He wanted to fight, but there was nothing left. It would take him some time to process what’d happened—to figure out how to move on. How to repair his relationship with Lainey so that she stayed in the box he needed her to be in—one that wouldn’t allow her to get too close.
Walking away now was the smart thing to do—to give them both space to let the heat die down. He had no idea if he could fix things in a way that didn’t make her feel rejected.
But he knew one thing for sure: that wasn’t going to happen today.
“Self-preservation is important,” he said.
“Apparently.” Her eyes dragged over him, tears shimmering in a way that made her hazel irises look more green than golden brown. She was so beautiful it was painful to look at her. “Seems like I needed to learn that lesson.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, using every ounce of willpower to jam his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t bundle her up in his arms.
“But you did,” she said. “I blame me, though, not you.”
His head and his heart were at war—one telling him to comfort her and the other telling him to pull the trigger. To end it. He was immobilised by competing tensions—the desire to move forward in opposition with the fear of the past repeating itself.
Words danced on his tongue, so close to tumbling out that he had to hold his breath to keep them in.
I want to be with you.
No. It was guilt and desire talking, and he knew they weren’t his allies. He had to stay strong.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re right, you never promised me anything. I must have heard what I wanted to rather than listening to what you were actually saying.” She headed to his door. “I guess I’ll see you around...or not.”
A second later the door shut with a soft snick and Damian stood stock-still, his hands itching to throw something as he listened to her fading footsteps. When the elevator dinged in the outer office, he returned to his chair and slumped down.
He tried to tell himself he’d done the right thing. So why, then, did he feel like the world’s biggest bastard?
* * *
Damian had a go-to when it came to dealing with problems of the heart: denial. Along with that came an increase in workload so that he didn’t have time to think about all the ways he’d fucked up his life. Because there were many. Damian was sure he was successful in his business in spite of himself. In relationships...not so much.
Corinna and Imogen had thrown Lainey a going-away bash the day before, rounding up all her friends and family for a sensational send-off. He hadn’t gone. Instead, he’d sat in his suite and pored over the photo that had been waiting for him at the hotel’s concierge desk. It was old, slightly discoloured. But he remembered the occasion well. New Year’s Day, all those years ago.
She’d left this morning, flying from Melbourne to London via Dubai. According to Google, they’d departed on time and she’d been in the air exactly seven hours and forty-six minutes. He’d set up a notification on his phone so he’d know when she landed.
Why? He had no idea. It wasn’t like he was going to call her. What could he possibly say to make things better? Only turning back time could do that. But he had to know that she’d landed safely.
Outside, the sky was vibrant. Below, a festival took place where men dressed as dragons danced along the Southbank boulevard. Their costumes were ruby red, bold and rich. Fierce, like her. His stomach churned in anticipation the way it did every time he thought of Lainey—an uncomfortable mélange of lust, need and regret.
Damian strode onto the balcony and curled his hands around the railing. The area was decorated with a series of fancy potted plants, and he stifled the urge to kick them all over. This itch for destruction would fade...it had to. Because Lainey wasn’t coming back, and he wasn’t going to change his mind about love. No matter what his dick—or his heart—had to say about it.
A knock on the front door startled him. Who the hell was interrupting his pity party? He hadn’t ordered food and had barely eaten a full meal in days. Food wasn’t appealing to him right now. He walked inside and grabbed a T-shirt from the back of the sofa, pulling the thin cotton over his head before yanking the door open.
A greeting stalled in his throat when he saw who it was.
“Long time no see.” Ben still had the same smarmy grin he remembered. Still wore the same obnoxious red-and-black-striped suit that made him look like a wannabe mobster. Still smelled of too-strong cologne and chewing gum.
“Ben,” Damian said flatly. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet your old mentor?” Ben made a tsk sound. “Where are your manners?”
“You weren’t my mentor.” Damian planted a hand on the door frame, making it clear that Ben would not be invited in. “And you’re not welcome here.”
“Can’t exactly order me off the property since it’s not your property, now can you?” His grin widened. “Living in a hotel room is an interesting choice. I know you paid way over market value to get that apartment from Jenny, and yet you’re here. Interesting.”
He clenched his back teeth, swallowing down the stream of profanity that threatened to erupt. “I’ve got a new place. Just waiting on the sale to go through.”
Lies. But it wasn’t any of Ben’s business.
“Right.” The other man nodded, disbelief painted in his raised eyebrows and cunning smirk. “So, I heard you’ve managed to seduce one of my clients away from me. I would have come sooner, but it took me a few days to track you down.”
Hmm, so clearly Ben hadn’t wanted to show his face at Damian’s office.
“Not one of your clients, Ben. The client.” He tilted his chin.
“No, just one client. You see, when you get to where I am, no one client is that important. It’s the sum of the portfolio, young grasshopper.”
Damian cocked his head. “Your lips are saying one thing, but your eyes are saying something else.”
Ben was livid, as predicted. He was trying to act like it didn’t matter, like Damian’s actions hadn’t bothered him in the slightest. But why was he here if he didn’t care?
“You can have McPartlin & Co. The old man was a prick, anyway.” Ben shrugged, but the gesture was stiff. “I’m curious, though. What did you say to make him leave? Did you tell him all about how I stole your wife out from under your nose?”
Damian watched his former boss for a minute, letting his loathing roll through him. This man had been his friend once. “I did my job, Ben. I presented him with a plan that will help him save a significant amount of money. Something your people should have already done. If your company was running well, he wouldn’t have left.”
“You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? The great Damian McKnight, a man of ethics. It’s a load of crap. You’re no different to me.” Ben’s jaw ticked. “I thought you were above stooping to our level.”
“I’m not fucking someone’s wife,” he said, coldly. “Don’t you dare compare me to you. We’re nothing alike.”
“You think the fucking is the important bit?” He shook his head. “It’s the breach of trust that stings most. You know what you’re doing is wrong, but you’re doing it anyway because you’re selfish.”
The word was like a slap across his face. Hadn’t Lainey said the same thing?
“Hey, don’t get me wrong.” Ben held up his hands. “I never thought you had it in you. You do have some balls, despite what Jenny has said.”
His blood boiled, but he would not let Ben see him lose his shit. The days of wearing his emotions on his sleeve were over. He would not be vulnerable in front of this vulture—or anyone like him—ever again.
“Glad to see you and Jenny have been discussing my balls at such length.” He yawned. “Was there a reason you came over, o
r was it just so we could braid each other’s hair and shoot the breeze? Because I’m not interested.”
“I wanted to hand-deliver this.” He pulled a white envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. The front was embossed with Damian’s name, and two doves decorated the bottom right corner.
A wedding invitation.
“That’s right, we’re finally tying the knot. As you well know, it’ll be Jenny’s second go-around, but there’s nothing wrong with a practise run.” Ben preened like a ridiculous peacock.
Damian waited for the wave of rage to flow over him, but strangely, it didn’t come. It struck him that he didn’t give a shit if Jenny and Ben got married because, as far as he was concerned, they deserved one another.
“I wish you a long and happy life together,” he said.
Ben blinked. Obviously it wasn’t the rise he’d been expecting—or hoping—for. But something Lainey had said had struck him.
If you knew things were going to end anyway, you wouldn’t still be pissed about it years later.
It dawned on him that he had known things were going to end with Jenny before he caught her with Ben. In fact, he’d thought about how to end their marriage more than once. Naively, he’d assumed she wouldn’t want that, despite their numerous arguments. And it wasn’t the fact that she’d moved on that’d hurt him. It wasn’t even the cheating, now that he thought about it. It was the fact that she’d targeted his boss—someone Damian had once admired and respected—that made him see red.
She’d wanted to hurt him as much as possible.
And how is that different from you specifically targeting Jerry McPartlin? You wanted to hit him where it hurt, too.
Holy shit. Clarity struck him with the force of a head-on collision: by prioritising revenge, by aiming to inflict pain on someone else for his own emotional gain, he’d acted exactly like Ben and Jenny. He’d let what they’d done turn him into the very thing he claimed to hate.
And all the while he’d pushed Lainey away because he was too chicken to put himself in a vulnerable position again. Talk about being a hypocrite.
“I mean it,” Damian said. “I hope your marriage is better than what we had. I don’t want to wish that on anyone. Not even you.”
“Excuse me?” Ben spluttered.
“I won’t be attending. But I guess you knew that already.” Damian handed the envelope back. “Stop thinking about me and start thinking about your future wife.”
He left the other man standing there, shell-shocked, and closed the door. Lainey had been right all along—instead of getting on with his life, he’d been clinging to his own history. Signing Jerry McPartlin hadn’t been the key to moving forward—it was simply another rope tying him to his past. A way for him to feel like he was making progress, while still trying to protect himself.
But all he’d ended up doing was losing the one woman who saw through all his shit and still wanted him. A woman who was so maddening and intoxicating and wonderful that he should have done everything in his power to make her feel like the goddess she was. He’d failed her. Miserably.
“Not anymore,” he said, reaching for his phone. He swiped at the screen and called his assistant, hoping she was still in the office even though he’d left early because he couldn’t concentrate.
“McKnight Management, Leila speaking.”
Thank God. “Hey. I need you to book me an urgent flight to London. Tomorrow morning.”
He grabbed the small suitcase that had his essentials already packed for emergency consulting trips.
“You’re meeting with Mr. McPartlin tomorrow,” Leila said. Rustling sounded in the background. “Eleven thirty.”
“Reschedule it.” He hoisted the suitcase onto his bed and flipped it open.
“But it’s your first meeting. Mr. McPartlin specifically requested—”
“Reschedule it,” Damian repeated. “I need to get to London. His business is running fine. It won’t fall apart if he has to wait a few days. And if he can’t wait, then he’s welcome to leave.”
The shocked silence on the other end of the line dragged on for a few minutes before his assistant agreed. Ten minutes later the flight information came through.
Now all he had to do was find out where Lainey was staying and figure out how to make it up to her. It wouldn’t be easy, but that was alright. She deserved something honest and real and raw, all the things he’d been afraid of. All the things he knew could hurt him.
But it was time to let go of his safety net. He loved Lainey Kline, and if that made him crazy, then so be it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LAINEY SHIFTED ON the spot, trying to subtly tug at the bodice of her dress. This was the second time she’d stood at a fancy party in a borrowed dress, feeling wholly out of place. Only this time she didn’t have a mask to protect her.
“Try to smile, darling,” her new boss, Andre, said in his clipped British accent. “There are a lot of important people here.”
He wasn’t kidding. Though Lainey wasn’t up on the who’s who of British society, she certainly recognised many of the guests. Vivienne Westwood, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Stella McCartney. It was basically a London fashion week party minus the runway show.
“Of course.” Lainey nodded and pasted on a smile, but inside it felt like someone had dug her heart out with a spoon.
She’d been in London for only a day and was due to start work on Monday. Her boss was eager to take her out and introduce her to people, and she’d been ready to throw herself into work. She had started helping him pull together some sneak peeks for Instagram stories. But it wasn’t giving her the thrill she’d expected or hoped for.
Lainey had worked something out very quickly about Andre Lawrence-Jenkins. His social media strategy was less about building his business and more about making it seem like he lived a charmed life. Lainey would help him see that he needed a more well-rounded approach, but three days in wasn’t the time for that conversation. So she dutifully took pictures and made small talk and tried not to wish too hard that she was back in her apartment—wait, no, her flat—and tucked up in bed.
“Excuse me a minute.” She nodded to her boss, but he barely turned his attention away from the male model who’d come over to chat.
Thankful that she could slip away without argument, she headed toward a courtyard and put on her coat. A few people were smoking by the door, but they hadn’t ventured far due to the weather. It was the first time since Lainey landed that the rain had ceased, but it was still bitterly cold. However, air was necessary right now. Between the tight dress and the loud music and the ever-present threat of tears, she needed a moment alone.
Plonking herself down on a wrought iron bench, she shivered as the cold bit through her clothing. This should have been everything she wanted—an exciting new job, an invitation to an exclusive party, opportunities glittering in front of her like city lights. But she was as miserable as the weather. All she wanted was to hear Damian’s voice, to feel his lips on hers and the reassuring strength of his chest beneath her cheek.
But he’d rejected her. Confirmed that she would never have what she wanted with him. That her fantasies were stupid and childish, and she’d be forever alone. Or at least destined to continue dating morons because they didn’t remind her of him.
She pulled her grandmother’s compact out of her clutch and flicked it open. Inside she’d stashed a tiny photo of her with Imogen and Corinna, tucking it into the worn antique frame to keep it secure. The sight of her friends’ smiling faces made her heart hurt. She missed them already. She missed her family. And as much as she hated herself for it, she missed Damian, too.
It had been a surprise to learn that homesickness could manifest as actual sickness, and Lainey’s stomach had been tied in knots since the second she walked through the security gate at the airport. It was like her body reject
ed being away from them. People said the feeling would ease over time, but she wasn’t sure. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.
“Is there room on that bench for one more?” A figure loomed over her—dark and imposing. The man wore an immaculate suit with a crisp white shirt and bloodred tie. Covering his face was a black mask.
But they weren’t at a masquerade ball.
Lainey shook her head. It couldn’t be him. He was supposed to be at home and she was supposed to be here, licking her wounds and trying to figure out how to deal with never having him. Maybe her homesickness had started to cause hallucinations as well as an upset stomach.
She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. No fever.
“You know this isn’t a costume party, right?” she said, frowning.
She stood and wrapped her arms around herself as she moved away from him. But he stopped her with his hand—gentle, yet firm. No one else walked that line like he did.
“Aren’t you going to ask my name?” he said. His fingers burned a hole through her coat, his warmth cutting through the layers of wool and cotton.
There was no doubt in her mind. Damian was here. With her. For her?
“I don’t need to ask.” She swallowed. “I know who you are, Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Ugly name, isn’t it? Curse my parents.” His full lips curved to a wicked smile beneath the mask. It made him look even more darkly handsome now that she knew what pleasure and havoc he could wreak on her. “And here I was hoping we’d get to play our guessing game again.”
“I’m done with the games.”
They were alone in the courtyard, the smokers having retreated as thunder clapped overhead. The rain would arrive any minute, and standing in the open was encouraging danger. But Lainey couldn’t move away—she was frozen. Stunned. And still not entirely certain this wasn’t a dream.
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