hands. “You know what? Forget it.” I spun on my heel and stalked off.

“Don’t walk away from me, Addison, we need to talk about this.”

I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed space if I had any chance of finding some calm.

“I understand why you’re upset,” he went on, all reasonable, “but you have to let me explain.”

I didn’t have to do anything.

“Wouldn’t you like to know who he was?”

Nearing the staircase, I shook my head and said, “I’d rather not talk anymore about your mystery friend.”

“He’s no friend of mine. His name is August Blum. The guy’s a reporter.”

One foot on the bottom stair, I stilled in surprise, my brows sliding together. He was a, what?

Dax didn’t say anything more, or try to catch up with me. He simply waited.

Placing one hand on the banister, I slowly half-turned and met his unreadable gaze, knowing my expression would be a mask of sheer skepticism.

“He was interested in getting the scoop on our recent nuptials,” Dax elaborated. “I can guarantee you he was somehow recording that conversation. I wasn’t going to give him anything to print, no matter how much he tried goading me. And believe me, they always try goading me,” he added a little tiredly.

I licked my lips. “He’s a reporter?”

“Yes. He waltzed up the driveway just as I was grabbing something from my car. He was friendly at first. But when I wasn’t cooperative, he started tossing out verbal bait. It’s easy enough for me to ignore the tactic—I’ve been dealing with it since I was a kid. That doesn’t mean what he said didn’t piss me off, though I doubt he meant a word of it—he just wanted me to jump to your defense; wanted a reaction.”

Flexing my fingers, I nibbled on my lower lip. Was his explanation believable? Yes. It even made sense. But I had so much anger and hurt powering through my blood that it wasn’t easy to quite simply accept his story and back down.

Watching me carefully, he covered the space between us. His hand cupped my chin as he lowered his face slightly, snaring my gaze. “Do you really think I would tolerate anyone insulting you? That I would stay quiet unless I had a good reason?”

Well … no. No, I didn’t. It was far from his style. But if the dude was really a reporter, it begged the question: “Why didn’t you just tell him to leave?”

“I did. He ignored me. At first.”

“What finally made him walk away?”

Dax minutely flicked his head to the side. “I indirectly threatened to have his boyfriend fired and evicted.”

“Wal Stroeder?”

“Wal Stroeder,” he confirmed, releasing my chin. “There would be no sense in me putting together such a lie when you could easily do an internet search on Blum—his picture will pop right up, along with articles he’s written.”

True, I silently conceded as my anger and hurt began to steadily leach away. Rubbing at my face, I pulled in a long breath. And promptly coughed.

“The reason I didn’t ram my fist in Blum’s face is that the media … they know how I am, how I operate. He will have had a cameraman close by, hoping to catch something on film. They usually do.”

“That’s messed up,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “It’s my normal.”

“That’s why it’s so messed up.”

He dragged his gaze over my face. “If I hadn’t been positive he was recording that conversation, I would have handled the matter differently. To be clear, I have never once had fantasies about either of your sisters or considered marrying them. You should have known better than to think otherwise,” he added, a pinch of admonishment in his tone. “I also do not at all consider you even remotely vain or stuck up. Or too curvy, for that matter.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if you had thought me too curvy—I’d have considered it your problem.” I was happy with my body as it was. “I just didn’t like that you didn’t tell him to shove it. Though I get now why you didn’t.” I bit into the inside of my cheek. “Have any other reporters sought you out recently?”

“No. But it’s never a surprise when they do. They have a habit of showing up. Usually whenever Michael Bale is suddenly a hot online top.” He gave an aloof shrug, but there was really nothing to be aloof about.

I had to admit, I was curious about how it must have been for Dax to grow up with Bale as a step-grandfather; curious about how it had affected his life and family—I only really knew the gist of it. But I’d never asked, because I didn’t want him to think I was interested in a, “Ooh, tell me all the nitty, gritty details, I find it fascinating” way. Like I didn’t appreciate how difficult it must have been for him.

I cast him a weak smile. “I’d hug you in sympathy, but you’d rear back from the affection in horror, so I’m going to settle for a shoulder pat.” I gently patted his left shoulder three times.

Mirth bled into his eyes. “Now that that’s over with, get back upstairs. You’re supposed to be resting. If you weren’t sick, I’d paddle your ass for thinking I might be in agreement with any of what Blum said out there.”

I straightened to my full height. “If you come near my butt with a paddle—”

“You’ll take what I give you,” he finished. “And you’ll enjoy it. That I can promise you.”

“It’s a promise you wouldn’t be able to deliver on.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He tipped his chin toward the stairs. “Go before I decide you’re well enough to handle it now.”

“I’m going. But I’m telling you, butt-paddling—or whatever it’s called—will never turn out to be my thing.”

“We’ll see.”

“No. No, we won’t,” I asserted. But he only smiled, the dick.