Release Me (32 page)

“Nothing.”

“Jesus, Ollie, this is me. What aren’t you saying?”

“I—oh, hell, fine.” He runs his fingers through his hair, then takes my arm and leads me to a quiet corner. “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to say anything to you. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.”

I force myself to stay quiet and wait.

“I mean, he seems like an okay guy.”

“He is. Now tell me.”

Ollie nods. “You need to keep this to yourself, okay? It’s attorney-client stuff. Privileged. I could get fired. Hell, I could lose my license.”

I nod, suddenly nervous. “Okay.”

“Well, I haven’t worked directly for Stark, but I hear things. Whispers. Impressions. You know.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t.”

“Oh, hell, Nikki. I’ve just heard enough folks talk about the guy that I was worried about you. So when I had the chance, I did some snooping.”

“Snooping? What does that mean?”

“Jamie told me what he said to you at Evelyn’s party. About you turning down MIT and Cal Tech.”

“So?”

“So why would he know that? Those opportunities came in when you were done with college. It’s not like you put that on a fellowship application.”

I frown. He has a point. “Go on.”

“The Stark files are in a locked filing room a few floors up. Access is incredibly tight. But Maynard needed something fast—not for Stark, but for another client with files in the same locked room—and he sent me up to get it. I sort of took advantage of the opportunity.”

“What did you do?”

“The firm administers the fellowship, so the applicant files are there. I found yours and took a peek.”

“And?”

“And there was no mention of MIT or Cal Tech.”

I laugh. “It was incredibly sweet of you to jeopardize your career because you’re worried about me, but I could have told you that. I keep copies of all my fellowship applications.”

“But you wouldn’t know that your file was flagged.”

“Flagged?”

He nods. “The only one. I checked them all.”

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But for some reason you were singled out.”

I cock my head. “Oh, come on, Ollie. I’m sorry you don’t like Damien, but you can’t be serious. So there’s a flag on my file. Big deal. Maybe it’s because I’m allergic to penicillin. Or because I’m the most photogenic fellowship recipient and they were going to do some sort of publicity thing. Or because I’m the only one who moved to LA and I got added to some local mailing list. Hell, you don’t even know that it was Stark who flagged my file.
Maybe it was your boss. Or some legal assistant who has a thing for the former Miss DFW.”

His expression turns defensive. “I know, I know. I told you I wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning. But don’t you think it’s weird? Your file is not only flagged, but he knows all sorts of personal shit about you?”

I shake my head. “Personal shit? Like where I was accepted to grad school is a state secret? Come on, Ollie. Get a grip.” Even as I speak, though, I can’t help but remember how Damien knew my address and phone number, not to mention my makeup preferences. But each of those had a simple explanation.

“Just think about it,” Ollie says. He waves at someone, then meets my eyes. “Promise?”

I stay silent. He sighs, then walks away, disappearing into the crowd. I remain in the corner, trying to sort out my emotions. I’m confused—that much I know for sure. And I’m edging toward anger. But whether it’s directed toward Damien or Ollie, I’m not certain.

Antsy, I step outside. There’s a flagstone path that runs along the perimeter of the building and I follow it until I’m in front of the tennis courts. I pause, looking out over the court and imagining a young Damien playing, exuberant and happy as he chases the ball. It’s a nice fantasy, and it erases the last bits of angst from my mind. Let Ollie worry if he wants to; I know better.

I can tell Damien’s behind me before I hear him. It’s as if he’s so powerful that the air shifts to let him pass. I turn and find him looking at me. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to be irritated—after all, he made it clear that he was done with tennis, and yet here I am. But he looks calm and happy, and when he comes forward, he kisses my head and cups my ass. “Watch it, bub,” I say, and he laughs.

“Hiding out?”

“Yup. And thinking.”

“What about?”

“You,” I admit. I nod toward the court. “I was imagining you playing.” I hold my breath, hoping my admission won’t irritate him.

“I presume you were imagining me winning,” he says dryly.

I laugh. “Always.”

“Good girl.” He captures my mouth with his, and his kiss is wild and deep and intense. He’s not touching me intimately—his hand has moved to my back and the other is on my arm—but I feel as though he’s inside me, filling me, stroking me.

I moan in protest when he breaks away.

He takes a step back. “See you inside, Ms. Fairchild.”

I raise my brows. “You just came out here to tease me?”

“I came to tell you I’m giving a speech in about fifteen minutes. If you’re inclined to, come in and join me.”

“A speech? I wouldn’t miss that.” I look back at the court and the empty night spread out before me. “I’ll be right behind you. I want to stay here with the stars a little bit longer.”

He squeezes my hand and leaves, disappearing around the curve of the building. I sigh and realize that I am absolutely happy at that moment. Ollie’s fears seem a million miles away.

I let the feeling settle over me, then turn to head back inside as well. A tall man with a caterpillar of a mustache and a wrinkled suit is walking from the opposite direction, coming toward me. I don’t think anything of it, but as I get closer, his words startle me. “You the one Stark’s banging?”

I stop, certain I must have heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You got money? Be careful. He’ll fuck you and he’ll use you, and when he tosses you away, he’ll be richer for it.”

My mouth is dry and my legs are struggling to hold me up. I can feel my underarms getting sticky. I don’t know who this man is, but I know that he’s dangerous and that I need to get away. I glance around quickly and see a sign for a restroom just across the walkway, almost hidden by the landscaping.

“I—I have to go.” I turn fast and hurry that way.

“I know that bastard’s secrets,” the man shouts after me. “I know about all the goddamn bodies. You think my sister’s the only one he’s fucked up?”

Eric Padgett
. It has to be Eric Padgett.

My heart is pounding as I jerk open the door to the ladies’ room. The automated lights turn on and I hurry inside. There are multiple stalls, so it’s not the kind of restroom that you would normally lock. The door does have a bolt, though, and I turn it immediately. As soon as I do, the lights wink out.

I suck in air, fighting rising panic.
Calm, Nikki, calm
. The lights went out with the door. Presumably, the idea is that when the janitor locks the door from the outside, the lights are turned off. So just turn the bolt again to unlock it.

I try, my hand shaking because at least here in the dark I’m away from Eric Padgett. But I have to get out. I have to open the door.

The bolt won’t turn.

No. No, no, no
.

Okay. Okay, I can deal with this. The bolt turns off the lights, but there must be a switch inside, too. Because otherwise someone might get stuck inside in the dark. I am a living, breathing, panicking case in point.

I fumble near the door, trying to find it, but I don’t have any luck. My breathing is coming faster and shallower.
Stop it. Think
.

Right. Think.

Oh, fuck. I’ve forgotten how to think
.

I breathe. That, at least, I can manage, though not without some difficulty. I’m still clammy with panic and I want to pound on the door and scream. But Eric Padgett is out there, and I think that he’s scarier than the dark and—

Okay, maybe he’s not.

I slam my fist against the door. “Hey! Hey! Is anyone out there? Hello!”

Nothing.

I pound again. And again and again and—

“Nikki?”

“Damien?”

“Oh, shit, baby, are you okay?”

I am so not okay I cannot even begin to say.

“I’m fine,” I manage.

“The door won’t open. Can you unbolt it?”

“No. It’s stuck.” But as I’m speaking, I’m grasping the thing and turning and it flips open like a well-oiled machine. The second it clicks, Damien pushes the door open. I’m not sure if I run to him or if he comes to me. All I know is that I’m in his arms and I’m sucking in air and I’m apologizing over and over and over.

He waits for me to calm down, then cups my face. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for,” he says.

“I’m so glad you came back. Why did you come back?”

He gives me a fifty-dollar token. “I thought you might want to play a bit before my speech.”

For some reason, that makes me tear up. I lean against him. “It was Padgett,” I say.

“What?” Alarm and anger color his voice.

“He didn’t say his name, but I’m sure I’m right.” I describe the man and repeat what he said.

Damien’s face is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. He shifts me in front of him, then his hands roam over my body. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” I say, my own fears fading under Damien’s blatant anger and concern. “No, he didn’t even threaten. But he scared me anyway, and that’s why I ran.”

“If you see him again—I don’t care if he’s three blocks away and you’re not quite sure—you tell me. Okay?”

I nod. “Yes. Of course.”

He takes my hand. “Come on. I’m going to make my speech, and then I’m taking you home.”

I follow him in, and stand by the podium as a polished woman in Chanel thanks us all for showing our generous support to the Stark Educational Foundation, then introduces Mr. Damien Stark himself.

The room bursts into applause, mine included, and I watch as the man who now consumes my days and nights steps up onto the podium. I listen as his powerful, confident voice talks about helping children. About finding those who need a hand. About pulling them up from the muck and giving them the chance to shine.

His eloquent words extinguish the last embers of panic. Now my eyes are brimming with tears of pride. Maybe this man does have secrets and skeletons. But right now, I’m seeing his heart. And I like what I see.

The ocean shines in the morning light as I stand naked in the window under the steady gaze of two men. Blaine’s professional inspection, and Damien’s heat-filled gaze that makes my nipples peak and my thighs quiver despite the fact that there’s another man in the room.

It’s awkward—and yet I feel powerful, too.

“It’s a crime you look so hot,” Blaine says. “I feel like hell.”

“That would be all the wine you had,” I tease.

“Actually, that would be all the vodka,” he counters. “Why the devil I told you to be here at eight, I really do not know. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Because the morning light on your skin makes you glow.”

I can’t help it—I have to turn to Damien. I see my own amusement reflected in his face, and I know we’re both thinking about how he says that I glow when I’m aroused.

Damien’s eyes graze the entire length of my body, the inspection so intense that I think I really will start to glow right then. When his eyes meet mine again, there is undeniable heat there.

And here I am stuck like a statue while a second man stands on the far side of the room.

Damien clears his throat. From his expression, I think he’s regretting the current arrangement, too.

Blaine looks between the two of us, his expression overly innocent. “Problem?”

“I’m going to go for a bike ride before I go to the office,” Damien says. I display a great deal of restraint and manage not to laugh. Of course, I’m the one standing naked in front of a terrace. He gets to go work off his sexual energy. I get to stew in mine.

“Depending on how long you ride, I may have left by the time you get back,” I say. “Today’s my interview, remember?”

“Of course,” Damien says. He moves toward me.

“Go ahead,” Blaine says with a wave. “Say goodbye properly. I’ll go make coffee or something.” He disappears into the kitchen area, and I grin.

“I really like him,” I say.

“Mmm,” Damien agrees, pulling me into his arms. His clothes are cool against my bare skin, and he keeps one arm around me as we both move to the canvas. It was covered when I came in, and I’m curious about the way the painting’s progressed. Blaine’s accomplished a lot in a short time, and there’s no doubt that’s me sketched on the canvas, my back straight, my head high. I wasn’t certain how I’d feel about the portrait, but I’m starting to think it’s going to look pretty damn good.

“I’m jealous of the way he touches you,” Damien says, so softly I can barely hear him.

I look questioningly at him. “Blaine’s never touched me.”

“No,” Damien says. “But he’s bringing you to life.” He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my hair. “That’s my job,” he murmurs.

“And you do it very, very well.”

He nuzzles my hair. “We can send Blaine out for doughnuts and I’ll forget the bike ride.”

“No way, dude.” I laugh and push him playfully away. “I’m
on a schedule today, remember. I need time to get dressed, read some of the research on the company. All those girl-looking-for-gainful-employment kinds of things.”

“I’ll hire you right now. Gainful-employment conundrum solved.”

“No. A million times no.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Go.” He pulls me in for a long, slow kiss. “I’ll see you on the flip side.”

“Yes,” I say. “You will.”

I spend three solid hours at Innovative Resources, and I’m pretty sure I meet every person who works there from the janitor on up to the owner of the company, Bruce Tolley.

I’m a wreck at first, nervous and fumbling. But I slide into a groove pretty quickly, and Mr. Tolley and I get into a conversational rhythm. He seems sharp—and everything I’ve read about the company suggests that my impression is correct. More important, he doesn’t display any of Carl’s egotistical and bizarre management traits.