“Well, since I don’t have kids—”
“Yet,” I say, and Jamie rolls her eyes. She and Ryan are still pretty much in the newlywed phase, and although I know he’d be thrilled to start a family now, he’s mostly happy that he finally got Jamie to the altar.
“Since I don’t have kids,” she begins again, “I couldn’t say. But I figure she knows what she’s talking about.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not convinced. I sigh. “So do you mind if we blow off happy hour?”
She nods at my desk. “Too much work?”
“Yes,” I say truthfully. “But mostly I just want to get home and see the kids.”
Want, however, isn’t good enough, because apparently my will alone doesn’t have the power to make traffic run more smoothly. And when I finally burst into the house, Bree gives me a small, sad frown.
“I wanted to keep her up, Mrs. Stark. But we had a busy day, and she just zonked out after her bath.”
“That’s okay.” I’m frustrated, but I get it. It’s only seven-thirty, but I know well that my little girl often conks out before eight. “Anne, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. She went to sleep no problem. She’s been a perfect baby today. Not a problem at all.”
“That’s great,” I say, even though a little devil inside of me wants to hear how much they’d both cried for me. And I’d really wanted to see their faces light up when I walked through the door.
I already know that Damien is running later than I am, because he’d called while I was stuck in traffic. Now I dismiss Bree for the night, then go peek in on both my girls. I want to wake them, to cuddle them close, but I let them sleep, contenting myself with watching the steady rise and fall of their little chests.
Then I take a quick shower, change into yoga pants and a T-shirt, and stretch out on our lovely iron bed, surrounded by paperwork.
That’s where I am when Damien finds me—although I’m asleep instead of busily working.
“Hey,” he says, brushing a kiss on my shoulder. “Long day?”
As I claw my way back to consciousness, he gathers my papers and sets them on the bedside table. There’s a glass of wine, too, and he hands it to me. I try to avoid alcohol since I’m breastfeeding, but I also did the research and know that a little bit isn’t a problem so long as I wait to pump or feed Anne.
“The longest,” I say, then take a grateful sip. I lean sideways against him, my back supported by the pile of pillows that rest against the wall. I give him the full rundown, the highlight of which is Eric’s surprising departure.
“You can handle continued growth,” he says, his loyalty giving me a nice warm boost of confidence. “But you’re also well-positioned to simply hold the line if that’s what you want to do. Even to downsize if it works out that way.”
I push away from him, frowning as my chest tightens uncomfortably. “What?”
“I’m just saying that you don’t have to go back to work full-throttle.”
I sit up straight. “Excuse me? Why? Because you can support us?”
“I can support us. But what I’m—”
“So I’m supposed to feel guilty about wanting to work just because you bring in billions?” Dammit, he knows how important my job is to me. How hard I’ve worked to build my business on my own, not relying on money that comes from Stark International.
He stares at me like someone might stare at a wild hyena. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Maybe, but it sure sounds that way to me,” I retort. “Well-positioned, my ass.”
“Nikki—”
“How many times have we talked about my business?” I snap. “About ramping it up? About really making a splash in the tech world? You know what I’ve been working for, Damien. How many conferences have you gone to with me? And didn’t you hold my hand when I actually braved Dallas to land Greystone-Branch?”
I grew up in Dallas, and that trip hadn’t been an easy one, though in a lot of ways, my return to Dallas is the reason we have our girls now.
“The ocean’s not going anywhere,” he says. “And neither is your talent. You can make a splash in a few months or next year or five years.”
I bristle. “That’s not the kind of attitude that makes a business thrive, and we both know it.”
“Oh, baby,” he says in a soothing tone that I would normally find sweet, but right now is just pissing me off. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to do everything. If Eric left things hanging, maybe those are things you should trim.”
“Is that how you built Stark International?”
He draws a deep breath. “I didn’t have a family then. I’m not alone anymore.”
I tilt my head. “How was San Diego on Saturday?” I ask, referencing the fact that he scurried down there on a weekend in order to perform crisis control. And, yes, I know I’m being bitchy, but the intimation that Stark International is more important than Fairchild Development grates on me. Maybe that’s empirically true, but Fairchild Development is important to me. Building it. Growing it.
And right now, even with Damien right beside me, I feel terribly, horribly alone.
“Nikki…”
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. I just—it’s okay.” I slide out of bed and he takes my fingers, as if to pull me back.
“I want to check on the kids,” I say, slipping my hand free of his. I draw a breath and walk away, feeling a bit lost as I do because Damien’s not at my side right now, and yet he’s always been the compass to guide me home.
Tonight, that compass is my kids, and I peer first into the bassinet at Anne’s sweet, sleeping form, and then move down the hall to find Lara hugging Kitty tight. I look at her, so innocent and perfect, and swallow a lump in my throat. That’s when I realize I’m crying.
Roughly, I brush the tears away, then crawl into her bed beside her, so that she’s snuggled against my chest, her little body melding to mine.
I stay still, letting the rhythm of her breathing soothe me, knowing that Damien is giving me space but at the same time wishing that he’d come to me. But he doesn’t, and I simply lie there, trying to let the night t
ake me.
But then I look up and see a shadow in the doorway. Damien may not have come to me, but he is checking on me. And the steel band around my chest eases a little.
I kiss Lara’s cheek and carefully slide out of her bed.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I find him in our room, a magazine open on his lap. “I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And I’m bitchy.”
“No.” He holds out a hand and I take it, then slide onto the bed next to him. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re frustrated about something important to you, and rightfully so. My first response shouldn’t be that you can cut back. That’s not fair to you or to what you’ve accomplished with your work.”
I close my eyes and nod, a single tear escaping to trickle down my cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“I want to help, Nikki,” he says. “But I need you to help me too. I need you to tell me what you want.”
I take a breath and open my eyes. I look around our beautiful room, then at my wonderful husband. I think about our kids and our friends and the family we’ve made. The life we’ve built together.
“I have everything I want,” I say, snuggling close. And as I lie in his arms moments later, I know that I’ve spoken the absolute truth.
But if that’s the case, why am I still unsatisfied?
Chapter 6
Better?
I smile at the text from Damien, then immediately tap out a reply.
Much. Thank you.
It’s past noon, and I’ve spent a productive morning in my office getting all my proverbial ducks in order. Marge is making calls to all our clients to let them know about Eric’s departure and to tell them I’ll be calling to update them later in the week. Abby is taking point on hiring one new person who can walk the line between tech and client relations, and I’m doing everything else.
So far, there’ve been no crises today, and I’m feeling about eight thousand percent better than I was yesterday. It was still hard leaving the girls this morning, but I went in a bit later, and so we had breakfast and some playtime together.
Glad to hear it. Sending a car for you at five.