<h4>Chapter 132: I Warned You</h4>


    He let out a long sigh, dragged a hand down his face, and stood.


    Muttering under his breath, he made his way to the bathroom. The medicine closet was a well organised mix of ointments, sters and a vial of perfume.


    Finally, his fingers closed around a small white jar of anti-inmmatory cream.


    He padded back into the living room and crouched beside Chay again. She was out cold, but the tattoo peeked through her bra. He stared at it, the perfectly drawn dick etched on the swell of her breast. What in the actual fuck.


    He stared a moment longer than necessary. And then... steeled himself.


    "Okay. You’re doing this as a friend," he muttered aloud, trying to shame his body into behaving. "As a professional. A gentleman."


    Taking a bit of the cream, he gently applied it to the red, irritated skin surrounding the ink. His fingers trembled slightly, brushing against the warmth of her skin. It was soft and the contact sent a zap straight down to the part of him he really, really didn’t need waking up right now.


    Focus, Guy. Focus.


    He concentrated on the task, but his mind, the traitorous bastard, was already wandering. He wanted to kiss her there. To cup her breasts, to feel her skin against his mouth, to press his lips into that soft flesh until she moaned—okay, abort mission.


    He sighed, louder this time, and sat back on his heels, ring at her as though this was her fault.


    He helped her lie properly on the couch, adjusting the pillow under her head with care. She murmured in her sleep and shifted closer to his hand, lips brushing against his wrist.


    Dangerous.


    He lowered himself beside her on the floor, using one of the throw pillows as a headrest. His knees bent, his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling.


    He closed his eyes, trying to rey every moment in their work history where he should’ve stopped this. Should’ve turned back.


    *****


    "I warned you, Richard."


    Nita’s voice cut through the air as soon as Richard crept into the bedroom, the door creaking. The bedsidemp was on.


    She had waited up for this—just to tell him I told you so.


    "Ookay? About what?" Richard asked, his brow creasing as he shrugged off his jacket and flung it onto the armchair by the window. It missed and copsed onto the floor in a crumpled heap, but neither he nor Nita paid any attention to it.


    "You noticed the rtionship between Queen and Chay has be strained? Well, now I know why."


    "Will I have to beg you to tell me the why?"


    Nita pointed a finger at him. "I’m tempted to make you beg," she said, "but I am quite satisfied with telling you, that I was right and you were wrong."


    Richardughed under his breath, walking over and pressing a kiss onto her head, just above her temple where worry had already started carving little lines. "You tell me that all the time, sweetie. You are always right. It’s part of your charm."


    He began unbuttoning his shirt slowly.


    "Drake is the problem," she said, and Richard paused. "I don’t have all the details because—surprise, surprise—my own daughter will not talk to me. But from what I gathered, Queen is jealous."


    Richard snorted, tugging off his undershirt. "I don’t think that word is in Queen’s vocabry." He turned to toss it into theundry basket but missed. Again. Clothes: 2. Richard: 0.


    Nita narrowed her eyes. "See, you always do this," she said, voice sharp like a p. "Take lightly what I say. I am telling you, if we do not nip this in the bud now, this family will implode."


    Richard dropped onto the edge of the bed, running his hand down his face. "Come on, Nita. Implode? That’s a little dramatic."


    "No, what’s dramatic is Queen and Chay. Drake, God bless his handsome soul, has clearly stirred up something between those girls."


    Richard frowned. The girls had always been different—Queen with her perfectionist streak and Chay with her raw edges.


    "Okay. I will find out what is going on at work tomorrow, as long as you let me get some sleep," Richard mumbled, already halfway into bed. He yanked the covers over his body, eyes barely open, voice muffled by the pillow.


    Nita shifted beside him. Shey on her back, staring at the ceiling as if it owed her answers. "Fine. Tomorrow..." she said, dragging out the word. "I still don’t understand why she is so guarded. Why she cannot just express how she truly feels. I mean... how hard can it be?"


    Richard groaned softly. "Babe..." he called, shifting onto his side to face her. He reached out and pulled her gently toward him, folding her into his arms with tenderness. "Go to sleep." It was his final plea—his white g waved in fleece-lined sheets. He hoped that proximity and warmth would shut her up. It usually did.


    But Mrs. Numero was not one to be seduced byfort alone.


    "Mm-hmm," she hummed against his chest, then promptly lifted her head. "It is your fault."


    "Oh God," Richard whispered.


    "The girl grew up like a robot," Nita continued, relentless. "Everybody had to bow to her. The almighty Richard Numero’s heiress. She was never allowed to be soft. Or silly. Or sad. Everything about her had to be bulletproof. And now? She doesn’t even know how to say, ’I’m not okay.’"


    "Nita..." Richard sighed, resisting the urge to bury his face in a pillow and scream into the abyss.


    "There is such a big difference between her and Abby. Such a big difference!" Nita flung her hand up dramatically, nearly pping him. "Abby would call me and tell me if she got a headache. ’Mummy, my head is aching. What should I do?’ I mean she is a doctor, a surgeon, for heaven’s sakes. But at least she calls!"


    Richard tried to hold his breath in the hopes that it would make him invisible.