Seducing Mr. Grumpy

9. Letting the mask slip, just a little. [Part 1]

Summer Cooper’s message vault to Dominic Pauls:

I saw some photos of you online—there was a pretty brunette by your side. Just out of curiosity, I asked your sister about her. She told me the girl wasn’t anyone special, just another one of your flings.

So, when exactly are you planning to fall in love and get yourself a real girlfriend, Dominic Pauls?

With love, a very concerned Summer.

---

9. Letting the mask slip, just a little.

Summer.

Never in a million years did I think I’d end up in a situation like this. Dominic and I, sharing a bed. At night. Sure, there’s absolutely nothing s****l going on, but still—it’s weird.

I take the tea he offers me, wrapping both hands around the cup and gently inhaling the scent, my eyes on the handsome man sitting across from me.

He looks so worried.

We both have the sheets draped over our shoulders, both sitting cross-legged on the bed, both sick, facing each other. Should we go into a little quarantine? I stifle a laugh at the thought of how he'd absolutely lose it over that.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” he says.

I take a sip of tea, hands still gripping the cup tightly.

“You added just the right amount of milk,” I murmur, “but I like it a little sweeter.”

“Summer…”

“Hm?”

“You need to talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am—look at me.” I motion to myself with a hand. “I’m totally fine.”

“Summer…” His teeth clench with frustration.

I sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat. Fine. After everything he’s done for me, I guess he has every right to ask these questions. Still... can’t he just let it go? It shouldn't be that hard. Not for him. Not with me.

I meet his gaze—and there he is, Nic, waiting for my answer like it actually matters to him.

“Milo Williams is in prison. That’s what matters.”

“Milo Williams,” he repeats, rolling the name over in his mind. “Perfect. That’s enough for me.”

When he moves to get up, I shift forward and grab his arm, pulling him back down onto the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my team to find the information you won’t give me.”

“What do you think you are, the mafia?”

“Close enough.”

God, he’s so smug.

“Fine.” I reach over for both our cups—miraculously still intact after all the shifting around—and set them on the nightstand. “I’ll tell you.”

“All of it?”

“Of course,” I shrug, like it’s no big deal.

I trace a fingernail along the duvet. The truth is, I’m terrified of the look in his eyes once I tell him. Part of me still fears being blamed—that somehow, he’ll think this was my fault. My therapist says it’s normal, that we’re still working through the guilt and fear and anxiety. But this is Dominic. What he thinks… it matters. Whether I want it to or not.

“Milo Williams,” I start, “a fifty-two-year-old man, had been stalking me for months. And I had no idea.”

“What?”

“Yeah…” My voice comes out so soft he leans in to hear better. “He followed me to the places I traveled to. Stayed at the same hotels. Found ways to sneak into my room when I wasn’t there… and he’d do things.”

Like masturbate with my clothes. In my bed.

I shudder at the memory—the photos, the videos the police found on his devices were absolutely revolting. There were pictures of me too, taken at cafés, events, or just walking around—casual moments I had no idea were being watched.

And the worst part? I wasn’t even his first. There had been other women. He’d obsess over one until he got bored, then move on to the next. He never actually touched them—too cowardly or too clever for that. Which is why no one ever suspected anything.

“Summer…”

“Hm?”

“How did they catch him?”

Of course he goes straight to the key question. Why does it surprise me? Nic has always been sharp.

“One day, due to a technical issue, a fan event got canceled last minute. He must’ve thought I’d already left the hotel, so he came into my room.”

I watch his whole body tense. His hands curl into fists on top of the blanket.

“What happened?”

"It happened so fast—I felt him before I saw him, and I dove under the bed, trying to hide."

“Summer…”

“I heard him—m**********g on my bed, with my clothes, moaning all kinds of…” I press a hand to my mouth, swallowing back the nausea climbing up my throat.

Dominic reaches for my hand, and I hold on to him, squeezing his fingers as I try to steady myself.

The overwhelming fear I felt in that moment, how paralyzed I was… and then how badly my fingers trembled as I called the police, trying not to make a sound from under the bed—under all the disgusting things he was doing in my name. I was down there for just over an hour, but it could’ve been a year. Time slowed down, the air felt like it was running out, and even the sound of my own heartbeat terrified me. I was so afraid he’d hear me.

“Did they catch him?”

I nod, focused on the way my thumb brushes over his knuckles. “And that’s it. Now you can tell me how stupid I was. That I should’ve known better. That this is what I get for traveling the world alone…”

“Stop,” he says, gripping my hand tighter. I look up and find no judgment in his eyes, only something close to pain. “What kind of man do you think I am to say something like that to you?”

“It’s not about what I think of you. It’s about what I know you think of me.”

He flinches like I’ve just slapped him. I open my mouth to apologize—but I can’t. Because it’s true. To Dominic, I’ve always just been the childish, impulsive girl who never takes anything seriously. Why would he take my side now? Even I’ve questioned my decisions, the risks I’ve taken, so…

“You are not to blame for the twisted actions of a goddamn predator, Summer,” he growls, furious. “No woman should be in danger for following her dreams. For exploring the world. Yes, the world is f****d up—but you are not responsible for other people’s sickness.”

I wipe a tear as it slides down my cheek.

“I should’ve been more careful.”

“Maybe. But needing to be more cautious in a broken world doesn’t make any of this your fault,” he says, brows furrowed, voice rough with anger. “And it pisses me off that you’d think I’d believe otherwise.”

“Because I know what you’ve always thought of me.”

“To hell with what I think of you.” His fingers tighten around mine. “I’m an i***t most of the time. I see the world in black and white and I hate what doesn’t fit into that. But I’m the one who’s been blind—not you. So no, my opinion is not your reality. No one’s opinion is.”

“Nic…”

“The truth is—you’re too good for this world. And anyone who thinks otherwise is a f*****g moron.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

I laugh at his words, watching his serious face. I’ve never seen him like this before, with that conflicted expression that makes him look so mature, so masculine. My heart suddenly skips a beat, and I struggle to look away from him. Dominic has always been the main act for me—the lead whenever he walks into a room, my center of gravity… but this feels even stronger.

My eyes close for a moment when he lifts his hand and wipes my tears with the back of it, but the movement is too short, too quick—more like the echo of something than something real. So when I lean into his touch, his caress is already gone.

“Tell me something real,” I whisper, caressing his other hand with my thumbs, tracing slow circles over his rough knuckles.

Nic swallows hard, eyes locked on mine for a long moment. Then he speaks, softer than I’ve ever heard him:

“That night, when I left you at the hotel, I looked back and saw your face. Your expression stayed with me the whole drive home. I knew something was wrong… but I needed an excuse to go back. Then I saw it, in the kitchen—the earring. The perfect excuse to return to you.”

I smile sadly, a hard lump forming in my throat.

“I hope one day you won’t need an excuse to come back for me, Nic.”

I look away and stand, brushing my hands on my pajama pants just to keep busy. His confession is beautiful—but it hurts.

The tension in the room is suffocating, so I try to break it.

“Are you feeling better?”

Dominic stands too, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. He tucks his hands under his arms. “I think so. You?”

My throat and head still ache, but I think the fever’s gone.

Still… just to be sure, I lean toward him. I pause, hand in the air, waiting for his permission. When he nods, I press my palm to his forehead—cooler now.

“If you start feeling bad again, will you promise to come to me?” I ask, lowering my hand.

“Summer, it’s fine. I’m okay now.”

“Please, Nic.”

He swallows hard, like those words triggered something in him. I replay them in my head, searching for meaning—but I find none.

“You too,” he says at last.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” I assure him, turning to leave.

“Enough,” he growls. The sharpness in his voice startles me, makes me turn around, surprised by the outburst. "Why do you do that s**t?"

What is he talking about?

[1/2]