Page 81 of Deliah

“You think that makes it better?” he snapped, then exhaled hard through his nose, visibly reigning himself in. His voice dropped lower. “Do you know how dangerous that was?”

I bristled. “I’m not a child.”

“No,” he said, pacing a few steps, then turning back to face me. “You’re not. But you’re mine. And I don’t like the idea of anyone else being in control of where you go or what happens to you when I’m not around.”

I paused, heart stuttering at the way he said that.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, quieter this time. “Nothing happened.” There was a long silence between us. A beat too long. “Anyway,” I added quickly, changing the subject, “aren’t you curious how I got on today?”

He raised a brow. “That depends. Do I want to know?”

I grinned. “We got a job. Hostessing. Three nights a week.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Where?”

“The Ocean Club.”

His entire expression shifted—still calm, but I saw the flicker. That tight clench in his jaw. A darkness behind his eyes. I knew that look too well. “The Ocean Club?” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah, you know it?” I teased, pulling off my heels. “Of course you do. You know everything, don’t you?”

“Deliah…” His tone warned me. “I don’t want you working there.”

I straightened up. “Why not?”

“The manager’s a dickhead. That place is full of cokeheads and sleazy rich tourists looking for a different kind of ‘hostessing.’”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Damion.” I rolled my eyes, already halfway to the kitchen.

“Don’t call me ridiculous,” he snapped, voice sharp.

I paused at the sink, back turned. “Okay, you’re not ridiculous.” I padded back towards him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Just… a little overprotective.” He didn’t smile. “I’ll be fine,” I continued, more softly this time. “Cherry’s working with me. It’s only three nights a week. I’ll come home after, no messing about. And for the record, I’ve handled far worse than some sleazy manager.”

His expression hardened. “What do you mean worse?”

I hesitated. “You know what I mean.”

He stepped in close again, his hands gripping my hips. “I don’t want you putting yourself back in that world.”

“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “This is classy. Exclusive. Good tips, good security, and honestly, I need something that gives me some independence.”

“You don’t need money.”

“I told you it’s not just about money.”

His gaze searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But I’m dropping you off and picking you up every night. No arguments.”

I grinned, resting my hands on his chest. “You sure you don’t want to lock me up in here all week?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered again, softer this time.

He kissed my forehead, lingering there. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“And I love that about you,” I said honestly. “But if I’m going to build something new for myself, I need to take steps. I need to try.”

“Just promise me,” he murmured, “no drunk taxis. No walking home alone. And if anything feels off—even a little—you call me. Immediately.”