Page 78 of Client Privilege

A rustle as he shifted on the floor. “You’d do the same.”

The strange thing was, I believed I would. For him.

I fell asleep surrounded by his scent, and this time, no nightmares came. Instead, I dreamt of strong arms encircling me, holding me tight—not confining, but protecting. The scent of Damian’s cologne lingered in my imagination, woody and warm like the man himself, and for once, I didn’t flinch from the closeness. I wanted more.

Damian

I WOKEto sunlight filtering through the curtains and the unfamiliar sound of someone else’s breathing in my bedroom. For a disorienting moment, I couldn’t place it. Then memory rushed back—Alex, the nightmare, the makeshift bed on my floor.

I propped myself up on one elbow and peered up over the edge of the mattress. Alex was curled on his side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other clutching the blanket. In sleep, the worry lines between his brows had smoothed out. He looked younger, almost peaceful.

Something tightened in my chest—an unfamiliar sensation I wasn’t ready to name.

I slipped off of the exercise mat carefully, retrieving clothes from mycloset with practiced silence. In the bathroom, I dressed and brushed my teeth, giving myself a stern look in the mirror.

This is a complication you don’t need.

But when I emerged and saw Alex still sleeping soundly—probably his first uninterrupted night since the attack—I couldn’t bring myself to regret the arrangement.

I left a note on thenightstand:

“YOU LOOK LIKEyou need this more than usual,” Sandra said, placing a coffee on my desk. She studied my face with that penetrating gaze that missed nothing. “Rough night?”

I took a grateful sip. “Alex had a nightmare. Ended up sleeping in my bedroom.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Not like that, I slept on the floor,” I said quickly. “He was terrified. Couldn’t be alone.”

Sandra settled into the chair across from my desk, crossing her legs. “And how’s that working for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play obtuse, Damian. It doesn’t suit you.” She leaned forward. “You’ve never brought a client home before. Now you’re sharing a bedroom.”

“I slept on the floor,” I repeated, hearing the defensive edge in my voice.

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” Her expression softened. “Look, I’ve worked for you for a long time. I’ve seen you date. I’ve seen you break up. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him.”

I set my coffee down carefully. “He’s a client.”

“Yes, he is.” Sandra’s tone was matter-of-fact. “A vulnerable client who’s been through hell and is currently depending on you for safety, shelter, and legal protection.”

“I’m aware of the ethical implications.”

“Are you?” She wasn’t being unkind, just direct. “Because I’m not sure you’re thinking clearly about this.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What would you have me do? Turn him away? After what Marcus did?”

“Of course not. But there are other options. We could find him secure accommodation. Hire protection.”

“He trusts me,” I said quietly. “Do you know how hard that is for him? After what he’s been through?”

Sandra studied me for a long moment. “And that’s precisely why you need to be careful. That trust is fragile. If he misinterprets your intentions—”

“I have no intentions,” I interrupted, more sharply than I’d meant to.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “None at all?”