CHAPTER ELEVEN
Micki had a long day ahead of her and no time to come home in between meetings, work and the dinner party for Uncle Yank’s birthday. With no alternative, she took the dress she’d bought for the occasion, zipped it into a garment bag and took it with her to work so she could change there. She arrived at the office by 7:00 a.m. to reschedule some appointments and leave a few notes for Amy before heading over to the doctor’s office on Park Avenue to meet Damian.
She had knots in her stomach over the idea of discussing paternity tests and Damian’s sexual relationship with another woman. She understood his need to have someone there for support, but after thinking things over and over last night, she’d decided she wasn’t the right person for the job.
She turned the corner and found Damian already standing outside the door, leaning against a black iron handrail. In his jeans and light blue Polo collared shirt, he was the sexiest man on Park Avenue. In fact, he was one of the only men on this part of Park Avenue so early in the morning, which was a good thing because she didn’t think she could handle this conversation in front of an audience.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, walking toward her.
She gathered her courage as she launched right into the speech she’d prepared last night. “I completely understand you needing moral support and I want to be there for you. I really do. But this is just too much. I don’t belong here and I’m really not comfortable sitting down with a doctor discussing how long ago you impregnated another woman.” She forced the words out in a rush or she knew she’d never say them at all.
She was as much as admitting she had feelings for the man and that really wasn’t something she’d ever wanted him to know. Not when he was incapable of reciprocating. “So now that you know how I feel, I can get back to the office.”
Micki turned and started down the street, searching for the nearest taxi as she ran. She still hadn’t made peace with her high heels and she wobbled more than once, turning her ankle painfully and destroying any hope she had for a dignified exit.
“Micki!” Damian called after her.
Thank goodness a yellow cab with its lights on rounded the corner. She waved. The car came to a screeching halt. At the same time she reached for the door, Damian caught up with her. She opened the door but he held it, preventing her from getting in.
“Micki, please. I just want to talk to you,” he said, breathing heavily.
She swallowed but her throat was tight. “When I agreed to help you out I didn’t know how hard it would be,” she admitted, her heart pounding in her chest, proving her words with each heavy beat.
“I didn’t realize either,” he said softly, his breath warm against her neck.
“Hey lady, you getting in or not?” the cabdriver asked impatiently.
Micki turned to Damian, whose gaze was soft and understanding. “Just sit in the waiting room and as soon as I’m finished, we’ll talk.”
Her head throbbed, her ankle hurt and her heart ached like mad. “I must be insane,” she said more to herself than to Damian. She glanced at the cabbie through the open passenger’s side window. “I’m sorry to have taken your time,” she told him and slammed the door shut instead of getting inside.
“Thank you.” Damian grabbed her hand and held on tight. “I already told you I can act like a spoiled son of a bitch sometimes.” His lips turned upward in an embarrassed grin, but his relief at having stopped her exit was palpable.
“Yeah, you did.” But for some reason she was still standing by his side.
An hour later, he walked out of the doctor’s office and insisted they grab a cup of coffee. She’d already touched base with Amy at the office and knew her 11:00 a.m. appointment had canceled, freeing up her time, so she agreed.
They settled into seats at Sara Beth’s Kitchen and quickly placed their orders. Micki was grateful for the fresh, hot coffee, but she wasn’t much interested in her Danish.
Damian guzzled his caffeine, needing the fortification desperately. When he was finished, he placed his mug aside and met her gaze from across the small table. For several moments, he simply stared at her, unsure of what to say or where to begin.
He only knew he owed her an apology. Silence surrounded them and though it was morning-rush time, the restaurant was atypically quiet for a weekday. He’d brought her here because they had a lot to discuss and he didn’t want to do it over the phone. Until she’d nearly bolted on him this morning, he hadn’t realized how much he counted on her comforting presence and solid support.
In the instant she’d taken off down the street, he’d been forced to acknowledge that she was so much more than a friend who was holding his hand through a crisis. He didn’t know how much more and at this moment he couldn’t see the point in delving too deeply. He also didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing he was coming to care for her deeply—not when another woman and her baby stood between them, as did his fucked-up life and the career he was still trying desperately to hang on to.
He dragged his chair closer, moving so he sat directly beside her. His thigh brushed her bare leg and he savored the warmth of her body heat. “I’m sorry this has been so hard for you.”
“Professionally it’s the right way to handle things.”
“But like you said, this morning’s appointment wasn’t at all a professional request.”
She shook her head. “Never mind that. Friends stand by friends.”
His gut churned uncomfortably at her casual use of the word.
“So what exactly did the doctor say?” she asked.
Her question forced him to focus. “Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
She nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to be there for the discussion. I can handle hearing the news from you.”
“Basically he said there’re three types of testing.” He reached into his pocket for the brochure the doctor had given him and scanned the paper again so he could accurately explain. “Two are invasive and could be dangerous to the fetus. The last one is a simple blood test involving just the mother and potential father’s blood samples. The lab extracts fetal blood cells from the mother’s sample and compares the DNA to the potential father’s. That would be me.” He pressed his lips together, anger at himself welling up again.
“When can it be done safely?”
He glanced at Micki, whose normally flushed skin had grown pale during this awkward conversation. “Any time after twelve weeks.” Damian had already done the math. Assuming Carole had gotten pregnant their last time together in April, they were just approaching twelve weeks. “Which means we’re pretty close to being able to do the test,” he said, sparing Micki the details.
“I see. And how is Carole handling all this?” she asked, her voice tight as she unsuccessfully tried to withhold any emotion.
“I don’t know,” he said, gripping his coffee cup tighter in his hand. “I haven’t been in touch with her.”
“That’s awful!”
He winced. “It’s not as cold and callous as it seems.” He glanced down, embarrassed about what Micki must think of him. “At first I needed time to digest the news. I needed time to arrange things like this test. And I needed to deal with the idea of possibly being a father.”
“And have you?” she asked.
He shrugged, uncertainty still rioting through him. “I don’t know. I can accept it if the test is positive. It’s hard to deal with it when it’s not even a reality yet.”
“I understand that.”
“But thanks to you, I’m taking steps in the right direction and beginning to wrap my brain around it. On the way over this morning I called my lawyer to set up an appointment to put a trust fund together if the baby is mine.” He looked into her blue eyes. “I needed to do all these things before I could go to Carole and discuss things coherently.”
Micki exhaled slowly. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you. I know that you’re in limbo with Carole and that you’re worried about your career, and I know that you’re taking a beating in the press—”
“The hell with the press. This mess has taught me that the only opinions I care about are the ones held by the people I—” He’d been about to say love.
A word he never used or even thought about. Sitting across from Micki, knowing his feelings for her were growing beyond simple desire or gratitude, it unnerved him to do so now.
“Are you okay?” Micki placed her hand over his.
To Damian, it was like touching a match to a wick. His candle was on fire, he thought, holding back a laugh. Who’d have thought his feelings for this woman could lighten his mood and make him happy at a time when he felt like his life was strangling him?
Looking at her, her soft skin and moist lips, listening to her reassure him and tell him she believed he could handle things, he started to believe.
“Actually, I’m fine.” Suddenly, his cell rang, interrupting them.
“Excuse me.” He checked the text and muttered a curse. “I was supposed to be at the stadium for an early workout.” He’d completely blanked on his priorities—not a good sign.
“Someone’s screwed,” Micki said helpfully.
“Gee, thanks.” Despite himself, Damian laughed. He was on his feet and tossing money onto the table in seconds.
They headed for the street together, but when he tried to give her the first cab, she waved him away.
“I’m not going to take this one now and have you hand my head to me on a platter later. You take the first one.” She swept her hand in a gallant gesture that had him laughing once again.
Before he got in the car, he turned to Micki. “One question. What made you stick around this morning and not just walk away?” He needed to know what held them together on her side of things.
She shifted from foot to foot before meeting his gaze. “You need me,” she said simply, then pivoted to walk away.
It wasn’t a declaration of love, or even lust. But it was an acknowledgment of a bond, and the genuineness of those words meant more than he cared to think about.
Anyway, he had no time to linger, no time to waste. Acting on pure instinct, he pulled her close and kissed her hard on the lips before sliding into the cab and slamming the door shut behind him.
The taxi sped away, leaving him alone with thoughts he didn’t want to have. Panic over being late. Panic over Carole. Panic over losing Micki when this was all over.
Instead of thinking, he pulled out his cell phone and searched for Carole’s number in Florida. Surely she was home, or at least on her way by now. Thanks to Micki’s reaction, he’d had a revelation, a feeling of what it might be like to be the one in Carole’s shoes, uncertain of what life had in store. He certainly couldn’t live with himself if he left Carole thinking she was in this alone.
Her answering machine picked up on the second ring, and after waiting through her recorded message, he said, “Hey, Carole, it’s Damian. I know things can’t be easy right now…umm…I’ll be away on a seven-day road trip and then let’s plan on getting together to talk when I get home. If you need anything in the meantime, you can reach me on my cell.” He reiterated the number, though he was sure she knew it by heart, and hung up, feeling better for having checked on her.
He leaned back in the cab and shut his eyes. Just like at night, his thoughts overwhelmed him. In the deepest recesses of his soul, Damian couldn’t imagine fathering a child with Carole. He couldn’t imagine the careful planning of his career exploding in his face now, when it was almost over. He still had a chance to go out on top and he didn’t want to blow it.
He knew he was possibly the baby’s father. But when he tried to do as Micki suggested and face the reality, to view this kid as his, the only child he could envision had blue eyes, not brown, and naturally blond curly hair, not the kind that came from a bottle.
Unwilling to follow that train of thought, he glanced at his watch. Dammit, he was so late.
To his never-ending shock, he started to laugh. He’d never been late for a practice, let alone a game. He’d spent his entire career ensuring he remained focused on his goals. And now, when he was preoccupied and completely screwed up, when he ought to be pissed as hell at himself for every wrong move recently made, he felt lighter than he had in years.
* * *
Micki locked her office door and drew the shades on the glass windows that made her office visible from the hallway. She’d already freshened her makeup. She had about half an hour to change and make it to her uncle’s annual birthday party at his favorite restaurant.
Annabelle was doing better and she’d gotten her doctor’s permission to attend the party as long as she stayed off her feet while there and didn’t overdo. They’d kept the invitations to a minimum this year, mostly family and a few friends…including Lola and Spencer Atkins.
Separately, the two were Uncle Yank’s closest friends, even if he and Lola were estranged at the moment, but as an item they were an explosive combination destined to incite Uncle Yank to riot. Micki groaned, knowing it was going to be an eventful night.
She slipped on her new high-heeled shoes, straightened her skirt and opened her office door in time to find Damian on the other side. Since leaving him this morning, she hadn’t let herself dwell on him or his situation or else she knew she’d get nothing done. But he was here now and, apparently, eventful was an understatement, she thought, surprised by his unexpected appearance.
He scanned her from her sandals up to the hem on her short skirt, lingered on her tight top and ended on her freshly made-up face.
“You look fantastic,” he said, the heat in his gaze and his husky tone unmistakable.
Warmth spread and the old pulse-pounding desire rushed through her at his compliment. For a brief moment, they were back on the island, unencumbered by life and reality.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She met his gaze and realized he was clean shaven. He was also well dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a black button-down collared shirt with a teasing sprinkle of chest hair peeking out from the opening.
A quick inhale told her he was wearing a sexy cologne and Micki knew she was in trouble. Since he’d played an afternoon game and his apartment was downtown in Gramercy Park, he’d gone out of his way to be here.
She moistened her lips. “So…what brings you by my neck of the woods?”
“You do. You and your uncle. I’m here to take you to his party.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.” And she’d kill whoever added him because tonight was to have been the only free time she had all day. Breathing time. Alone time without being tortured by wanting what she couldn’t have.
“That’s because when I called your secretary to find out your plans for the evening and she told me about the party, I called Sophie and invited myself.” He treated her to his most endearing grin and her stomach flipped in anticipation.
Of what, she didn’t know. “I can’t imagine Sophie just told you to come.”
“Actually, she did. Are you ready to leave?”
Micki silently promised to murder her meddling sister. “I was going to drive my car so I could get home easier.”
“I’ll make sure you get home and you can take a cab to work and pick up your car tomorrow.”
“Presumptuous.”
“And bossy,” he agreed with a laugh. “Stop fighting me or you’ll be late for the party. I’m leaving for a series of away games tomorrow. I’m just asking you to spend time with me tonight. Fun time. No thoughts of problems or PR or anything stressful.” He held out his hand toward her. “Please.”
She shut her eyes, tired of her constant internal fight. She still held on to her notions about family and she was adamant about not coming between Damian and his. But he obviously wanted to spend time together and she desired the same thing. They didn’t have a future, but why couldn’t they have time now?
She opened her eyes and saw the opportunity to forget her problems and just have a good time. “Yes. Yes,” she said, unable to resist.
He banged one side of his head with his hand. “Say that again? I’m sure I heard you wrong.”
She grinned. “You thought you’d have to work harder, didn’t you?”
“Maybe, but I’m not complaining.”
She placed her hand in his and pulled him close.
He met her gaze, desire flaring in his expression. “Micki…”
Her name was meant as a warning, she knew.
For the first time in what seemed like ages, she heard Roper telling her to step up and take what she wanted. One night of fun, she reminded herself, and rose to her tiptoes to touch her mouth to his. She lingered for a while, just savoring his warm lips and his arousing masculine scent that had her stomach flipping in purely sensual anticipation. Micki’s bones seemed to turn to liquid and she thought she’d melt right on the spot. When he lifted his hands and cupped her face, holding her head in place so he could take control, all the yearning and desire she’d been holding back rose to the surface.
He tipped her head and slid his mouth over hers, moving his lips deftly from side to side in a kiss that suddenly turned hot. Drugging. Her chest rose and fell and her breasts grew heavy, aching for his touch. She stepped closer, so her chest brushed against his, but the light friction did little to ease the building, burning need. She moaned and curled her hands around the fabric of his shirt. It was all she could do not to strip him right here and make up for lost time.
“Ahem. I know my eyes are blurry, but I think I’m seeing clearly enough to know this ain’t the place for hanky-panky,” Uncle Yank said, interrupting them.
Damian jumped back first, while Micki closed her eyes so she could take a minute to compose herself. “Ever hear of knocking?” she asked her uncle.
“Ever hear of behind closed doors?” he retorted.
She let out a frustrated groan.
“I’m sorry,” Damian said, stepping farther away. “That wasn’t appropriate.”
Micki blinked. “Oh, this is great. You’re apologizing to my uncle for kissing his twenty-six-year-old niece!”
“It’s a matter of respect,” both her uncle and Damian said at the same time.
“Well, at least we agree on something.” Uncle Yank nodded, obviously pleased.
Micki pushed her curls out of her face, completely mortified by the two men and their frank talk. Because she’d been such a tomboy, she’d never gone through a traditional dating phase that included Uncle Yank interrogating boyfriends. She didn’t want to begin one now.
She stomped over to her desk and picked up her purse, which she’d forgotten the first time she’d tried to leave, and turned to the two men standing by the door. “Well, don’t we have a party to get to?” she asked.
With any luck her uncle would have his driver waiting and she could get a minute alone with Damian before heading over to the large family gathering.
“We sure do. Let’s get a move on so I can open my presents.” Uncle Yank shoved Damian through the door first, then held it open for Micki.
“We’ll meet you there,” she promised.
“I thought we’d go together.” Her uncle rubbed his palms in anticipation, not the least bit concerned that three was a crowd.
“I’ll drive,” Damian offered.
“Fine,” Micki muttered. A short drive with her uncle as chaperone wouldn’t be so bad. They had all night to enjoy their time together.
And to see whether or not they planned to go any further than that kiss.
* * *
Damian wanted to surprise Micki and spend time with her before his road trip. Just the two of them hanging out, having fun, no talk of anything serious. Instead he’d ended up having to invite himself to Yank’s party if he wanted to see Micki at all before he left for the week. He’d had to do some fancy talking to get Sophie to let him come.
Hell, he’d had to flat out beg. Damian knew he’d look out for his own sisters the same way. Considering Sophie had threatened to rip his hotshot balls off if he hurt Micki again, Damian considered himself fairly warned.
He’d been prepared for Micki to be wary and he hadn’t been disappointed. He’d sensed the war going on inside her as she’d fought not to let herself get close to him, but somehow she’d ended up not only giving in, but treating him to a hot, sensual kiss.
He wasn’t stupid enough to think they were picking up where they’d left off on the island and he knew damn well it wouldn’t be a good idea. But he could admit to himself that the cold showers he’d been taking since she’d come back into his life just weren’t cutting it. He was walking around with a permanent hard-on courtesy of Micki Jordan, and that kiss had been an appetizer that had him hungry for more.
Now he and Micki, along with Yank and a curly-haired cream puff of a dog walked into the restaurant. “Morgan party,” Yank said to the hostess, using his gruffest, meanest voice.
The young woman’s gaze darted from Micki and Damian to Yank and then lower to his pet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, but there are no dogs allowed. The health code prohibits it,” she explained.
“I may be going blind, but I ain’t deaf and I don’t really think you just told me I can’t bring my Seeing Eye dog into this establishment.”
Micki stifled a groan.
The hostess peered down at the unkempt dog who resembled a mop more than a well-trained assistant. “Oh,” she said, skeptically.
Seeing as how the thing kept pulling against his leash in a blatant attempt to take off at a run, Damian could understand the girl’s confusion. “How about you talk to your manager and see if you could make an exception for the gentleman and his…er…guide dog,” he suggested.
She nodded, and headed down a hallway, presumably to a back office.
Damian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “So now the poodle’s your guide dog?” he asked.
“It’s not a poodle, it’s a Labradoodle,” Micki replied to Damian before turning to her uncle. “Why couldn’t you leave Noodle home?”
“Noodle the Labradoodle?” Damian asked in disbelief.
“Don’t you dare make fun of this girl. At least she’s stood by me.”
“Veiled reference to Lola,” Micki whispered in Damian’s ear.
“But why didn’t you just leave her home?”
“Because she’s my date.” Yank’s surly tone was obviously meant to warn Micki to back off and leave him alone. If Damian was a betting man, he’d wager she’d do neither.
Micki burst out laughing. “Do you really think Lola’s going to be jealous of a dog? And do you really think a dog is going to keep you warm at night? Or are you counting on your stubborn streak to do it instead?”
“Missy, I’m still older than you and I know what’s best.”
“Then why are you still alone?”
“Okay, time out,” Damian said, stepping between Yank and Micki. “Before one of you says something you’ll regret.”
At that moment, the hostess returned and told them, “The manager’s willing to make an exception for you, Mr. Morgan, but you need to keep the dog in the private room.”
“It’s discrimination, that’s what this is,” Yank muttered.
“He’ll keep the dog out of sight, and thank you,” Micki said to the other woman.
She nodded and led them the long way around the restaurant to the back room they’d rented for the event.
Yank went first and Damian followed behind, surprised when Micki reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling him alongside her.
“He’s so tense about seeing Lola and Spencer Atkins together that he’s close to insane.” Micki gestured to her uncle and the dog.
“I can’t imagine what he’s going through, what with his eyesight deteriorating and the woman he loves having moved on.”
“With his best friend.”
Damian shook his head in sympathy. He glanced at Micki and realized that she’d been supporting him while her own situation wasn’t exactly calm and quiet.
“I didn’t realize about Yank’s eyes or how much Lola’s desertion has hurt him. You’ve been going through a lot of craziness yourself.”
Micki paused outside the private party room. “Uncle Yank all but pushed Lola out. If he’d just given her an inkling about his real feelings instead of treating her like his slave and servant…”
“They have an odd history,” Damian said.
“Amen.”
“But between his health and the PR agency, you’ve been dealing with a lot.” He lowered his head. “And then Carter spiked your drink, Yank pushed you off on me and sent you to the island—”
“We slept together, came home and went our separate ways and then you showed up at my office to tell me another woman might be carrying your child. Does that about sum it up?”
He waited for her voice to turn from matter-of-fact to bitingly sarcastic but it didn’t happen. Instead she laid out the facts and started to laugh.
“Just what’s so funny?” he asked.
“My soap opera of a life.”
“I’m sorry for adding to the list.”
Micki shook her head, an unbelievable smile on her lips. “Don’t be. If you hadn’t come around, I might be bored.”
The sound of raised voices traveled from the room next door. “Something tells me being bored wouldn’t be a remote possibility. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Micki shot around him and he followed her into the room. Her uncle stood on a chair surrounded by decorations the family had strung around the room. Paper streamers were taped onto the ceiling, green and white helium balloons floated at will, and a store-bought Happy Birthday sign dangled precariously from the wall.
Damian wanted to ask Micki about the significance of such obviously childlike party symbols, but Yank was pontificating from on high. Loudly.
“…And since it’s my birthday—and I thank you all very much for coming—I thought I got to decide who I wanted here. And I can tell you right now, I don’t want to party with the lovebirds.” Yank pointed first to Lola, then to Spencer Atkins, who were on separate sides of the room, whether out of deference to Yank’s feelings or pure irony.
Yank’s always wiry hair stood on end and his face flushed red with pure jealousy. Damian leveled a sidelong glance at Micki. He couldn’t be responsible for his actions either if she walked into a party with another man—a notion that rattled the hell out of him.
Suddenly, Yank, who was still ranting from his perch in the center of the room, lost his balance. Without warning, he wobbled, pitched to one side and fell before anyone could help him.
“Uncle Yank!” All three of his nieces ran to the older man’s side, but Lola got there first.
“You frustrating, crotchety, old coot!” she yelled, bending down at his side. “Where does it hurt?” She spread her hands all over him, her concern and love so real even Damian could feel it.
“My leg,” he muttered and rubbed a place high on his hip.
Damian winced. “Somebody call for an ambulance,” he yelled to the waiters nearby.
Yank was still yelling at Lola to get the hell away and let him be humiliated in peace.
Uncomfortable making them a spectacle, Damian stepped back.
Micki slipped her hand into his. “There’s not much we can do. The hostess already called 911,” she said.
“I ain’t going in an ambulance,” Yank blustered.
Noodle woofed in agreement and licked Yank’s face, the dog’s concern obvious.
Spencer Atkins stormed over to his best friend. The two men couldn’t be more different in looks, Yank in his button-down Hawaiian shirt and Atkins in his double-breasted suit. “Shut the hell up, will you? Your mouth is what got you into trouble in the first place.”
Yank scowled at his friend. “You stole my woman—”
“I was never yours to begin with. You didn’t want me,” Lola said, tears streaming down her cheeks and causing her makeup to run.
If she cared about that or her hair, which had fallen from its bun, or the fact that her blouse had pulled loose from the back of her skirt, she didn’t show it. All her concern was lavished on the man lying on the floor.
“I wonder if he’ll come around now,” Micki whispered. “I mean, it feels like his last chance. If he pushes Lola away this time, it’s probably for good.”
The overwhelming emotion of her family situation struck Damian hard. “Hopefully this’ll smarten him up. It can happen to even the dumbest jock,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.
She laughed and hiccupped at the same time.
“Coming through.” The paramedics came in and the next few minutes passed in a blur as they carefully loaded the older man onto the stretcher.
“Come on. I’ll drive you and Sophie to the hospital.” Damian tugged on her hand.
Annabelle and Vaughn were already halfway out the door. Micki relayed the offer to Sophie, who held a squirming Noodle in her arms, and they all headed for the exit.
At the door, Micki turned back to the dwindling crowd. “Happy birthday, Uncle Yank,” she said to the almost empty room.
They reached the street as Yank was being placed in the ambulance. “I’ll ride with you,” Lola said.
“Why don’t you ride with your boyfriend?” Yank asked.
“You old fool, he isn’t my boyfriend,” Lola said. “He’s my friend.”
“You dress like that for your friend?”
Apparently Yank’s leg wasn’t as badly bruised as his ego, Damian thought.
“I dressed like this for you. Spencer wouldn’t care if I ran naked through Central Park! He’s gay!” Lola said, then helped the ambulance men push the stretcher inside. She shot a look of regret at Spencer. “And for forcing me to reveal that secret, you can damn well ride alone. Spencer will take me to the hospital!”
The other woman stormed off, head held high.
Damian turned to Micki. “Is my mouth hanging open?” he asked.
“No more than mine is, I’m sure.”
“Spencer Atkins is gay?” Damian ran a hand through his hair and laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
He shook his head. “Your uncle just lost his last excuse. He’s going to have to step up or step out of her life for good.”
“Umm,” she said in a low voice. “There’s something you should know, but you can’t repeat it until it’s official.”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got me curious.”
“Well, the Hot Zone is going to be merging with Atkins Associates. It’s mostly because of Uncle Yank’s eyesight. It’ll benefit him to have someone he trusts handling his clients.”
“He trusts Atkins?”
Micki nodded. “Like a brother. Like you said about Lola, a strange relationship. Anyway, he agrees the merger’s necessary, but he’s not taking it well. That probably explains his ranting back there. It’s hard for him to give up his independence.”
“Wow.”
“Well, now you’ve been entrusted with privileged information. Repeat it and I may have to shoot you.” She grinned and his heart twisted inside his chest.
His seven-day road trip was looking damn good about now.