Chapter 7

Inside the company lobby, Clifford gently set Yesenia down on a sofa.

"What happened?" he asked, examining her ankle. It was already beginning to swell.

Yesenia turned her head away, pouting.

A security guard approached, holding a tablet. "Mr. Lambert, here's the security footage."

Clifford's face darkened as he watched the screen. He'd been to the café before; he recognized Nikita. And he knew who she was.

He tossed the tablet onto a nearby table. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Seeing his lack of immediate outrage on her behalf, Yesenia's anger flared. "No! Just let my leg break for all I care! At least then I won't have to go out and be called a home-wrecking hen!"

Clifford's brow furrowed. "Don't be difficult. We're going to the hospital."

"I said no!"

He didn't argue further. He simply bent down, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out.

...

On the back of the motorcycle, the cold rain streamed down Latisha's face. She hesitantly reached out and wrapped her arms around Nikita's waist. The rain was freezing, but Nikita's back was warm.

She wanted to thank her, but she had no voice. In twenty-three years, besides Darby and Clifford, Nikita was the first person who had ever stood up for her.

Nikita stiffened for a moment, then glanced down at the hands around her waist and sighed softly. The rain was cold, but where Latisha's tears fell on her back, it was hot.

Latisha was finally letting herself cry, using the storm as cover for a grief long held in check.

Nikita didn't return to the café. Instead, she drove Latisha back to her home.

Aqua Harmony Haven-the name of the villa, and the home she shared with Clifford.

When they arrived, Nikita helped her off the motorcycle and walked her to the door. She took off Latisha's helmet and gently brushed the wet hair from her face.

"Get inside and change before you catch a cold. That bastard won't be the one to take care of you if you get sick."

Latisha nodded and signed, *Wait here.*

She darted inside and returned a moment later with an umbrella, holding it out to Nikita.

Nikita smiled and took it. "Okay, I'll take it. Now get inside."

But Latisha didn't move, waiting to watch her leave.

"You're impossible," Nikita said with a shake of her head. She opened the umbrella, slung it over her shoulder, and swung her leg over the motorcycle with a flourish. Her voice carried back through the rain. “See ya!"

Latisha watched her go, a genuine smile gracing her lips. If Clifford had seen it, he would have noticed it was different from her usual smiles—this one was real.

A sneeze suddenly escaped her.

She went inside, took a hot shower, and swallowed some cold medicine, but she still felt dizzy and heavy-headed. She took her temperature: 103.1°F.

A fever.

She took some fever reducer and crawled into bed.

When she woke up, it was dark, and someone was sitting by her bed. In the gloom, she thought she was hallucinating. She rubbed her eyes and reached over to turn on the lamp.

It was Clifford. He sat there, legs crossed, dressed in a black shirt

with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, revealing his Stroforearms. A sleek

understated watch on his

wrist

hinted at his status.

His cold eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. "You certainly sleep soundly."

Latisha sat up, kneeling on the bed. *I'm sorry, I overslept,* she signed. *Have you eaten?*

He ignored her question. "You're not to go back to that café."

She froze, her hands faltering. *Why?* she signed, a sense of panic rising.

"You're falling in with a bad crowd. I'll find you another job.”

Latisha had always been compliant. She did whatever he said. But this time, she didn't agree.

*I like it there. I want to keep working.*

"I said you're not allowed!" His voice turned sharp, his gaze like ice.

Latisha bit her lip and stared right back at him. It was the first time she had ever dared to meet his gaze so defiantly.

*Is this because of what happened down at your company building today?*

"You have the nerve to bring that up? Who told you to bring Nikita there?"

She lowered her eyes, offering no defense, but her hands moved with stubborn resolve. *I'm going to work.*

"You dare try it."

Her hands fell still. Clifford stood

and walked toward the bedroom door. He paused in the doorway and looked back at her And don't let me see you with that Nikita Stafford again."

With that, he was gone.

Latisha's head was spinning. She touched her forehead; it was still burning hot: She shook her head, trying to clear it, then scrambled out of bed her bare feet padding silently as she chased after him. She caught him at the top of the stairs, her fingers closing around the hem of his shirt.

Clifford stopped. He glanced back at her. “What now?"