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Technically, I haven’t been waiting for that long. So why does it fucking feel like it?
I drop my laptop off in my office, then continue to the treatment block. She might be in an appointment, in the middle of strapping a patient into MAX or THOR—the robotic exoskeletons. But as I approach the area where the physios are based, I hear her in her office talking to Rose, and my pulse picks up.
I stop in the doorway and lean on the door jamb, waiting for her to finish her conversation. She doesn’t spot me at first, and it’s only when Rose smiles at me that Juliette turns. I watch her inhale sharply, then drop her gaze to her desk and shuffle papers about as she tries to gather her wits. Rose gives me an amused look, obviously realizing something’s going on, then says, “I’ll get that typed up by midday.”
“Thanks,” Juliette says. “Um…” She looks up in alarm as Rose goes to leave.
“Yes?” Rose asks.
Juliette obviously can’t think of a way to keep her in the room, and mumbles, “Nothing.”
Rose meets my eyes, tries not to laugh, and goes out.
I close the door behind her, and Juliette’s eyes widen. “Don’t do that,” she says. “People will talk.”
“No, they won’t. We have meetings all the time. That’s your guilty conscience talking.”
She glares at me, then shuffles her papers again. “Probably,” she admits grumpily.
I walk over to the window. This office looks out onto what we call The Square—an appropriately named area of lawn with carefully tended trees and flowerbeds, and garden benches where members of staff sometimes have lunch. I take the cord to the vertical blinds and pull it to close them.
“What are you doing!” she exclaims.
“Relax. I’m not about to do you on the desk.” I tip my head to the side and study her, taking in her small, high breasts in the tight top, and her shapely thighs in the leggings. “Probably.”
“Henry!” She walks around the desk so it’s between us.
I chuckle. Then my smile fades at her obvious distress. “What happened this morning?” I ask, sitting on the edge of her desk.
She wraps her arms tightly around herself, like a shield. “Cam was there when I got home.”
Fuck. “What did he say?”
“He asked where I’d been.” She swallows hard. “I told him I’d stayed in a hotel because I didn’t want to go home.” She meets my gaze for a moment, then looks down at the floor.
She didn’t tell him about me.
“You’re staying,” I say flatly. A statement, not a question.
She doesn’t reply for a moment. Then she says, “I think it’s the first time he’s ever understood that I might leave. He said he realized he’d taken me for granted, and he wants to try to put it right.”
I don’t say anything, my heart sinking.
“He asked me not to throw away the seven years we’ve had together. And he asked me to go home tonight, so we can talk some more.”
Silence falls between us. I try to slow my breathing as my chest heaves. She stares miserably at the floor.
Eventually, I say, “You don’t look like a woman whose partner has told her she should be worshiped. That he’s going to treat her like a queen.”
She gives me an exhausted, wry look.
“Has he said he won’t ask you to do the things you don’t want to do in bed?” I get up and walk around the desk to stand before her. She doesn’t move away, but she does study me warily.
I fix her gaze with mine. “Did he tell you that he wants you? Desires you? That he’s going to devote every minute to loving you?”
She flinches as I turn her words from last night on her, but doesn’t answer, which informs me that he hasn’t said anything like that.
Instead, she says, “He needs me.”
