He turns his attention back to Damien. “We were pawns, Damien.”
“And now we’re not,” Damien says.
“No,” Jackson agrees. “We’re not.”
Jackson holds out his hand to me, and I go to him, relieved that he doesn’t mind that I just heard that entire exchange, and also pleased that he wants me at his side.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I like you, Stark. If it weren’t for all the shit around us, we might have been friends.”
Damien’s smile reaches his eyes. “Nikki said the same thing, more or less.”
“Really? When?”
“When we met in the Bahamas and you turned down my first offer for a resort project. I told her I couldn’t read you. That I couldn’t decide if I liked you or hated you. She said I liked you.”
“Did she? Why’s that?”
Damien grins. “Because you’re one of the few people who’s managed to say no to me.”
Jackson laughs, and I bite back a laugh of my own.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” Damien continues.
But Jackson just cocks his head toward the court. “Come on, little brother. Let’s go play some tennis.”
twenty-one
This week, I’m back on Damien’s desk for Monday since Rachel is out for the day. Damien’s out of the office until almost five, but that doesn’t mean I get to coast. His desk is nonstop busy. Mostly because the man is seriously freaking busy all of the time, but part of it is because Rachel is still pushing aside the projects and tasks she’s not completely comfortable with.
That wouldn’t be a problem if I were away on vacation. But she’s supposed to be training as my replacement. Which means I have to add talking with Rachel about her job parameters to my ever-growing to-do list.
I don’t, however, consider my pile of work to be a bad thing. It keeps my mind off all the social media speculation about me and Jackson, Jackson and Megan, Jackson and the movie, Jackson and his assault on Reed. Plus, my mind keeps drifting to Ethan and dinner with my parents.
All things considered, I’m happy for the distraction that comes with Damien’s very busy desk.
I’m on the phone with the president of Stark Manufacturing in Hong Kong when Damien walks in. I mute the call as I hand Damien a stack of mail. “I’ve got Mr. Cheng on the line. Shall I transfer him to your office?” Since it’s the middle of the night in Hong Kong and likely urgent, I expect Damien to say yes, and I already have my hand on the proper button on the phone.
Damien, however, surprises me.
“Tell him I’ll call him back in half an hour, then come in. I’ve got a couple of things to discuss with you.” He doesn’t sound angry, but he also doesn’t sound pleased. I can’t imagine that I did something wrong, because surely I would have heard about it by now. Has Rachel messed up something I need to fix? Has there been more bad press about the resort?
I’m a bit on autopilot when I finish the call with Mr. Cheng, then pick up a notepad and head into Damien’s office. He’s behind his desk reviewing correspondence, and he points at one of the guest chairs, indicating that I should sit. I do, then cross and recross my legs as I wait for the gauntlet to fall.
Finally Damien puts down the document, then looks at me. He says nothing for so long that I have to fight the urge to fidget. After what feels like way too long, he gets up, then moves around the desk so that he is now in front of me. He leans back against the desktop, and though his posture is ostensibly casual, I know him well enough to see that the opposite is true. His motions are planned, his air of relaxation intentional.
What I don’t understand is why.
Finally, he reaches behind him and pulls a folder from the corner of his desk. “There’s something I think you should see.”
I take the folder and see that it is from Pratt & Associates, the private investigations firm we routinely use for employee background checks. I glance up at Damien, but I don’t yet look inside.
“I like Jackson,” he says, as if we’re just having simple cocktail conversation. “And I no longer believe that he’s behind the problems we’ve been having at the resort.”
“But?”
His eyes dip to the folder in my hands.
It’s clear I can’t avoid whatever is inside. I take a breath, flip open the folder, and then jerk back as if I’ve been bit by a snake.
It’s a petition to establish paternity and parental rights filed by Jackson Steele regarding Veronica Amelia Fletcher.
