Spent, he lays beside me, sharing the silkiness of my robe.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his fingers tracing a lazy path on my shoulder. “And I’m so angry.”
“At me?”
“No. At me.”
“But why? I thought we already established that what happened upstairs was okay.”
He looks at me, his eyes hot with need. “Because now that I have you, I can’t stand the thought of ever losing you.”
27
Despite the drama, the evening takes a right turn toward normal. Blaine comes and I pose and he paints and Damien sits quietly in a chair and watches for four solid hours. After that we sit and drink wine and watch the moon on the ocean. Damien offers to let Blaine crash on the mat in the gym, and so we repeat the entire thing bright and early the next morning, finally wrapping at nine when Damien heads out for his office.
When I get home around ten, I find Jamie’s note that she’s gone to an audition. I cross my fingers for her and settle in for a lazy morning. Damien’s in meetings until lunchtime, and though I’d rather be snuggled in his bed, I’m also happy to veg with the television, the newspaper, and Lady Meow-Meow.
I make a pot of coffee, tune the television to a classic movie station, and debate whether or not I should do a load of laundry today.
My Man Godfrey is just about to start, and since that’s one of my favorite screwball comedies, I decide that laundry can wait.
The opening credits are still rolling when the phone rings. I see that it’s Ollie and snatch it up.
“Can you do lunch?” he asks. “Early, because I have a one o’clock meeting. Like maybe eleven? You could come here? I’ll have my secretary order us sandwiches.”
“Um, sure. Why the sudden urge?”
“I just want to see you. Does there have to be a reason?”
There doesn’t have to be, but of course I know there is. And I’m afraid it’s about Courtney. Or worse—about Jamie. I assure him that I’ll be there, then set the DVR to record the movie. No time to watch the whole thing now.
When I arrive in Ollie’s office just shy of an hour later, the receptionist is expecting me. She leads me to a conference room where Ollie has spread out sodas and Subway sandwiches. Not exactly high class, but it’ll do.
He’s not there yet, so I sip my Diet Coke and open my bag of chips, all the while reminding myself that I need to be supportive. Lecturing him about how he screwed up won’t do anyone any good at this point.
“Hey,” he says, pushing into the conference room with a stack of files.
“Please tell me those aren’t for me.”
For a moment he looks confused, then his face clears. “No, no. These are for my meeting. Sorry. It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
“So what’s going on?” I ask. It must be serious if he’s interrupting work insanity to bring me here.
He presses a button on the credenza and the vertical blinds that hang in front of the two picture windows that make up the open sides of the conference room begin to close. A moment later, we have complete privacy.
“You’re not going to like it,” he says.
I lean back in my chair, already irritated. “Shit, Ollie. Is this about Damien again? Can you please quit playing the role of big brother? I’m all grown up. I can take care of myself.”
He doesn’t flinch or react. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t even heard me. “Do you remember Kurt Claymore?”
I swallow. The infamous Kurt. Of all the things he might say, this really wasn’t on my radar.
“Yeah,” I say blandly. “I have a vague recollection.”
“He’s been working the past five years as a manager at a Houston-based manufacturing company.”
“So?”
“So your friend Damien had him fired this morning.”
“What?” I realize my fingernails are digging into the armrest of his guest chair. “You can’t be sure.”
“Yeah,” Ollie says. “I can. I said I never worked for Stark directly, but I do the work for Maynard. I’m the one who hired the investigator to find Kurt. I’m sorry, Nik.”
My heart is pounding painfully in my chest and my skin feels clammy. Damien tracked down Kurt. He got him fired. And he never asked me. Never talked to me. Just did it.
“He’s rich and arrogant and as far as he’s concerned he owns the world and it damn well better behave the way he wants it to.”
“No,” I say automatically. My voice is soft. I feel numb. “Damien’s not like that. He was protecting me. That was his way of protecting me.”
“Protecting you? The way he protected Sara Padgett?”
My head snaps up. “What are you talking about?”
“You know who Eric Padgett is, right?”
My stomach clenches. I’m terribly afraid of what he’s going to say. “Yes,” I manage. “You know I do. He’s the dead girl’s brother.”
“He keeps threatening to go to the press and say that Stark killed his sister. For weeks we’ve had all of Stark’s resources aimed at stopping this one asshole, and he just keeps pushing back saying he wants his money, and he’s going to screw Stark, and there’s more dirt out there than just his sister, but it all sounds like the same old smear routine. Just like I told you in Beverly Hills—we figured Eric Padgett was just one more asshole looking for a payday.”
“What’s happened?” My voice is completely flat. I just want to hear the horrible thing and get out of there. I need to be alone. I need to process this.
“Stark paid him off yesterday. That’s right,” Ollie adds in response to my openmouthed gape. “The same Damien Stark who wanted a balls-to-the-wall defense against the guy did a complete 180 and paid the fucker off. Forget fighting. Forget all his talk about not backing down, about taking it all the way as far as it would go. He just caved. Quickly and completely.”
“Caved how?” I ask, so softly I’m surprised Ollie can hear me.
“Caved to the tune of twelve-point-six million dollars.”
“Oh, God.” I don’t mean to speak, but the words fly out. I press my hand over my mouth and blink back tears.
Ollie is watching me, but I’m not really seeing him. Instead I’m seeing Damien on his terrace pacing with a phone to his ear, talking to Charles Maynard about something I don’t understand. And about twelve-point-six million dollars.