Damien was headed to the bathroom when he glanced into the office, paused then turned and entered the room, flipping the light on as he went.
“What the hell happened in here?”
“Oh, me office.” I beamed as I practically bounced into the room. “What d’ye think?”
“I think it’s awesome, but baby, I would have done this for you.”
“It’s really okay. I did it with Morgan.”
“You did it with Morgan?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “His first day was today, and we converted the room in, like, an hour.”
It took me a moment to realise that Damien was very quiet and very still. I turned my attention from my office to him and found him staring at me. His body was tense, and it didn’t take a lot for me to sense that he was annoyed. I put two and two together and cringed. This was about Morgan.
“Did I not tell you that his first day was today?”
“No,” Damien answered coolly. “You didn’t.”
His tone told me he was mad and maybe a little jealous.
“I forgot with Branna havin’ the twins, findin’ out me ma is sick, and then gettin’ with you,” I said, knotting my fingers together. “It’s only been a few days since all of those things happened, and I’m still reelin’, and it just slipped me mind. I’m sorry.”
He nodded and looked away from me, so I stepped into his space and put my arms around his waist.
“You have no reason to be mad or jealous,” I said, speaking calmly. “None. Morgan works for me, and that’s it.”
Damien slowly relaxed.
“I know.” He sighed. “I trust you, I do …”
“But?”
“But we’re brand new, and another guy being around you just rubs me the wrong way. It’s petty, I know, but it’s just a nagging feeling.”
I tilted my head. “Would it make you feel better if you met Morgan?”
“Yes,” Damien answered instantly. “This guy is a stranger to me, to you, so meeting him would probably relax me.”
I doubted that, but I was willing to give it a shot.
“He works for me five days a week, but we’re flexible, so most the time, he might not even be ’ere. He works from ten to two when he is ’ere, and ten to three when he isn’t or less if he clocks his hours before then. Twenty-seven hours a week in total is what we agreed.”
Damien frowned. “I have my work scheduled set in stone for the next few weeks, and I start at nine. Mr Collins doesn’t tolerate showing up late, and I can’t have any days off while Ryder is on his paternity leave. Harley and JJ have four days off to check out a location for a bar they’re considering buying, or something like that.”
“Dame.” I chuckled. “You will meet Morgan eventually; it doesn’t have to be right this second.”
He only nodded in response, and I knew that meeting Morgan this second was exactly what he wanted, but I couldn’t change that, so I pushed it aside and turned back to my office.
“We have to paint or wallpaper in ’ere.”
“Are you allowed?” Damien asked, his tone lighter.
“The estate agent said the landlord allows people to decorate, but it has to be tasteful and match the furniture he or she provides.”
“You don’t know if your landlord is a man or a woman?”
I shrugged. “They did business through the estate agent; they probably don’t wanna be involved directly with their tenants. Lots of landlords do that.”
“I suppose,” Damien said, walking around the room. “You should create some canvas paintings and hang them up.”
“Morgan suggested the same thing.”
Damien didn’t answer; he only checked how sturdy the bookcase and my desk were. I shook my head at him as he searched for some fault and made a mental note not to talk about Morgan around him so his emotions could stay in check. I understood where he was coming from, and he admitted he would be jealous. I didn’t want to push something in his face that was really nothing to worry about.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject. “I’ve had the meat for dinner cookin’ on low all day. I’m gonna get the mash, roasties, croquettes, and veg ready now if you wanna help?”
“I’ll help.” Damien nodded. “That’s a whole lot of potatoes, though.”
I leaned back and looked at him like he grew an extra head.
“There’s no such thing as too much. You’re in Ireland, bud.”
Damien smirked. “Say potato.”
I deadpanned. “No.”
“Say it,” he pressed.
“No.”
He pouted, the grown man really pouted, and it drew a sigh from me.
“Fine, potato.” I playfully rolled my eyes at Damien’s snort. “But I don’t even call them that.”
“Do you call them ba-day-tahs like the other girls?”
I laughed at how slowly he pronounced it.
“Yeah, that’s how I say it.”
“I like just stick to potatoes; that way is too much of a mouthful for me.”