On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

three

I force myself to remain seated as Jackson turns and leaves. I catch his eyes once more, but like Damien, his expression is impenetrable.

Even so, I’m sure there’s pain behind both men’s masks, and I wish that it was in my power to make this whole situation better for Jackson, whose love I cherish, and for Damien, whose respect I crave.

In the silence, I hear the elevator doors snick closed, even from all the way across the apartment.

As if the sound is a cue, Damien turns to me. “Did you know?”

There is absolutely no inflection to his words, and despite the years I’ve worked for him—despite the power I’ve seen him wield and the flares of temper I have witnessed—this is the first time that I have been truly nervous around my boss.

“He told me on Saturday.” What I don’t say is that it is because of me that Jackson came here tonight. Once he’d told me his secret, he knew he had to tell Damien, because otherwise he’d have to burden me with the secret, too. And this isn’t the kind of thing that I would feel comfortable keeping from Damien.

Damien says nothing, and even though I know that his silence is a time-honored technique to keep people talking, I fall headlong into the trap. “I saw him with your father at Michael Prado’s charity event on Friday,” I say, the words spilling out. “And I got pissed because he’d told me that he didn’t know Jeremiah. We had a huge fight, and—” I cut myself off with a shrug. “At any rate, he told me.”

Damien and Nikki both know that Jackson and I are a couple, but that isn’t something I want to focus on at the moment. As far as I’m concerned, right now, this is all about me being as professional as possible. I glance toward Nikki. We’ve become good friends, and I can see the worry on her face. But she says nothing, and I’m grateful. At some point, this whole debacle may lead to many drinks with my friends. Right now, though, I just need to hold it together.

“You’re not in trouble, Sylvia,” Damien says, and the iron band that has tightened around my chest loosens just a bit. “If a week or two had gone by without me learning the truth, then we would have talked. But as far as your job is concerned, you weren’t obligated to tell me about this until after Jackson had the opportunity to do so. Which he’s definitely now accomplished,” Damien adds, and there’s just enough humor in his voice to make me think that maybe—just maybe—we have weathered the storm.

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate that you understand how awkward the situation was.” I hold up the notebook, hoping I don’t look too desperate to get off this seriously uncomfortable topic. “Do you want to finish now?”

He waves a hand. “There’s nothing on the agenda that can’t wait.”

“Fine. Great.” I quickly gather my stuff and swing my leather tote over my arm. “I’m glad your trip was good.”

“It really was,” Nikki says, and her voice sounds as strained as mine feels. “Lots of excellent theater.”

“Well, tomorrow, then.” I turn to head toward the elevator, but Damien’s words stop me cold.

“Fire him,” Damien says, and the ground falls out from under me. “First thing tomorrow, I want you to fire him.”

My back is to him, and I stand frozen for a moment, unable to move. Unable to breathe. Me. He wants me to do this? To take away this project that Jackson has come to love?

Bile rises in my throat, and I fear that I may throw up. But I force it down, then very slowly and very carefully, I turn around.

Damien’s expression is hard, and there is no denying the contained fury in his eyes.

“But … but the resort?” I want to scream that he cannot make me do this. That I can’t fire Jackson. Hell, that he shouldn’t fire Jackson.

Instead, I force myself to stay calm. To appear businesslike. “It won’t look good. There will be questions. The press will be all over it.”

“I believe I already made clear that scandal and the press don’t concern me overmuch. We’ll handle it.”

I lick my lips. “Don’t you want to talk about it?” Immediately I regret my words. I’ve crossed into personal, and right now I think that is a very bad move.

“He was raised by Jeremiah Stark.” Damien practically spits the name out. “Have you forgotten about the sabotage? All the bullshit we’ve dealt with getting even this far on the project?”

“No, of course not. But surely you don’t think—”

“I don’t know,” Damien says. “And that’s the point. I’m cutting my losses, Ms. Brooks. Take care of it first thing in the morning.”