Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

“Hopefully you won’t need to go over my head at all.” I laugh as I say it, hoping to lighten the moment. Jackson has no way of knowing it, but Trent was less than thrilled when Damien named me project manager for The Resort at Cortez, taking him out of the hierarchy entirely.

“And we’re very laid back when we need to be,” Aiden adds. “You can come to me anytime. Or Damien, for that matter.”

“What are you coming to me about?” Damien asks as he approaches us from behind. He holds out his hand to Jackson, who shakes it warmly, dispelling my fear that his disdain for Damien would somehow spill out onto the polished wood flooring.

“Just to tell you how much I’m going to enjoy this job.” Jackson flashes a quick smile in my direction, and I feel a rush of gratitude. I’m not sure if he picked up on Trent’s envy or disdain or whatever it is, but I’m grateful for the change in subject.

“I’m very happy to hear it,” Damien says. “We were all disappointed when you turned down the Bahamas resort. I didn’t ask you on Saturday, but I’m curious. What changed your mind?”

Jackson shifts just enough to look at me. “As I said, Ms. Brooks is very persuasive. And perhaps the stars are just better aligned this time around.”

Damien looks at him as if considering. “I hope you find that working with Stark International is a mutually beneficial arrangement. I don’t bring people into my organization lightly. Your talent says a lot. And Ms. Brooks’s enthusiasm weighed heavily, too.”

“In that case, it looks like I have Ms. Brooks to thank for a lot of things.” Jackson’s smile is just for me. “The Resort at Cortez is just one of many.”

When Nikki joins the group to ask who needs drink refills, I offer to take care of that so she can mingle. Mostly I just want to get away before my body heats to exploding from the undercurrent of Jackson’s words.

I’m in the kitchen opening a fresh bottle of scotch when Trent enters and adds some ice to his glass. “Good thing you got him in to replace Glau. That was fucked up the way he just blew off for India.”

“Tibet,” I say.

“Odd either way. I wonder what his real story is.”

“Glau? Honestly, I’m so annoyed with the man I don’t even care.”

“I’m curious,” Trent admits. “But I wasn’t talking about Glau. I mean Steele.”

“His real story?” I’ve lost the thread of the conversation.

“It’s just so strange. I mean, he was adamant that he wouldn’t work for Stark in the Bahamas. And now suddenly he’s all eager?”

“Trust me, he wasn’t easy to convince.”

“Which is also strange,” Trent says, “since he’s had his eye on the Cortez project from the beginning.”

I put down the bottle of scotch. “What are you talking about?”

“I was pulling some permits last week for Century City and talking with one of my friends in the county clerk’s office. She mentioned that he’d pulled some surveys for the island.”

“Why on earth were you talking to her about Cortez?”

He shrugs. “She assumed it was my project.”

“Last week we hadn’t even offered him the job.”

“That’s my point,” Trent says. “I think your Mr. Steele was playing hard to get. What I’m wondering is why.”

Since I don’t know the answer, I say nothing, and when Trent takes his drink and leaves, I take a moment to just breathe deep. What he was saying made no sense. So what the hell kind of game had Jackson been playing?

When I return to the main area, Aiden has moved on, and Damien and Jackson are talking alone, still looking perfectly civil. I realize then that I still expect to see tension between them, but it’s just not there. Instead, I see two men with more in common than either of them probably realize. If Damien is arrogant, then Jackson is, too, because both possess a single-minded purpose.

There are physical similarities, too. Dark hair. Classic bone structure. Hollywood-handsome good looks.

They are both the kind of men who can bring a woman to her knees, and there is no doubt that as far as I’m concerned, Jackson has done exactly that.

“It’s like looking at the cover of a damn men’s magazine, isn’t it?” Evelyn says, as she takes one of the glasses of scotch from my hand and downs it in a single gulp. “I spoke with your architect earlier. I think he’ll do good. And I’m glad the two of you got over whatever hurdle needed to be leaped.”

“Me, too.” My cheeks heat as I think just how enthusiastically we topped that particular hurdle.