Claim Me

  I take a bite and moan with ecstasy. These are easily the chocolate equivalent of nirvana.

  I finish the truffle and hand the box back to Damien to carry in his pack. "Thank you," I say. "You really do amaze me."

  "Because I bought you chocolates?"

  "Yes," I say sincerely. "And so many other reasons as well."

  He kisses me sweetly, then passes me the larger package.

  "Now this one."

  I unwrap it carefully, then gasp when I see what it is. An antique brass frame with a stunning picture of the two of us in evening wear. Damien had taken me to the opera, and the paparazzi had been buzzing all around. This picture ran in the paper--I have a digital copy in my scrapbook file. But this looks like the original.

  "Oh, Damien. It's amazing," I whisper. My eyes are locked on the image of the two of us together. "How did you get the picture?"

  "Called the paper and bought a print," he says. "You look exceptionally lovely in that photo. I suppose that means the paparazzi are good for something."

  "I wouldn't go that far," I say, wrinkling my nose. "But this, this I will always cherish." Emotion squeezes my heart. I've been at Damien's side hundreds of times, and at least as many images have been splashed across magazines and websites. But this--a picture in a frame--it feels permanent and real. It feels like the future.

  I blink, suddenly weepy, but very happy.

  "I thought you could put it on your desk at work," he says.

  "I will," I say. "Then I can look at us every day."

  The Ferris wheel stops up top again, but I don't mind. I clutch the framed photo against my chest with one hand and lean in close to Damien.

  "It's the best gift ever," I say, and I mean it. "And it's been a great day, too."

  Monday morning at Innovative, Trish dumps about a pound of paperwork on me, and I write my address and sign my name until I'm certain my hand is going to cramp up and surgery will be required. After that, she walks me around the office and introduces me to everyone, and I smile and nod and pretend like I'm going to remember all the names she's throwing at me. I've had the tour before, but it's nice to see the place from the perspective of an employee. We end up at my office, a tiny space on the south corner with a view of a parking structure.

  It is, however, all mine.

  I am organizing my desk when Bruce enters. "Welcome to your second day. All settled in?"

  "All I need now is access to the network and I'm good to go." I glance at my phone to check the time. "Carla said she'd have me in the system by the end of the hour, so I guess I'll be official soon."

  Bruce nods, then gives me the rundown of what I'll find on my calendar today, which basically boils down to internal meetings and getting familiar with the various company products. By the end of the day, I'll have met my team and have a handle on the products I'm managing. I've got a lot to learn--both product specs and staff names--but on the whole, I'm pleased with the plan for the day.

  Bruce stands. "I know I promised you a first-day lunch, but it turns out I have to meet with my attorney. Would you mind if we postpone?"

  "Don't worry about it. To be honest, I'm pumped to get caught up with all this reading."

  He looks relieved, and I flash my best Cooperative Employee smile. A moment later, his expression shifts, and I fear that my smile has missed the mark. But his thoughts have moved past work. "I feel like I should apologize again for Saturday night."

  "No," I say, because I really don't want to go there again. "It's not necessary. Truly."

  He peers at me, then nods slowly. "Well, I hope that's not why you and Damien cut out early."

  I can't help the heat that rises to my cheeks. "It's not. And please tell Giselle that it's okay. I promise I'm not upset."

  His expression hardens. "If I see her, I'll tell her," he says, and I'm left wondering how to shift the conversation, because I have clearly stepped into something unpleasant. As it turns out, though, it is Bruce who changes the topic. He tosses a copy of Tech World Today on my desk. "Have you seen this week's issue?"

  I haven't, but I immediately recognize the image on the cover of the tabloid-style newspaper. It's the logo of an Israeli company watermarked over a screenshot from some cutting-edge 3-D imaging software. I scan the article and then look up at Bruce. "This has been in the works for a while. Looks like they got it out of beta testing earlier than they anticipated."

  "I heard through the grapevine that you were working on something similar at C-Squared," he says, referring to Carl's company.

  "I was," I say, then decide to take the plunge and tell him the truth about what happened. It pisses me off, but it's not as if I'm the one who did anything wrong. "I was on the team that pitched the C-Squared product to Damien."

  "Is that how you two met?"

  "No," I say. "We actually met years ago in Texas. We reconnected at one of Evelyn's parties." I don't mention that Carl had sent me into the party with the specific goal of attracting the attention of Damien Stark. That had been my first clue that Carl was an asshole. And many more clues followed in quick succession. "At any rate, the pitch went great, but Damien declined to invest because he knew about this Israeli product, though he didn't say his reason at the time. By then, he and I had gone out." Once again, my cheeks heat, because "gone out" doesn't even begin to describe the things I had done with Damien.

  Bruce, thankfully, doesn't appear to notice my blush. "And Carl blamed you."

  "And fired me," I say with a thin smile. "He's not high up on my favorite people list."

  "To be honest, Carl Rosenfeld isn't high on anyone's favorite people list."

  I smile, immediately more at ease.

  A moment later, Cindy steps into my office with an envelope from a local messenger company. There is no address. I, of course, am certain it's from Damien. Considering the way Cindy hovers by my desk, she must think the same thing, and she's curious about what the world's sexiest billionaire sends to his girlfriend.

  I'm curious, too. But since this is Damien we're talking about, I'm not opening it with Bruce and Cindy standing there. I set it firmly on the corner of my desk right next to where I have put the framed picture of Damien and me. "Insurance paperwork," I say nonchalantly, before turning back to Bruce and rattling off the first relevant thing I can think of about the Suncoast meeting last week.

  Finally they are both out of my office, leaving me to, supposedly, settle in to work. I immediately reach for the envelope.

  I open it, peek inside, and find my own pink scarf.

  Okay ...

  Then again, at least now I have an excuse to call him. Not that I actually need an excuse.

  Unfortunately, I only get his voice mail. "Hey," I say. "It's me. Thanks so much for the scarf. It suits me perfectly. How on earth did you know? I had a great time yesterday," I add, then hesitate a moment before continuing. "And I thought you might want to know--I'm wearing a denim skirt, a purple T-shirt under a denim jacket, and absolutely nothing else."

  I'm grinning when I end the call, and it takes some doing to focus on the specs that I pull up on the laptop I've been issued by Innovative. After a while, though, I get into a groove, and it's not until one of the guys on my team pokes his head in my door that I realize I've been engrossed for hours.

  "I'm going down to grab a sandwich," he says. "Want anything?"

  "Alex, right?"

  He nods.

  "Mind if I tag along?"

  "Oh. Well, sure. Okay. Yeah. I mean, I'm just gonna get something downstairs and bring it back."

  "Sounds perfect to me." I grab my purse and follow him to the elevator. He's tall and so skinny that I'm guessing I have at least ten pounds on him. His hair is cut short, almost into a military buzz, and he's wearing a T-shirt announcing that Pluto is still a planet. On that, I agree wholeheartedly, and I tell him so.

  It is as if I have opened the conversational floodgates. By the time we reach the lobby, I know everything about him except his Social Securi
ty number and have been invited to join his World of Warcraft guild anytime.

  "So you're dating Damien Stark," he adds, as we cross the lobby to the small cafeteria. "That's cool."

  "I think so," I say politely, but I can't help but cringe a little. I am starting to realize that by being Damien's girlfriend I have taken on more than just Damien. I have parked myself under a microscope. For someone who has lived most of her life behind a mask of polite indifference, it is not the most comfortable place to be.

  "Yeah, so the sandwiches here are pretty good," Alex says, and I am grateful for the change of subject. "The pizza kind of sucks, though."

  "Salads?"

  "Beats me," he says. "I don't do rabbit food. Meet you back here?"

  I nod, then head toward the rabbit food area. I'm waiting for the server to put together a Cobb salad for me when a familiar-looking Asian woman steps into line behind me. I'm trying to place where I've seen her before when she points at me and says, "Innovative, right? You're the new girl."

  "Nikki Fairchild," I confirm. "I'm sorry, I've been introduced to about a million people, at least it feels that way. I don't remember your name."

  "No, no, we haven't met. I work in the building. Lisa Reynolds. I'm a business consultant, and I've known Bruce for years."

  I suddenly remember where I've seen her. "You were in the lobby on Friday," I say. "At one of the tables."

  "I usually am at least once a day. I can't live without coffee, and I like to get out of the office. Here," she adds, then digs in her purse for a business card. "If you ever want to sneak downstairs for a latte, give me a shout."

  "Thanks," I say, genuinely pleased. I haven't met that many people since I moved to Los Angeles, and I'm psyched to have a potential friend in the building.

  I promise Lisa I'll give her a call this week, then head upstairs with Alex. I want to get back to work, but I also know I should get to know my team. I suggest that we eat in the break room, but I have to confess that I am relieved when he tells me that he's going to eat at his desk so that he can play WoW.

  I've finished the salad and am deep into an analysis of some troublesome code when Damien calls. "Hey," I say. "Did you see that article in Tech World?"

  "Talking shop, Ms. Fairchild?"

  I laugh. "What else should I talk about? The scarf you sent me? Your skill at picking out gifts has become a little rusty, but I guess there is some logic. If I already own it, I probably already like it."

  "You make a good point," he says. "I'll keep that in mind for future gifts, too. At the moment, though, I was hoping to talk about the very interesting piece of correspondence I received this morning."

  For a moment, I have no idea what he could be talking about. Then I remember the drive in the Bentley. Oh my.

  "Are you in an office or a cubicle?" he asks.

  "An office," I say. I swallow, recalling all the things I wrote in that letter.

  "In that case, my dear Ms. Fairchild, I think you should close your door. For that matter, I think you should lock it."

  "Damien, I'm at work," I protest, but I do as he says.

  "What a coincidence. So am I. Imagine my surprise as I'm reviewing my morning mail. Requests to speak at business conferences. Investment opportunities. Real estate proposals. All intriguing opportunities, but none so enticing as what I find when I open a simple letter sent on my very own stationery."

  "Damien ..."

  "You have a way with words, Ms. Fairchild. I was quite relieved that my assistant was at her desk when I read your letter. I don't know that I would have been able to hide my erection. You really are quite a little minx."

  My brows lift. "A minx?"

  "I can still remember the sound of your voice," he quotes, "so smooth I almost came just from the sound of it. And the cool leather against the hot skin of my ass. Even then, I wanted your hands on me, your cock inside me. I barely knew you, and yet I wanted to submit to you utterly." He says, "Yes, I think minx is a very accurate description."

  "Oh." Hearing my own words read back to me, I have to silently agree. "I was inspired."

  "I'm very glad to hear it. When I ran across the scarf in the apartment this morning it reminded me of you, and after I got your letter, I thought that I should return it right away. You see, we didn't really let that scarf live up to its potential."

  "We didn't?" My mouth is dry.

  "No," he says, softly. "But I intend to make up for that. There are a lot of things one can do with a scarf. A lot of things one can do with fringe. The delicate brush over your erect nipple. A teasing stroke over your hot cunt. I promise you that we'll fully explore all of the various possibilities."

  "Um." I swallow.

  "Wear it today and think about what I'll do with it tonight."

  "Tonight?" I ask, as I drape the scarf around my neck.

  Damien laughs. "I'll pick you up at seven," he says. "I'll have you naked by eight."

  I float through the rest of the afternoon, though I do manage to partition off my Damien thoughts so that I manage to accomplish some work. My head is down as I step off the elevator at the end of the day. I'm reading a text from Jamie detailing exactly how amazing Raine is, so I don't notice Carl until he steps right in front of me.

  "Nikki."

  I freeze, momentarily caught off guard. Then I regain my senses and start walking again. "We don't have anything to say to each other."

  "Wait," he calls. "Please."

  Maybe it's the "please," but I pause just before the exit. I don't turn around, but I hear him hurrying up behind me. "Two minutes," I say, then step out the door and wait under the building awning.

  He slides in with the exiting crowd and joins me outside. I don't say anything. I just stand there, my face blank, my arms crossed over my chest.

  He has a paper tucked under his arm, and he holds it out to me as if it's an apology. I don't take it, but I glance down and see that it is the same issue of Tech World that Bruce brought into my office earlier. I meet Carl's eyes, and remain silent.

  "Dammit, Nikki, I didn't know there was any other company in that market."

  "What is it you want, Carl?" My voice is icy.

  "I just--well, I may have acted rashly."

  Ya think? I want to shout the words and slap his face. With effort, I remain quietly stoic.

  "It's just that, I thought you were fucking Stark."

  I am on the verge of boiling now, and I want nothing more than to get away from this toxic little man. But I force myself to conjure a thin smile as I lift my chin just slightly. "I am."

  Carl actually looks embarrassed. "Right, right. I mean, yeah, I've seen the pictures of you two and all that. It's just that, well, I thought you had a fight. Or that maybe Stark thought that you and I had a thing going."

  "I promise you he thinks much more highly of me than that."

  "Dammit, Nikki, I'm trying to apologize here."

  "Is that what this is about?" I'm genuinely surprised.

  "I fucked up, okay? I was stupid and I blew the whole thing out of proportion." He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end and giving him an even more harried appearance. "I acted rashly, and I'm sorry."

  I cock my head, trying to hear the part that he's not saying. "We're talking about more than firing me, aren't we?" My skin prickles with worry. "What did you do, Carl?"

  "Oh, hell. Other shit. You know."

  "I don't know," I say. "All you said was that you were going to fuck Damien over. So what did you do?" My left hand is closed into a tight fist, my nails biting into my palm. It is only through a supreme force of will that I am remaining calm. "Dammit, Carl. What other shit are you talking about?"

  He stays silent, his expression unreadable.

  "For Christ's sake, Carl, why did you come here in the first place?"

  He sucks in a gulp of air. "You know how Stark paid Padgett off, right? And now Padgett has to keep his mouth shut."

  "How do you know that?" Eric Padgett was
threatening to go public with his theory that Damien had something to do with his sister's death, and Damien actually wrote a check to shut the worm up. It's not something I like to think about. More than that, the terms of the settlement were supposed to be confidential.

  "I know a lot of things. Padgett did a lot of talking before he got Stark's money. And most of his talking was to other people with an ax to grind against Stark. Trust me when I say that I realized pretty fast that Padgett was the least of Stark's worries. There are a lot of people who want to see the shit fly."

  "You included," I snap.

  "Not me. Not anymore. That's why I'm here. I get it. I got the whole thing wrong and I screwed Damien and I screwed you. I'm saying I'm not the only one."

  "Who, then? And what shit?"

  He shakes his head. "Just tell Stark that he may not see this one coming." He makes a rough noise in his throat. "I was blown away when I learned who Padgett had lined up with an ax to grind against your boyfriend."

  I stand very still. He's scaring me more than he probably knows. "You won't tell me who?"

  "I've said everything I'm going to. I've played my part, and now I'm getting out of this mess. Whatever happens isn't coming from me, I can promise you that."

  "Then why did you come here at all?"

  "Because telling you is like telling Stark. It's a small world, and I burned a bridge I shouldn't have."

  "And you think this is going to fix it?"

  "No, but I think it's a start." He meets my eyes. "Tell Stark to watch his back."

  "I'll tell him," I say, proud of myself for keeping my voice from shaking. "But he always does."

  18

  I am actually wishing for the paparazzi as I walk toward my car. At least then I could be pissed off at them instead of worried for Damien.

  The second I get in my car, I reach into my glove compartment for my phone charger so that I can call Damien, but the damn thing isn't there. I forgot to put one in my briefcase, so my phone hasn't charged at all today, and it's almost dead. I dial anyway, figuring I can talk fast, and am relieved when Damien picks up immediately.

  "I ran into Carl," I say without preamble.

  "Ran into him?" His voice is low and measured and very, very ominous.

  "As in he came to Innovative and waited for me in the lobby."

  "Are you okay? What did he do?"

  "I'm fine," I assure him, because I can hear both the worry and the temper. "He wanted me to tell you to watch your back."