Page 50 of Off-Limits

“I know.”

“So?”

“Let me put a proposal together, and I’ll forward it to you for your approval before I send it to Kerry-Anne.”

“Good. Fix it, Archie, please.”

“I’ve got your back, brother, but right now, you need to piss off so I can see the next client and fix this stuff for you. I’ll be in touch.”

I start the pickup with my mind whirling and the only thing I know can help my soured mood is the one thing that will leave me feeling hollow and alone has soon as the deed is done and high has faded.

I’m going to hate myself in the morning.

Chapter Fourteen

DOTTIE

Every night when the sun goes down, and I’m left in the shadows of my hotel room with my secrets, I slip my hand under the covers and replay the moment Damon licked me over in my head until I’m creaming all over my damn hands.

The obsession is there, but so is the hurt, rejection, betrayal and humiliation. So, I do what I hoped I’d never to succumb to, I drown those stupid thoughts and feelings in poor coping mechanisms like drinking, watching porn, and masturbating until I pass the fuck out.

It’s not healthy, I know.

Releasing a deep sigh, I step back from the mural I’ve started painting and analyse it. It’s really coming together now, and the Hot Rod cars are starting to take form as well. I glance at the Holden EH and smile. It’s my favourite and I swear one day I will own one.

One day. Just not today.

I’m packing up when I hear a knock behind me. Peeringover my shoulder, I wipe my hands on my denim overalls when I lock eyes with Harry.

I inwardly groan. Since the night we all had drinks, and him petting me and saying dumb shit, he’s avoided me, and I him. It’s been bliss, but from the sheepish look on his face, I dare say shit is about to get awkward.

“Hey, Dottie.”

“Harry,” I answer, and start packing away again. “What can I do for you.”

“Shit. Was it that bad?”

I turn and raise an eyebrow on him while stopping what I’m doing and planting my hands on my hips.

“Fuck. I just wanted to say sorry.”

I nod in acknowledgement.

“Dottie, I really am…” he tries, but his sentence is cut off.

“I thought I told you I wasn’t paying you to flirt with my niece, Harry. You’re fired.”

“Sir, please.”

“Pack your shit, now. I’m not in the mood.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr Woods.”

“Are your fucking ears painted on?”

“Uncle Damon…”

“Not now, Dorothy. This doesn’t concern you.”