CHAPTER EIGHT
DAMIAN SAT BEHIND his desk, turning the compact mirror over in his hands. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get that night out his head. It was odd, since he didn’t usually mull over a one-night stand. Especially when it was clear up front that it would be a onetime-only thing.
But something about the redhead had got him all tangled up. For the first time in four years, he was thinking about something other than work.
He frowned at the compact. It’d been sitting on the floor of the limo, and he’d almost missed it. Must have fallen out of her bag when they’d knocked it to the floor.
How on earth was he supposed to return the damn thing without a name or phone number? It looked old, possibly a family heirloom. An important item. But there were no distinguishing marks on it—no engravings or product details. Nothing that might help him identify the mysterious masked woman.
Placing it carefully on his desk, he turned to stare out of the huge window that framed the city view like a piece of art. From his level thirty-six office, he could see everything: the tracks running into the Flinders Street railway station, the ribbon of water cutting through the city, the spire at the Arts Centre, and the great stretch of green from the gardens. Ever since he’d walked into his first office job, he’d had his eye on a big corner office just like this one.
It’d taken a few years of slumming it, first working out of his apartment and then—when he’d hired a team—out of a crappy, falling-down building in the inner suburbs north of the city. But his collection of smaller clients had led to some medium-size fish. And those had led to bigger fish. Now he had two blue-chip clients and a healthy list of medium-size businesses that made him very good money.
But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had McPartlin & Co.
“Damian?” His assistant, Leila, poked her head into his office. “I’ve got a call for you, but you’re supposed to be meeting with Corinna in five minutes.”
“Who is it?” He swung back around to his desk and raked a hand through his hair. “If it’s the tax office again, put them through to Greg. I don’t have time—”
“It’s Jerry McPartlin,” she said. Leila’s expression didn’t reveal a thing, but Damian had worked with her long enough to detect the hint of judgement in her voice. Since he’d poached her from his ex-boss’s company, she knew the history.
“Put him through.”
Leila frowned but didn’t argue, and a second later the red light on his desk phone flashed. “Hello?”
“Mr. McKnight, how are you?”
“Call me Damian.” He reached over to his laptop and pulled up the file he’d been working on before his first meeting with McPartlin. It had everything he knew about the guy and his company—from personal and professional achievements to the AFL team he supported. “I’m well. Did you enjoy the Carmina Ball?”
“I did. The TAFW charity thanks you for your generosity.”
The charity were the organisers behind the Carmina Ball. They had a lot of powerful people in their ranks and worked to raise money for various recipients, most notably the Royal Women’s Hospital.
“I wasn’t aware you were affiliated with them.” Damian scanned his file, but nothing about the charity appeared there.
“It hasn’t been announced yet, but I’ll be joining their board soon.” He cleared his throat.
Damian leaned back in his chair. This was going to go one of two ways: either McPartlin had decided to give him a shot at his business, or he was calling to ask for a donation. “So are you calling to tell me you’ve decided to come across to McKnight Management after all?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the man replied in what Damian could only imagine was his “stern father” voice. “But I thought we could have dinner.”
Damian had to force himself not to fist pump. This was the opening he’d wanted—a chance to show what he was made of. And really, that was all he needed. Because once Jerry saw Damian on his game, that asshole Ben wouldn’t stand a chance of hanging on to McPartlin & Co.
“And by we, I mean including my wife and your lovely fiancée,” Jerry added.
Shit. “You really want to put them through the tediousness of a business dinner? I’m not sure about your marriage, but Ariel and I have a no-shop-talk policy at the dinner table.”
“It’s not a business dinner. It’s a social dinner.” McPartlin paused. “For now.”
“Right.”
“And maybe your fiancée could let us know where she got that incredible mask. Sandra is dying to find out.” There was a hint of amusement in the older man’s voice.
“Of course,” Damian said smoothly. No way in hell was he going to pass this opportunity up, and if he couldn’t locate the redhead, he’d find a substitute. Because the one thing no one had seen was her face.
Not that anyone else would even come close to her. This woman was the first in years to leave him wanting—wishing. But he knew nothing about her. He had no leads...other than the compact.
“I’ll get my assistant to call your office tomorrow and set it up,” Jerry said. “I look forward to seeing you both.”
The message hung in the air—his fiancée had better be there.
Damian ended the call and stared up at the ceiling. He’d figure something out—he had to. For the last four years it had felt like he was moving through quicksand. Work had kept him busy, but the other areas of his life had stalled. One beer-fuelled night a few months ago, he’d seen Jenny and Ben out together. That night he’d packed a suitcase and walked out of the apartment he’d once shared with his ex-wife. He hadn’t returned.
Movers had put his things in storage, and he’d been living in a hotel room ever since. He was in limbo. Not wanting to be living in the past, but unable to move forward. If only he could get one back at Jenny and Ben, then he might feel as though he’d levelled the playing field and be able to move on with his life.
He needed a redhead. He wanted the redhead.
“Damian?” Leila’s voice came through on the intercom. “I’ve got Corinna here for your lunch date.”
“Send her in. I need to finish up an email before we go.”
He was tapping away at his computer when his sister walked in. As usual, she looked perfectly fashionable. Her grey eyes—identical in colour to his—were accentuated by a pair of chunky black glasses that would have looked awkward on most people, but looked chic on her.
“Ticktock,” she said, dropping down into one of the chairs facing his desk. “We can’t be late. I’ve got a class at two.”
“You need to graduate and face the real world sometime, you know.”
“I’ve graduated once already.” She grinned. “No one said I couldn’t go back for more.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“There are worse vices in the world than academia. Not all of us are so desperate to become corporate slaves,” she teased.
He shook his head, refusing to take the bait. Despite the decade between them, they were as close as a brother and sister could be. Different, yes, but they had a deep bond. Maybe it was because he’d been like another parent to her. He’d cooked her meals, driven her to ballet class and cheered like a maniac as she’d received her bachelor’s degree.
But that meant she knew what buttons to push and made a sport out of winding him up. Not today, though. He had bigger fish to fry than letting his sister get under his skin.
“What are you doing with this?” She reached over his desk and picked up the compact.
“Uh...” Close as he and Corinna were, their sex lives were not up for discussion. “I need to return it.”
“No shit.” She flipped the compact open to check her appearance. “Lainey must be having kittens.”
Damian blinked. “Excuse me?”
“This is her compact. Well, it belonged to her grandmother, but it’s hers now. I’ve been telling her to put it somewhere safe, but she carries it everywhere.” She shook her head. “Like a good luck charm. Wait, no...what did she call it?” Corinna snapped her fingers. “A talisman.”
Lainey.
There’s no way she could have...
A cold fist enveloped his heart and squeezed. But her voice had been different. And her hair had been different.
She’s a fucking hairdresser. You don’t think she could have dyed her hair?
He forced himself to remain calm...at least on the outside. “You’re sure it’s hers?”
Corinna looked at him strangely. “Positive. There’s a little set of initials in the embroidery, and Lainey has the same initials as her grandmother.” She put the compact on the desk and pointed to one of the roses, where a very subtle shift in the colour of the threads revealed the letters LK. He’d never have noticed it if she hadn’t pointed it out. “She’s had this thing since her grandmother passed away years ago. I’d recognise it anywhere.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He couldn’t flip out right now, because the last thing he wanted was to explain to his little sister that he’d accidentally screwed her best friend. He needed to play it cool.
“It must have fallen out of her bag last time I gave her a lift.” He shrugged. “I found it under the seat of the Audi when I was cleaning it, but I had no idea who it belonged to.”
“Because so many women ride in your car.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to drop it off to her?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll return it myself. I’m heading out her way tonight anyway. I should stop in to see her—it’s been a while.”
“Okay.” Corinna looked at him strangely. It wasn’t like he’d ever mentioned “dropping in” on Lainey before. But Corinna’s stomach rumbled and she huffed. “Can we go now? If I don’t eat soon I’m going to turn into Bitchzilla.”
“I definitely don’t want that.” He pushed up from his chair and pocketed the compact.
Tonight he’d call in to see Lainey and confirm if his fears were true—that he’d found the redhead right when he needed her, but that she was definitely someone he shouldn’t have slept with.
* * *
Lainey stood in her tiny kitchen, cradling a mug of coffee, and quietly tried not to lose her shit. This week had been a complete fucking disaster. First, she’d had zero luck in tracking down her grandmother’s compact. The limo company had been sweet and checked multiple times for her, but to no avail. Then she’d dropped her phone into a sink full of water and now the damn thing wouldn’t turn on. And, like the cherry on top of a giant fuck-you sundae, Imogen’s friend refused to accept the masquerade mask back because of the broken strap. Which had meant forking out more money she couldn’t afford to buy a broken mask.
Frustration bubbled like lava in her veins. It was karma, for sure. Karma for tricking Damian and keeping secrets from Corinna. And to what end?
“Only the best sex of my entire life,” Lainey grumbled.
And not the best sex in the way people tended to fling those words around. It was literally the best. It was the Ferrari of sex. The Chanel of sex. The kind of sex that people scoffed at in romance novels and labelled unrealistic, because nobody could come like that on the first try with a new partner, right?
Wrong.
It was like Damian had been in her head every time she’d reached between her legs in the dead of night, thinking about what she would do with him if only she had the chance. Like he’d saved up all her fantasies and distilled them into one perfect, never-to-be-repeated experience.
And instead of feeling over the moon that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted, she felt bloody miserable, because one taste wasn’t enough. Nowhere near it.
She twirled her hair around her finger and startled herself with the bright red hue. She still wasn’t used to it. Every time she walked past a mirror she gave herself a fright. But the longer she wore the vibrant colour, the more she liked it.
A knock at the front door snapped Lainey out of her worries and she put her coffee down before going to answer it. “Hello?” she said as she swung the door open.
Time seemed to slow as her brain tried to catch up with what she was seeing. Damian McKnight, standing on her doorstep, looking hot and pissed as hell. He wore a charcoal suit with a white shirt and baby-blue tie, which brought out the subtle blue tones in his grey eyes. But the soft colours did nothing to lessen the impact of his ice-cold stare and the hard set of his jaw. His nostrils flared as his gazed raked over her.
Oh my God, he knows.
“Uh, hi, Damian.” She swallowed. “Are you looking for Corinna? She’s not here right now.”
“I wasn’t looking for her,” he said. The words squeezed out between his teeth, the razor-sharp edge of his anger palpable in the night air. “I came to see you.”
“Oh.” She stepped back and held the door, unsure what to say.
Maybe he doesn’t know and you’re being paranoid. Perhaps he’s had a bad day...
He stalked past her and made his way to the kitchen. Everything about his movement screamed agitation—from the stiffness in his shoulders to the fists bunched by his sides. He wasn’t saying a word and Lainey had to fight the urge to fill the silence, because she was bound to say the wrong thing.
They were in a nonverbal stand-off. Damian leaned against the counter, stuffing his hands into his pockets, encouraging her eyes to drop down to that general area. Like she needed help in the gawking department. His legs were crossed at the ankles, showing off a pair of expensive black shoes. The position could have easily been mistaken for a relaxed stance, but Lainey wasn’t a fool. She knew he was about to strike.
She dropped down into one of her rickety dining chairs and waited, sucking on the inside of her cheek to keep the words from spilling out.
“Haven’t you got anything to say to me?” His tone was frigid. “A confession, perhaps?”
Hell, he made Frosty the Snowman look warm and fuzzy.
“Fine,” he said after a few beats of silence. “Have it your way.”
He pulled one hand out of his pocket and placed her grandmother’s compact on the table in front of her. She snatched it up, her breath releasing in a long whoosh. Having it back in her possession made the world feel right again, but one thing was now clear: Damian knew exactly what she’d done.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her thumb stroking the embroidery. The worn threads and familiar habit soothed her.
“I want to hear you say it.”
The rough, gravelly sound of his voice flooded her with memories of their evening together—it was so similar to the dirty way he’d growled into her ear. A tremor rippled through her, warming her body from the inside out, almost as if anticipating a repeat performance. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not since he looked as though he was about to strangle her.
She sucked in a breath. “Why? It won’t change things.”
“Because I deserve the truth,” he said. “You owe me that, at least.”
Shit. It shouldn’t surprise her that he wasn’t going to back down. The man was a bull when he wanted something.
“I snuck into the ball.” Her chest constricted, the enormity of her actions suddenly weighing on her like great big boulders. “I lied about my identity.”
“And?”
“I slept with you.” Dammit, why did her voice have to fail her now? The words came out jagged and panicky.
“I didn’t quite catch that.” He folded his arms across his chest, the intimidating breadth of his shoulders casting a shadow over the table.
“I slept with you,” she said in a louder, although no more steady, voice.
“You fooled me.” His eyes were like fire, ready to burn her up until she was nothing but ash. “Why?”
Because I’ve wanted you ever since I laid eyes on you. I’ve wanted you in every sense of the word—from the most innocent to the most possessive to the things I could never say aloud.
“I don’t know,” she lied.
“So I could have been any man, then? You snuck in to have anonymous sex with someone, and I was the guy who happened to end up between your legs?” His jaw ticked.
“No.” She shook her head, confused by the hint of jealousy in his voice. Was he bothered that she might have wanted anyone? “It wasn’t random.”
“Then you targeted me?”
Her chest rose and fell, her breath becoming rapid. What would he say next? Was he disgusted with her? Disgusted with himself? Did his desire lessen now that he knew who Ariel was?
“Yes.”
“You’ve put me in a very hard place, Lainey.” He raked a hand through his hair. “A very hard fucking place.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I don’t want your apologies.” He sighed.
“Then what do you want?”
“Your help.”
Lainey raised a brow. “What?”
“We told someone important that you were my fiancée,” he said. “Jerry McPartlin. And now he wants me and my nonexistent fiancée to accompany him and his wife to dinner.”
“And you want me to pretend to be your fiancée?”
“You did a pretty good job pretending last time.” He planted his palms on the table and leaned closer. Next to him, it looked like dollhouse furniture. “Very convincing.”
She gulped. “Was I?”
“You screamed in my ear like you were having the time of your life, and I had no idea you were pulling the wool over my eyes.” His expression told her nothing. “You got me good.”
The feeling was annoyingly mutual. “I didn’t hold a gun to your head, Damian. You agreed to the terms.”
“If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have slept with you.”
The rejection stung like a thousand blades. “Right.”
“So I need you to come to dinner with me next week and play along with your new identity. Okay, Ariel?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” She sucked in a shaky breath, humiliation and anger and frustration roiling in her chest.
“No, you’ve got a lot of nerve. I don’t want to do this any more than you do, but here we are.” He glowered. “And don’t get your knickers in a knot because I said I wouldn’t have slept with you if I’d known who you were. It’s nothing to do with attraction.”
“Then what is it?”
“You’re like family.” He shook his head as if she were an idiot. “Why would I risk making a mess of that?”
“You don’t think it was worth it?” The words popped out before she could think about their consequences.
He looked at her for a long, hard moment, and Lainey seriously wondered if he’d be able to melt her with his stare. “I’m not answering that,” he said eventually. “I need you to give me one dinner. Nothing more.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “And what do we tell Cori?”
“We don’t breathe a word of it to anyone.” He pushed up from the table and pinned her with a stare. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
“Good. I’ll send you the details.”
Lainey sat, rooted to the chair, as Damian left the apartment. The bang of the door shutting behind him echoed through the quiet space. Then the only thing she could hear was the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.
One more night with Damian, pretending to be his fiancée. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.