“Of course, I know that. But someone got in here, and—”
Ding!
Marge stops in mid-step, and we all turn and look out through the propped-open door. We’re staring straight at the brushed steel elevator doors, and my pulse picks up tempo as the reception area grows quiet and we hear the whirring of the cables and gears grinding to a halt.
The doors slide open, revealing a flash of blond hair. I gasp, everything falling into place. The figure I saw at the Tower pavilion. The feeling that I was being watched. And most of all, the short blond hair and familiar beard stubble on a face and body I know only too well.
“Eric?” I whisper, as someone even more familiar steps into view, my husband’s reassuring smile wide as he looks into my eyes.
“Look who I found getting off the elevator in the lobby.” Damien leads Eric out of the elevator and into the open area as I stay frozen in place, my gaze firm on the young man who used to work for me but then moved to New York. And undoubtedly has a 917 area code now.
“Nikki?” Damien takes one step toward me as Eric takes a step back. “Baby, what is it?”
“Why the hell did you do that to my office?” I’m staring right at Eric, fury and hurt bubbling inside me.
“No,” Eric says. “That wasn’t—”
But he doesn’t finish the thought. Damien’s realized that something’s happened and that Eric’s at the center of it. And before I have time to process what’s happening, he has Eric backed against the far wall, his forearm tight against my former employee’s neck.
“All right, Eric,” Damien says, his voice more dangerous than I’ve ever heard it. “I think we need to have a talk.”
9
“Tell me what happened,” Damien demands. I’ve moved out the reception area and into the open area outside the elevators. Damien’s eyes are locked on Eric’s, but I know the question is for me.
“My office,” I say, pointing vaguely in that direction. “There’s red spray paint everywhere. And the word bitch. We got here. The place was empty, but the door was unlocked.”
I look at Damien as I speak, but I can see Eric, too. There’s fear in his eyes, and he’s shaking his head in small, frantic jerks, as if he fears that any larger movement will prompt Damien to lean harder against his throat.
My stomach curdles. He was my friend. A trusted colleague. And I don’t understand any of this. Not what’s happened today. Not now. Not why he would do something like that or why he’d want to hurt me.
Damien’s expression never wavers. It’s cold. It’s ice. And as much as Eric sickens me at the moment, I hope he stays perfectly still. Because right now, I think that Damien is capable of anything. And God knows he has the strength in his arms to kill a man.
I hear movement behind me, then Abby appears in my periphery. Travis is behind her, his hand on her shoulder, as if he’s holding her back from launching an attack. And I think that it’s a mark of just how confused and angry she is that she doesn’t shake it off.
“Why?” The word snaps out of her, hard and fast and brutal. “Why the hell did you do this?”
Eric’s eyes are wide, and he’s still shaking his head. Now, though, his lips are moving, too. “I didn’t.” I can barely hear his words. “It wasn’t me.”
“You all came up together?” Damien asks, his attention on me.
“I came up.” I take in a breath, determined to stay calm. “Then Abby and Travis with Luis. Then Marge.”
“He must have been here before we arrived. Then gone down when we all went inside.” Abby nods toward the corridor that leads to the eastern facing offices that are leased by another tenant. “He could have been waiting around the corner until.” She looks at Damien. “You said he was getting off the elevator in the lobby, right?”
“He was,” Damien says. “What floor were you coming from?”
“Here, of course,” I say, then take a step toward Eric. “You’ve been following me all day. What the hell, Eric? Why would you—”
“I didn’t do this. I swear. And yes, I’ve seen you. I called. And I wanted to talk to you at Stark Tower, but I chickened out. And then I called Rachel, and she gave me this address. And so I came here.”
“And tagged her office?” Abby snaps.
“No!” Eric’s eyes plead with me. “You know me, Nikki. You know I wouldn’t do this. Come on, Mr. Stark. Let go of me.”
Damien looks at me, his brow rising in question. I draw a breath, then nod, trying to calm myself.
One beat, then another. Then Damien steps back, releasing the pressure on Eric’s neck. He slides down the wall, then just sits there looking up at us.
“It really might not be him,” I tell Damien. “Believe me when I say I’ve got suspects.”
“The reporter,” Damien says.
I nod. “And Richard Breckenridge.” I make a face. “He just called me. Said all sorts of nasty things, mostly about you. You’re not on his favorite person list today.”
Damien almost smiles. “No, I’m not. And while I wouldn’t put graffiti past him, I’m not sure he’s had the time.”
“Maybe not. But I don’t think Eric did it either.” I turn my attention to my former employee, still on the ground and looking miserable. “I’ll agree that vandalism really isn’t your style. But why have you been following me?”
“Are you sure he was?” Travis asks me, his brow furrowed as if this whole situation is a line of code he’s trying to figure out.
I start to nod, but then doubt overtakes me and I stay silent.
“I was,” Eric says, and I see Damien’s fingers curl into a tight fist. I step to his side, and gently cup his wrist. “I wanted to talk to you about a job,” Eric continues.
I blink. “You have a job. I saw the announcement when you moved to Austin.”
“Yeah, well, that didn’t work out. And I missed California, and, oh hell, Nikki, I realized what a good thing I had with you. I should have called you, but I wanted to talk in person, without setting an app
ointment and having all sorts of preconceived ideas running through your head before we talked.”
He presses his fingertips to his temples and rubs. “I went to Stark Tower to get your new office address. Then I came here since Rachel said you were coming by today. I didn’t even realize the elevator needed a keycard. I got in with some guy going to five, and I just pushed eight. I was going to wait in reception, but you have no furniture. So I walked the offices, thinking you might have moved in your desk. And that’s when I saw the graffiti.”
“And you just bolted?” Damien asks.
He shrugs. “I guess I figured that under the circumstances, today might not be the best time to talk about a job. And it’s not like I knew who did it.” He looks miserably at all of us. “It was stupid. I should have called and told you. Or called Rachel. But dammit I just … fuck, Nikki, I left with such big plans, and then everything crashed under me. And I just didn’t want to deal with this, too.”
“The paint’s dry,” Travis says, stepping back into the open area where we’re all still gathered. I hadn’t even realized he’d gone back inside, much less down the hall to my office, but now he walks to Eric. “Hold out your hands.”
Eric’s brow furrows, but he does as ordered, and both Travis and Damien look down at his fingers.
“Hard to use spray paint without leaving any residue on your fingers,” Damien says.
“He could have been wearing gloves.” Marge takes a step forward speaking for the first time. “But I don’t believe it. This is our Eric. He wouldn’t do this.”
“Even if he was wearing gloves, the paint on the walls would still be tacky.” Damien looks over his shoulder at Travis. “I’m guessing it’s bone dry?”
Travis nods. For a moment, nobody moves. Then Damien extends a hand down to Eric. He hesitates, then takes it, letting Damien help him to his feet.