My thoughts, however, don’t remain long with the paparazzi. Instead, I’m concentrating on only two things: getting to Damien, and working the clutch exactly right so that the Honda doesn’t stall out on me.
By some miracle, I get to downtown stall-free, and then it is only a few blocks before I pull into the underground parking structure that serves Stark Tower and the adjacent building.
I grab the closest parking place, yank my purse out of the passenger seat, and sprint to the elevator.
Joe is working the security desk and I wave at him as I jog by in the lobby. “I’m going to the apartment,” I call. “Buzz me up?”
“Of course, Ms. Fairchild.” Yes, there are definitely perks to being the boss’s girlfriend.
The elevator is open for me when I get to the proper bank. I step inside, press the button, and tap my foot for the entire ride to the top. I still feel antsy, and despite being an express, the elevator can’t move fast enough to suit me. The doors open onto the apartment side of the penthouse, and I step out into the foyer. I don’t hear Damien or Charles, but I assume that they have not left for Germany, since surely Joe would have told me.
“Damien?” I call softly.
I hear a thump from the back of the apartment and hurry in that direction, hoping that it is Damien and that he is alone.
I find him in the bedroom, a suitcase open on the bed. His back is to me, but flip-flops are not quiet shoes, and he turns as I enter the room.
I start to go to him—I want nothing more than to lose myself in his embrace—but something in his expression stops me. There is pleasure and surprise, yes. But there is also wariness. And something darker, too. Something I don’t recognize, but that I fear is … regret?
“Damien?” I am scared now, and for no reason, and the rising of this unpleasant emotion bothers me. This is Damien. The man who would never hurt me. Who would move mountains to protect me. So what the hell am I afraid of?
There is, however, a tiny part of me that knows what I fear—and hopes with a desperate fervency that I am wrong.
“Nikki.” The smile that touches his lips is so warm and genuine that I am emboldened. Whatever gloom has settled over me is simply wrong, and I shove it away and hurry toward Damien.
“I had to come say goodbye again,” I say.
“I’m glad you did,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to you. I’m going to miss you more than you can imagine.” There is nothing strange about his tone, and he is looking at me with such familiar adoration I think that my heart will burst. Even so, the sense of dread returns.
I press on anyway. “I wanted you to know that what you told me last night changes nothing. I don’t care if you pushed Richter off the roof on purpose. What he did to you was reprehensible, and I will stick by you, Damien. No matter what, I am not running.”
He looks at me with steady eyes and a sad smile. “I believe you,” he says.
“Do you remember when you asked me to play our game again? You said that you wanted to know that I couldn’t leave you, no matter what I might learn about you. That you were afraid I’d leave if I knew your secrets. Well, I’m guessing I know pretty much everything now, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Damien Stark. And I’m staying right by your side.”
He draws in a sharp breath, and the expression on his face looks almost pained, which really isn’t the reaction that I was hoping for. “I know you won’t leave.”
“I won’t,” I say, warily. His mood is definitely off, but then again he’s about to fly to a foreign country to be tried for murder. I should probably cut him a little slack. “I won’t ever go.”
“Which is why I have to be the one to leave you.”
I freeze, then play back his words in my head. That can’t be right. Surely, he didn’t say what I think he said.
“I’m sorry,” he says. This time the words are slow and clear and so gentle they bring tears to my eyes. “I’m breaking up with you, Nikki. It’s over.”
A roaring fills my ears. I must be hallucinating. Dreaming. This is a nightmare. Because there is no way—no way in hell—that Damien Stark just said those words to me.
And yet I am standing here, and I am looking at him, and the chill that has settled over me doesn’t have the quality of a dream. It is reality. It is desolation. I remember its cold harshness from my childhood, and that is not a reality to which I want to return.
I realize that I have been slowly shaking my head, and I force myself to speak.
“I—No. No, it’s never over. I’m yours, Damien. Forever. You said so yourself.”
He winces and turns his head away as if he can’t stand the memory of those words. “I was wrong.”
“The hell you were. What the hell is going on here?” I’m angry now, and I’m glad of it. Angry Nikki won’t cry. Angry Nikki will demand some goddamned answers.
“I told you that I would leave if that was what it took to protect you.” His voice is so calm and even that I want to smack him.
“Protect me? Damien, we’re doing fine. I’m doing fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re a mess with all the press about the portrait, Nikki. Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you looked in the bathroom. You wanted to slice deep into your flesh. You were ready to break the mirror to get at the glass. You wanted blood, Nikki. You wanted pain.”
I am silent. I can’t argue, because what he says is true. I can only say simply, “But I didn’t go there.”
“It will get worse. It already has.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“The press, Nikki. They’re not focusing on me. Damien Stark indicted for murder. You’d think that would be interesting, right? Apparently not as interesting as his girlfriend. Who, according to those assholes, isn’t really his girlfriend at all. Just an opportunistic little whore who’ll sleep with anyone who can help her get ahead, murderers included.”
My stomach twists violently, and I’m grateful I only had coffee this morning. “I don’t care,” I lie. “I can deal.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Dammit, Damien, I’m not a mom-and-pop food company. Pulling out isn’t going to save me. You’re going to destroy me. I need you. You. Don’t you get that?”
“I can’t bear to see you broken. Not when I’m the one who is breaking you.”
“You are breaking me!” I shout. “If you walk away from me, you’re going to snap me in two.”
“No,” he says simply.
I only realize I am crying when I taste the salt of my tears. “I thought you said I was strong. Or was that just bullshit?”
“You are,” he says, his voice maddeningly calm. “Strong enough to stay despite me dragging you into hell. I’m the one who’s weak, Nikki, because I kept you in the spotlight for too damn long. I couldn’t leave you, and that hurt you. But I’m fixing it now.”
He zips up the suitcase and hefts it off the bed. For a moment, he stands there, just looking at me. I am scrambling for words, trying to figure out the magic formula to make him take it all back—but this is not a fairy tale and I am learning the hard way that there is no happily ever after. Then he walks to the door.
By some miracle, I get to downtown stall-free, and then it is only a few blocks before I pull into the underground parking structure that serves Stark Tower and the adjacent building.
I grab the closest parking place, yank my purse out of the passenger seat, and sprint to the elevator.
Joe is working the security desk and I wave at him as I jog by in the lobby. “I’m going to the apartment,” I call. “Buzz me up?”
“Of course, Ms. Fairchild.” Yes, there are definitely perks to being the boss’s girlfriend.
The elevator is open for me when I get to the proper bank. I step inside, press the button, and tap my foot for the entire ride to the top. I still feel antsy, and despite being an express, the elevator can’t move fast enough to suit me. The doors open onto the apartment side of the penthouse, and I step out into the foyer. I don’t hear Damien or Charles, but I assume that they have not left for Germany, since surely Joe would have told me.
“Damien?” I call softly.
I hear a thump from the back of the apartment and hurry in that direction, hoping that it is Damien and that he is alone.
I find him in the bedroom, a suitcase open on the bed. His back is to me, but flip-flops are not quiet shoes, and he turns as I enter the room.
I start to go to him—I want nothing more than to lose myself in his embrace—but something in his expression stops me. There is pleasure and surprise, yes. But there is also wariness. And something darker, too. Something I don’t recognize, but that I fear is … regret?
“Damien?” I am scared now, and for no reason, and the rising of this unpleasant emotion bothers me. This is Damien. The man who would never hurt me. Who would move mountains to protect me. So what the hell am I afraid of?
There is, however, a tiny part of me that knows what I fear—and hopes with a desperate fervency that I am wrong.
“Nikki.” The smile that touches his lips is so warm and genuine that I am emboldened. Whatever gloom has settled over me is simply wrong, and I shove it away and hurry toward Damien.
“I had to come say goodbye again,” I say.
“I’m glad you did,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to you. I’m going to miss you more than you can imagine.” There is nothing strange about his tone, and he is looking at me with such familiar adoration I think that my heart will burst. Even so, the sense of dread returns.
I press on anyway. “I wanted you to know that what you told me last night changes nothing. I don’t care if you pushed Richter off the roof on purpose. What he did to you was reprehensible, and I will stick by you, Damien. No matter what, I am not running.”
He looks at me with steady eyes and a sad smile. “I believe you,” he says.
“Do you remember when you asked me to play our game again? You said that you wanted to know that I couldn’t leave you, no matter what I might learn about you. That you were afraid I’d leave if I knew your secrets. Well, I’m guessing I know pretty much everything now, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Damien Stark. And I’m staying right by your side.”
He draws in a sharp breath, and the expression on his face looks almost pained, which really isn’t the reaction that I was hoping for. “I know you won’t leave.”
“I won’t,” I say, warily. His mood is definitely off, but then again he’s about to fly to a foreign country to be tried for murder. I should probably cut him a little slack. “I won’t ever go.”
“Which is why I have to be the one to leave you.”
I freeze, then play back his words in my head. That can’t be right. Surely, he didn’t say what I think he said.
“I’m sorry,” he says. This time the words are slow and clear and so gentle they bring tears to my eyes. “I’m breaking up with you, Nikki. It’s over.”
A roaring fills my ears. I must be hallucinating. Dreaming. This is a nightmare. Because there is no way—no way in hell—that Damien Stark just said those words to me.
And yet I am standing here, and I am looking at him, and the chill that has settled over me doesn’t have the quality of a dream. It is reality. It is desolation. I remember its cold harshness from my childhood, and that is not a reality to which I want to return.
I realize that I have been slowly shaking my head, and I force myself to speak.
“I—No. No, it’s never over. I’m yours, Damien. Forever. You said so yourself.”
He winces and turns his head away as if he can’t stand the memory of those words. “I was wrong.”
“The hell you were. What the hell is going on here?” I’m angry now, and I’m glad of it. Angry Nikki won’t cry. Angry Nikki will demand some goddamned answers.
“I told you that I would leave if that was what it took to protect you.” His voice is so calm and even that I want to smack him.
“Protect me? Damien, we’re doing fine. I’m doing fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re a mess with all the press about the portrait, Nikki. Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you looked in the bathroom. You wanted to slice deep into your flesh. You were ready to break the mirror to get at the glass. You wanted blood, Nikki. You wanted pain.”
I am silent. I can’t argue, because what he says is true. I can only say simply, “But I didn’t go there.”
“It will get worse. It already has.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“The press, Nikki. They’re not focusing on me. Damien Stark indicted for murder. You’d think that would be interesting, right? Apparently not as interesting as his girlfriend. Who, according to those assholes, isn’t really his girlfriend at all. Just an opportunistic little whore who’ll sleep with anyone who can help her get ahead, murderers included.”
My stomach twists violently, and I’m grateful I only had coffee this morning. “I don’t care,” I lie. “I can deal.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Dammit, Damien, I’m not a mom-and-pop food company. Pulling out isn’t going to save me. You’re going to destroy me. I need you. You. Don’t you get that?”
“I can’t bear to see you broken. Not when I’m the one who is breaking you.”
“You are breaking me!” I shout. “If you walk away from me, you’re going to snap me in two.”
“No,” he says simply.
I only realize I am crying when I taste the salt of my tears. “I thought you said I was strong. Or was that just bullshit?”
“You are,” he says, his voice maddeningly calm. “Strong enough to stay despite me dragging you into hell. I’m the one who’s weak, Nikki, because I kept you in the spotlight for too damn long. I couldn’t leave you, and that hurt you. But I’m fixing it now.”
He zips up the suitcase and hefts it off the bed. For a moment, he stands there, just looking at me. I am scrambling for words, trying to figure out the magic formula to make him take it all back—but this is not a fairy tale and I am learning the hard way that there is no happily ever after. Then he walks to the door.
