Chapter197 – Spoil you
After dinner, they wandered into the shops. Clarissa, almost on instinct, kept buying little things for Atticus—cufflinks, a lapel pin, a shirt he’d look devastatingly good in.
When she noticed his hair had grown out, she marched him into a salon for a trim.
She was still busy thinking about what else he might need when Atticus suddenly caught her hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised.
“You’re always buying things for me,” he said evenly, “so this time, I want to buy something for you.”
Clarissa gave him a small, teasing smile. “Oh? You’re going to buy me something? With your salary?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Atticus was still technically an intern, though his monthly pay cleared eight grand easily. Clarissa also knew he had savings of his own.
“Buying for me is expensive,” she warned.
Atticus only smiled, unconcerned. “Spend whatever you want. You used to buy me things. Now that I’m the one working, it’s my turn to spoil you.”
Her chest tightened unexpectedly, her heart giving a little jump.
“All right then,” she said softly, holding out her hand. “Hand over the cards.”
Without hesitation, Atticus reached into his pocket and produced a sleek black card. Clarissa’s brows lifted in surprise, but she tucked it neatly away without comment. He loaded their bags into the car, then fell in step beside her as they continued their shopping.
It was the first time Atticus had gone shopping with a woman, and he’d assumed it would be quick and efficient. He was wrong.
Choosing clothes took over an hour. Then came shoes, accessories, earrings, handbags—every decision unfolding like an elaborate ritual. Atticus stood by quietly, patient, carrying her bags without complaint.
Later, Clarissa dragged him to the salon to get her hair done. It took her three hours. Atticus, who only ever needed twenty minutes himself, nearly lost his mind.
When she finally emerged, brushing her freshly styled hair back with a dazzling smile, she asked, “Well? Does it look good?”
He studied her for a moment, honestly unable to tell the difference. But he smiled anyway, warm and sincere. “Clarissa looks good no matter what.”
She beamed, slipped her bag into his arms, and laced her fingers through his.
“Where to now?” he asked.
“Manicure.”
Clarissa hadn’t had time to take care of herself for ages, and now that she did, she wasn’t about to waste the chance. She’d always been meticulous about her appearance—it was simply part of who she was.
Atticus sat waiting, a magazine nearly crumpling in his hands as the minutes dragged.
“First time?” a voice asked beside him.
He turned to see a man grinning knowingly.
“Don’t rush her. If you push, you’ll regret it. Just get used to waiting. Trust me.”
Atticus narrowed his eyes. “How long do you usually wait?”
The man thought about it. “One, two hours, maybe three if she’s in the mood for something fancy. Which one’s yours? I can give you some advice—”
“Three hours?” For the first time that day, Atticus looked genuinely rattled.
He stood abruptly and strode over to Clarissa. The staff glanced up, startled into silence by his ridiculously handsome face. One woman automatically moved aside when he asked, “Excuse me, may I?”
He dropped into the seat across from Clarissa.
She blinked at him. “What are you doing?”
He flipped open the brochure on the table. “This is what you ordered?”
It was a delicate design—creamy white with petals and tiny diamond accents. Elegant, understated, very Clarissa.
“Yes,” she said warily. “Don’t mess with it. Go wait over there.”
Instead, Atticus caught her hand. “I’ll do it. Just sit still.”
Her lips curved into a laugh, the heaviness of the long day suddenly lifting.
He moved quickly, his long fingers precise. In less than ten minutes, her nails gleamed, her hands looking whiter, slimmer, more delicate than before.
Clarissa’s eyes lit with delight. “Atticus, that’s amazing!”
Atticus tossed the tools aside. So this was what took hours? Christ, women loved to complicate the simplest things.
Then he stood, tugged her up with him, and marched straight to the counter to pay.
When they walked out together, hand in hand, a sea of envious stares followed them.
Clarissa looked down at her hands, satisfaction written all over her face.
Atticus, meanwhile, was practically buried in shopping bags, his arms full, even a couple looped around his neck. He glanced over at her, bemused by the sparkle in her eyes.
“You’re that happy? Over a nail job?”
“I am,” Clarissa said, lowering her hands and meeting his puzzled stare. “Women are simple creatures. Easily satisfied. I saw this style in a magazine ages ago and wanted it so badly. Work kept me too busy to try, and then you go and do it better than the pictures. Of course I’m happy.”
Her eyes flicked back to Atticus, and the sight of him—this tall, stoic man, draped in shopping bags like some reluctant pack mule—squeezed something deep in her chest. She was so moved that, before he could react, she rose on her toes and brushed a quick kiss against his cheek.
Then she ducked away, tucking her hair behind her ear, flustered. “Thanks for spending the whole day with me. I really mean it. I’ve never felt this kind of happiness before.”
For the first time, it felt like they were on a proper date.
Atticus’s gaze softened, a flicker of heat behind his eyes. “You don’t need to work, Clarissa. I can take care of you. Then you’ll have time for everything you want. All of it.”
What he didn’t say was that he didn’t want her attention anywhere but on him. He wanted her world to orbit his.
Clarissa froze for half a second before smiling and shaking her head firmly. “That’s not going to work.”
“Why not?” His voice was low, insistent.
“No reason. Just… no.” She turned away before he could press her further.
Atticus caught up to her easily, falling into step at her side.
By the time they finally made it home, the night was heavy and quiet, the moon hanging bright above the Wraith family mansion.
Clarissa was unbuckling her seatbelt when Atticus caught her hand.
“Clarissa.”
She startled, looking at him. “What is it?”
His eyes burned, molten in the moonlight, and the intensity of his stare made her pulse stutter. She barely had time to think before he leaned in.
Her body froze, but she didn’t pull away. A second later, his lips touched hers.
The kiss was soft, slow, aching with everything unsaid between them over the past two months. It stretched on, gentle and intoxicating, until they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
His voice was rough, husky with desire. “Only two weeks left…”
Clarissa blinked, caught off guard.
Time really had flown.
Atticus pulled her close, murmuring against her hair, “When the time comes, I’ll come get you. Okay?”
Her cheeks flamed at the meaning buried in his words. She ducked her head, but under his relentless gaze, she gave the smallest nod.
“Mhm…”
Atticus’s lips curved, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Clarissa… stay with me tonight.”
Her entire body flushed with heat. She gave him a little shove, stammering, “No. It’s too late. I’ve got to go to the office tomorrow, and you’ve got work too.”
He chuckled softly. He wasn’t in a hurry. As much as he wanted her—wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms every night—he could wait two more weeks. “Fine. Whatever you say. Just leave your things with me—you’ll be back soon enough anyway.”
Her blush deepened. She quickly grabbed her bag and scrambled out of the car. “That’s enough—I’m leaving!”
Atticus leaned an arm casually on the steering wheel, watching her slender figure retreat. A dangerous light lingered in his eyes.
Later that night, freshly showered, a towel slung low on his hips, he padded into the living room.
He poured himself a glass of cold tea, sank onto the sofa, and flipped on the TV.
The apartment was small, cramped even—but to him, it was perfect. Comfortable. Free.
He took a sip, unlocked his phone, and was immediately swamped with messages. Atticus scrolled lazily through them, answering one by one.
.....
The next morning, Clarissa’s alarm went off at eight. She dragged herself out of bed, washed up, and dressed in a daze, yawning all the way to the office.
Oriana noticed her stifling another yawn over a pile of documents.
“Miss Clarissa, should I bring you some coffee?”
Clarissa gave a faint nod. “Yes. The usual.”
Oriana returned a few minutes later with the coffee, but before Clarissa could take her first sip, there was a knock on the door.
She set the cup down with a sigh. “Come in.”
A staffer walked in holding a stack of reports. “Miss Clarissa, here are today’s work summaries. Please review them.”
Clarissa flipped through them quickly, handed them back. “Looks fine.”
But the man lingered, his face tense. Clarissa looked up, brow arched. “What is it? Spit it out.”
“There’s one issue. An investor wants to shoot a promo commercial for one of our artists. We already agreed on the location, but… there’s a problem with the venue.”
“What kind of problem?” Clarissa’s voice cooled.
“The shoot was set for eight a.m. on the sixth. But the location fell through. The investor is threatening to pull out…”
Clarissa cut in. “Find out exactly who’s responsible for securing the location. And who’s the partner company?”
The man hesitated before answering. “It’s… the Harrington Group.”
Clarissa’s frown deepened. “Didn’t I make myself clear? We do not touch Harrington business. Who signed off on this? Get him in here.”
The staffer paled, knowing she was genuinely angry. His voice dropped. “It was me.”
Clarissa’s gaze sharpened, and he rushed to explain. “I swear I didn’t know! I rejected every sponsorship offer from the Harrington Group and their branches. But this venue— I only realized it was theirs when I saw their project manager on site. Please, Miss Clarissa, it wasn’t intentional.”
Her expression didn’t soften. “Fine. I’ll shoulder this one. But your pay is docked for a month. Next time, the penalty doubles.”
He shrank back, muttered an apology, and slipped out. Immediately his coworkers swarmed him.
“What happened?”
“She’s furious, that’s what.”
“I’ve never seen Miss Clarissa this mad. What the hell did Harrington do to her?”
“You don’t know? Her ex-fiancé is Dorian Harrington, the current president.”
“What—seriously?”
“Keep it down! It was a huge scandal. Don’t say you heard it from me.”
“Crazy, right? A woman like Clarissa? She’s gorgeous.”
“Maybe too much. Some guys can’t handle strong women. The way she looked at us just now nearly froze my blood.”
“You’re clueless. She’s independent. Doesn’t need a man to prop her up.”