Damien

by J. Kenner

  “No, probably not. You’re really setting this up just for the three of us?”

  Damien ignored him. “Now I’m thinking the bungalow. It’s already stocked, you have the beach, it’s away from the main house, but she can get to the girls in minutes if she needs or wants to. Which she won’t, because I’ll undoubtedly be occupied by my own Disney marathon. Hopefully without a puppy in sight. But confidence is low.”

  “Um, yeah. Listen, man, this sounds great. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. How does eight sound? And I need to get up to the office. Could you call and run all this by Jamie?”

  “Eight sounds terrific, and of course.”

  “Great. I’ll tell Nikki. Pop in and say hi or just head straight to the bungalow. Your call.”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  He still sounded a little baffled, a fact that amused Damien. And was somewhat gratifying, too. In the cutthroat world of buying and selling the universe, it was handy to have a reputation as a major badass.

  “I gotta say, Stark. Every once in a while, you surprise me.”

  Damien grinned, thinking of Ollie’s recent confession that he’d been secretly working for the FBI. “Yeah, McKee. I know the feeling.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I appreciate you seeing me,” Richard Breckenridge said, as Damien’s assistant, Rachel Peters, led him into the office near the end of the workday, then excused herself.

  Damien remained seated behind his desk while Jackson stood at the window, a commanding presence in a gray tailored suit. He didn’t turn to greet Breckenridge. Just stayed as he was, looking casually out at downtown LA, fifty-seven stories below.

  Normally, Damien would stand and shake a guest’s hand. And for most afternoon meetings, they’d settle onto the couch or chairs in the seating area near the front of the huge office. Enjoy coffee or bourbon and converse like friends about whatever business matter was the order of the day.

  Richard Breckenridge, however, was neither a friend nor a respected colleague. And as far as Damien was concerned, this meeting wasn’t about building a relationship. It was about assessing Breckenridge. More than that, it was about making absolutely clear who was in charge.

  And that would be Damien.

  To underscore the point, he gestured to one of the guest chairs on the far side of his massive desk. Then he leaned back casually, resting his head in his intertwined fingers. “I’ve got a window of fifteen minutes before my next meeting. Why don’t you tell me why we’re sitting here, Richard?”

  Breckenridge shifted, the hard planes of his face forming into a frown. This wasn’t the way meetings between two players in the corporate world usually began. This was how a meeting with an incompetent subordinate might begin.

  Damien stayed relaxed, watching his guest. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jackson turn so that he was now casually leaning against the floor to ceiling windows, protected from a deadly fall by nothing more than a few centimeters of glass. He seemed utterly unconcerned, however. Instead, his focus was entirely on Breckenridge, and Damien had to fight to keep back a smug grin. He’d been on the receiving end of that deadly, icy stare. And though he’d come out unscathed, Damien knew just how formidable Jackson could be.

  Between the two brothers, this meeting was definitely not going to be a cakewalk for Breckenridge. And Damien considered that a damn good thing.

  “I heard about what happened to your daughter,” Breckenridge said, his pale gray eyes as cold as slate. “I was very relieved to hear that she’s come through the ordeal so well. You and your wife must have been terrified. Please give her my regards.”

  “I appreciate the good thoughts, Richard. But I don’t think I’ll be mentioning your name to my wife.” He turned the chair so that he could catch Jackson’s eye. “You know Nikki. Do you think she’d want condolences from a man who says the kind of things that my guest here said to her?”

  “I don’t imagine any woman wants well-wishes from a man who called her a whore.” Jackson shrugged casually. “Better to stay silent and not ruin her day.”

  “Exactly my thought,” Damien said. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, brother.”

  Damien watched as a muscle in Breckenridge’s cheek twitched and his hands gripped the leather armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I was upset,” he said evenly. “I spoke without thinking. And as I mentioned to your assistant, I had hoped to see your wife today to give her my apology in person.”

  “I’ll deliver that for you. As I believe we’ve established, you’re not anyone she needs to see or talk to.”

  “Damien—”

  “I think we’ll stick with Mr. Stark. Okay by you, Richard?”

  Breckenridge said nothing.

  “Now why don’t you tell me just how upset you were the day you spoke to my wife that way?”

  The other man’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about, Stark?”

  Damien raised a brow and said nothing.

  “Mister Stark,” Breckenridge said grudgingly.

  Damien pressed one of the recessed control buttons on his desktop. The glass in the windows darkened and the overhead lights dimmed. At the same time, a screen dropped from the ceiling on the far side of the room, just over the wet bar. A recessed projector descended from the ceiling, and an image flashed onto the screen. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Breckenridge turned, his eyes going wide as he looked at the image of Nikki’s office. The red Xs spray-painted over the walls and blinds. And the word BITCH standing out in the center of it all.

  “I didn’t—you really think I had something to do with this?”

  “I did,” Damien admitted. “Watching you now, I’m inclined to change my opinion.” He glanced at Jackson, saw his brother nod in agreement. Whatever else Breckenridge might be, he wasn’t their vandal. Unless, of course, he was the world’s best actor.

  “Good,” Breckenridge said, and Damien could practically see the confidence flowing back into the man. “That’s good to hear. Because I’d like us to start fresh.”

  “Fresh?”

  “With The Domino,” he said, looking from Damien to Jackson and then back to Damien again. “My company is an asset, Mr. Stark. Mr. Steele. You both know that. It’s why you wanted me as one of the original tenants. And God knows my investment helped move the project along.”

  “Your investment was returned to you, with a significant negotiated percentage to compensate for any inconvenience. If you have a problem with the terms, I suggest you have your attorney contact Mr. Maynard,” Damien added, referring to his long-time counsel, Charles Maynard.

  “Of course. I mean, no. I don’t have a problem with the terms. I should have said re-investment. I want back in.”

  “I don’t see that happening,” Damien said. “And as for the company, I think The Domino will do just fine without having Breckenridge Tech as an anchor tenant.”

  “So you’re going to keep me out why? Because of spite? You realize that punishing me punishes your father. That man’s in debt to me for a cool two mil. He was going to make that and more from The Domino, and we all know it.”

  “That’s right,” Jackson said to Damien. “Jeremiah invested with Richard here so that Richard could invest in The Domino.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly,” Breckenridge said, latching onto Jackson’s use of his given name as if it were a sign from God that they were destined to be best friends. “I agreed to extend the deadline for the two mil he owes me so that he could invest his liquid assets in his sons’ extraordinary venture through me. Shut me out and you shut him down, too. Or don’t either of you care about that?”

  “If you did your homework, I think you’d know I don’t care about that at all.” Damien swiveled in his chair so he could look straight at Jackson. “How about you? Any niggles of conscious about our father’s current financial state?”

  Jackson’s mouth curved into a thoughtful frown, and he shook his head. �
�No. Not a care in the world.”

  “Sorry, Richard,” Damien said. “Looks like you’re dealing with two heartless bastards. Pity.”

  “You know, dear old Dad should probably take better care about who he invests with,” Jackson said.

  Richard’s face contorted into a snarl as he shot to his feet. “And I’m thinking you two should have thought better about cutting me out for nothing more than the accusations of a few frustrated bitches.”

  “On the contrary, I think we made the exact right move. Jackson? Any remorse on clearing the garbage out of the project?”

  “I’m feeling pretty good about it.”

  “You’re both son-of-bitches, you know that?” He leaned forward, his palms flat on the desktop as he looked Damien hard in the eyes. “You really going to tell me no woman’s ever said you came on too strong?”

  Damien didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but never of rape. Or battery. Or of demanding sex in exchange for a promotion, and then taking what I wanted by force if she had the balls to say no, or destroying her career if she managed to get out of my office unscathed. Unlike you, Richard, I’m a full-fledged supporter of the concepts of no and consent.”

  “Well, I hope you never have to face the kind of trumped-up furor I’m dealing with. Hell of a thing to stomach when it’s not true.”

  “I’m sure it would be very traumatic—to a man who’s innocent. No—” He held up a hand, forestalling Breckenridge’s next rant. “Do you think we didn’t do our due diligence before removing you? We talked to every one of the women who’ve gone public.”

  “And at least a dozen more who stayed quiet,” Jackson added. “Not true? The hell it’s not.”

  “And even if we’d never talked to a single one of those women, considering what you said to my wife, I’d be a little hesitant to take you on faith.”

  “You’re going to regret this. Do you think I don’t know about you? Do you think that compared to me you have clean hands? Your dad pimped you out for money and fame. He fucked you up, and we both know it. You killed Merle Richter, Stark, and the only reason you’re not rotting in a German jail is that he was a perverted worm.”

  “Careful,” Jackson said, his voice low and dangerous.

  “Or you’ll do what, Steele? Bloody me? You think I don’t know about your crimes and misdemeanors? Everything that went on in Santa Fe? The people you hurt to keep that tell-all movie off the screen?”

  Damien met Jackson’s eyes, saw the heat building on his brother’s face. He didn’t know all of it, but he knew Jackson’s temper matched his own. And he also knew that Jackson had done what was necessary to shield his daughter, Veronica, from the prying eyes of the press.

  “If you know that,” Jackson told Breckenridge, “then you know that it isn’t wise to push my buttons. Mine or my brother’s.”

  “Fuck you both,” Breckenridge said. “I know enough to bury you.”

  “Then try.” Damien pushed back his chair and stood up, looking down at the man still resting his greasy palms on Damien’s desk. “But right now, I want you out of my office, you sniveling, misogynistic fuck.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well, that was bracing,” Jackson said later as he kicked back on the leather sofa in Damien’s sitting area. “It’s almost four. Too early for something stronger than coffee?”

  “Tempting,” Damien said, pouring himself a cup from the carafe Rachel had left on the sidebar. “I think I’ll save the hard stuff for after my next appointment.”

  “Christ, that’s right. You’re seeing Claymore in a bit.”

  “We are,” Damien confirmed. “I’d appreciate it if you and Sylvia would come, too. If you can get away. I know Nikki would like—we would like—to be with family.”

  Jackson didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned over and pushed the intercom button on the phone next to the sofa. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”

  “Steele, actually. Could you call down to my office and have them clear the rest of my day. And ask Sylvia to do the same then meet me up here. Tell her it’s important.”

  “Of course, Mr. Steele,” she said, her voice tinny through the speaker.

  Jackson leaned back, and without missing a beat, said, “So why do you think the jackass wants to see you?”

  Damien met his brother’s eyes in a silent thank you, then settled into the chair across from him. “Absolution, I’m guessing.”

  “Will he get it?”

  Damien looked at Jackson’s face, so like his own. Hard lines and angles and eyes that missed nothing. “What do you think?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Jackson nodded slowly. “Jeremiah called me after the girls’ party. Well, he called Sylvia. Probably assumed I wouldn’t be interested in taking his calls. He was right, but I wasn’t going to make my wife suffer for it, so I spoke to him.”

  The shift in conversation didn’t surprise Damien. They were talking about absolution, after all. And neither of Jeremiah’s sons felt particularly forgiving to their father. “What did he want?”

  “Said he was concerned about Anne. I guess he heard about it on the news. He wanted to know if he should call you.”

  “No.”

  “And that’s what I told him.”

  Damien nodded, then looked at his coffee. “Maybe it’s time for a drink after all.”

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  He crossed the room to the wet bar, then returned with a half-full bottle of 25-year Macallan and two glasses. He poured, then handed one to Jackson, whose brows rose. “Nice to know I rate the good stuff.”

  The words were light, but Damien heard the truth behind them. That Jackson was just as glad as Damien that they’d overcome the past thrust upon them by their father.

  He lifted his glass. “To family,” he said. “The kind that’s forged from more than blood.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  He was still enjoying the smooth burn of that first incredible sip when Rachel’s voice sang out over the intercom. “Your father-in-law is here. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he asked if you could spare a few moments?”

  “Of course,” Damien said, then rose when the door opened to greet the older man, who had a kind but weathered face, brown hair that had gone gray at the temples, and eyes that telegraphed that he was Nikki’s father. “Frank, it’s good to see you. Drink?”

  “Yeah, thanks. I could use it.” A travel photographer, Frank wore khaki pants, an army green T-shirt, and a utility vest full of pockets. Two cameras hung from straps around his neck. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

  Damien gestured to a chair as he crossed the room for a fresh glass.

  “Good to see you again,” Jackson said. “Should I get out of your hair?”

  “What? Oh, no. No. I was just taking some postcard shots of downtown LA. Always a good seller at stock sites. Figured I’d drop in. Say hi to my son-in-law. Consider yourself a bonus, Jackson.”

  Jackson laughed. “I’m flattered.”

  Frank took the glass Damien handed him, then settled into a chair. “And I, uh, wanted to check in. Make sure you and Nikki are doing okay after … everything. And Anne.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I wanted to check in on Anne, too.”

  Such a difference, Damien thought. He didn’t believe in Jeremiah’s motives for calling Jackson about Anne at all. But Frank…

  Well, he was dead certain that Frank was ripped up inside. Not just because of the trauma that had happened to the people he loved, but also because he knew that he’d botched the handling of it completely.

  He’d come here today to prostrate himself before Damien in silent apology for that failure. And Damien respected the hell out of him for it.

  “She’s doing well,” he said gently, intentionally being vague about which Stark female he was talking about.

  Frank met his eyes, then nodded, his lips tight with suppressed emotion. “Thank you.” T
hough almost inaudible, it was clear the words were heartfelt.

  “She’s avoiding me, you know,” Frank said. “She hasn’t returned my call. I know—” He looked between Jackson and Damien. “I just…I mean, I never—I guess I never figured out how to be a father.”

  “I’m not sure you ever do,” Jackson said. “You just do the best you can.”

  “I don’t want to make it worse for her. With her mother…”

  Damien flashed a wry grin. “I understand. But you’re not Elizabeth. As long as you’re there for Nikki—and you’re genuine—you’ll do just fine.”

  Frank put his drink on the table in front of him, then bent over, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. That was the last thing I wanted. But damned if I didn’t mess everything up.”

  Damien saw the signal light flash above the door. “I think she’s the one you need to tell.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “And,” Damien added, standing as the door opened and Nikki stepped in, “I think now’s the perfect time.”

  He watched as Nikki’s brows rose. “Perfect time for what—oh. Dad—I mean, Frank. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  Frank was standing now, his hands shoved into his pants’ pockets. “I came to see Damien. I thought he might have advice.”

  “Business advice?”

  “Ah, no. Actually, I was looking for guidance on how to claw my way out of the doghouse.”

  “Apparently, your father thinks I have some experience with that.”

  As he’d hoped, she laughed. “Not that much,” she said, coming up beside him and hooking her arm through his. “But if Damien told you to say that, I think he’s given you some good, solid advice. And,” she added with a tentative smile, “I think the fact that you came to ask was a good first step.”

  It was as if her words worked magic, eviscerating the layer of anxiety that had wrapped around Frank like a cloak, so palpable that Damien could see every fold and crease.

  “We should talk,” he said. “Do you think we could sit down and talk? Maybe we can go grab a drink at the Biltmore,” he added, referring to the hotel down the hill from Stark Tower.