Under My Skin (Stark International Trilogy 3)

Hell.

He glanced at the clock, saw that it was Ronnie’s snack time, and decided to go see if he could share a PB&J with his daughter and her nanny. He was almost to the elevator bank when his assistant, Lauren, called out to him. “Mr. Steele? Rachel just called down. She says there’s someone to see you on thirty-five.”

Sylvia? Surely not, but maybe she was being coy. He allowed himself the pleasure of the fantasy that she was waiting for him at her desk, but when he arrived, he was disappointed to see that it wasn’t her—and confused that it was Graham Elliott instead.

“Mr. Steele,” Graham said, walking to him and holding out his hand. “I’m sorry to bother you at the office. I’ve met Evelyn Dodge a time or two socially, and when I said I wanted to talk to you, she suggested I come by.” He shot a Hollywood smile toward Rachel, who looked like she was going to float out of her chair. “Ms. Peters has been nice enough to entertain me.”

“I, um, water? Would you like water? Or coffee? Or—”

Graham shook his head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Jackson slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “What can I do for you?” He tried to say it politely; he wasn’t sure he succeeded. This was the man who wanted to play him in a movie about the Fletcher house, after all. This was the man willing to foment the kind of scandal that would throw slime all over Jackson’s daughter.

“Two things, actually. I wanted to say congrats on getting your name cleared. And I wanted to tell you that I’m off the movie.”

Jackson shifted his weight. Not relaxing—not yet—but interested. And dubious. “Is that so?”

Graham seemed to deflate a bit. “Look, I’m breaking a confidence, but you should know that your dad was in bed with Reed. He was keen on getting the movie made. Figured it would be one hell of a payday. Even dropped that bombshell about you and your brother when interest waned. Guess he figured it would pick back up.”

Jackson stood perfectly still. “And you? Why were you involved?”

“The material rocks, man. And it’s not defamation. All that shit that happened to you—to the Fletchers—it’s a damn solid story and it would make one hell of a movie.”

“And yet you’re not going to make it.”

Graham met his eyes. “I’m not,” he said. “The material’s good, but my perspective has changed. My girlfriend’s pregnant, and if anyone messed with my kid, I’d fuck them up one side and down the other. But I guess you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? That’s why you were trying to kill the movie.”

Jackson nodded. “Yes. It was.”

“Was your dad the leak? About your daughter, I mean.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I think the press just did their job and found the court papers in New Mexico.”

Graham nodded. “Listen, I can’t promise that no one else will hop on, but I can promise they’ll get no support from me. And with you no longer a suspect, the tabloids will back off. I predict they lose interest.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said, but the simple formality of his words couldn’t convey the extent of his relief. “And congratulations.”

Graham’s face broke into the smile that made him a household name. “Thanks. It’s pretty amazing, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Fatherhood. It changes fucking everything.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said softly. “It does.”

A few minutes later, the elevator doors closed behind Graham, and Rachel let out a long sigh. “Wow.”

Jackson smiled indulgently. Considering she’d recently been burned by Trent’s deception, it was nice she’d gotten a celebrity treat. “Is Damien in?”

“Sorry, no. Do you want me to leave a message?”

Jackson shook his head. “No. I’ll tell him later.” He headed back to the elevator bank, fully intending to take the express to the apartment. Instead, he got into the regular car and descended to the parking garage. His mind was whirring as he strode to his Porsche. They were cut from the same cloth, Sylvia’s father and Jeremiah Stark. But at least Sylvia’s dad was trying to mend what he destroyed, even if murder was a rather dramatic way to apologize.

But not Jeremiah. He just kept hacking away at Jackson’s and Damien’s lives, as if they were gemstones and he was trying to mine a sliver, not caring that he was damaging the whole.

That was something Jackson was damn sure he wouldn’t do as a father. He’d make mistakes as a parent, sure. But he wouldn’t repeat his father’s. Sylvia knew that—he was one hundred percent certain that she believed in his ability to raise his child.