Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(18)

“No siblings, and …” I hesitate, fighting the clawing sensation in my chest as I go on, “And my mother died in a car accident three years ago. What about your family?”

“And some days that three years feels like an eternity and others like yesterday. I get it. My mom died of an aneurysm when I was seventeen. It’s not easy, but it gets easier. I know you don’t believe me, but it does.”

“I do. I know. And it is.” I cut my gaze and, damn it, my eyes are prickling again. I need this day to be over.

Now Damion is standing, turning my stool toward him, his hands on the arms, trapping me between him and the chair. “Today wasn’t normal procedure. It’s our third breach in ninety days, and we’ve been looking into potential internal problems. Not at you. You weren’t with us long enough to be a part of this. Two things you need to know: Everyone was locked down in some way, shape, or form today, and not just to be investigated. For safety reasons. I personally told security that you were on lockdown against your wishes, for your protection. I would never make you look bad. Never. How can I expect you to have my back if I don’t have yours?”

Have my back? No one has my back. Suddenly I feel shallow and wrong for my reaction. “I’m sorry. It just … it made me feel … bad. It made me feel bad.”

“I know.” He repeats what is becoming welcome and familiar, stroking my hair behind my ear as he adds, “And I wanted to call you, but silence is part of the process I would have prepared you for had you been with me longer than a day.” He lifts me off the chair and puts me down, stepping behind me, his hands on my waist, his mouth lowering to my ear. “Pack your things. You aren’t staying here.”

I turn in his arms. “What?”

“You aren’t staying in this rattrap.”

I push away from him. “I’m not a charity case who needs your money, Damion. I’m staying here.”

“You’re staying at Vantage as part of your employment package.”

“I quit.”

“I didn’t accept your resignation.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Every reason I hired you still exists. Nothing has changed.”

“Yes, it has.” My lips tighten, and so does my voice. “We changed. We crossed lines. And you might be okay with that, but I’m not.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it a dark, rumpled, sexy mess. “You think what happened between us was just how I operate?” He makes a frustrated sound and looks at the ceiling, then at me. “It’s not. I don’t f*ck my staff, literally or otherwise. I damn sure don’t f*ck my secretary. But we happened, and I have no intention of you leaving because of it, and if that means I have to drag you back to the casino or pay this dump a fortune to kick you out, I will.”

I gape. “What? That would be such an * thing to do.”

“No. The * thing I did was making you feel like this. I let myself touch you. I let myself go there. And now you think you have no job. Or that you have to please me to work at the casino. That is what makes me an *.” He moves toward me but steps around me and actually starts to gather my things and put them in my suitcase.

I rush toward where he’s leaning over the suitcase and grab his arm. “Stop. Stop now.”

He straightens and stares down at me. “One way or another, you’re coming with me.”

I ignore his sudden caveman mentality. “I’ll come to work, but I’m staying here.”

“No, you’re not. And you’re smarter than that. You’re clearly tight on money. Every day the hotel pays for your housing is a day you keep money in your pocket.”

He’s right, but I am not fully swayed. “What will the staff think? I’m not going to be looked at like some bimbo.”

“We have sixty staff members living on site, including me, and all their stays are included in their compensation packages. You’ll be in the same room you were in today, on the executive floor. On that level the camera feed is seen by only Terrance and me. Your life is completely private. Your bills are paid. This is a smart thing to do.”

“What about …”

“I made a mistake. I know that. I’m man enough to fix it.”

Man enough to fix “it.” I’m not fully sure what he means. I’m not even sure I want him to fix “it.” But he’s right. What he’s offering is a smart move for me. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Approval washes over his handsome face. “What can I do to help you pack?”

“The stuff in the fridge. I want to take it. The food, that is. The plates and things belong to the hotel.”

“Where are the rest of your belongings?”

“The moving company will hold all of it for a month with no extra fees. That gives me time to figure some things out.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I have a sense he wants to tell me he will figure it out for me but knows I won’t be pleased. “I’ll get the kitchen stuff,” he finally says, and turns away.

A few minutes later, he loads my car with my items and then glances from his BMW to my compact rental, grimacing as he holds the driver’s side open for me. “This car—”

“Is all I need.” And somehow I have rested my hand on his chest. I start to pull it back when his hand comes over mine and holds it over his thundering heart.