by Noelle Adams
He hung up the phone, more rattled than he’d been before. And now he only had twenty minutes to talk to the lawyers before the meetings.
Fuck Vern Edwards—and everything he’d put the Damons through. He was one of the few people Harrison actually hated.
If they knew the amount of money Edwards wanted, they’d have just given it to him, but they could never seem to get to that point, thanks to the man’s endless stalling.
Maybe they could get there today.
Then he would talk to the hotel manager and find out Etta’s room number.
…
“Promise me, Grandpapa,” Marietta urged. “Promise me you’ll accept a settlement today.”
“I will accept a reasonable settlement offer.”
She groaned, almost choking on the sip of coffee she’d just taken. “But no offer will seem reasonable. It’s all too terrible to be reasonable. You just need to accept one and be done.”
“They throw money at us and think that’s what we want.” Her grandfather’s face darkened, the way it always did when he thought about the Damons. “No amount of money can make up for your sister’s life and the years you couldn’t walk.”
“Of course it can’t!” Tears burned Marietta’s eyes, at least partly a consequence of getting so little sleep last night. “That’s the point. Nothing can make up for Melissa. But holding onto it isn’t good for us. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for me. Grandpapa, please.”
Vern Edwards’s expression softened. “I will try, Etta. I promise. But they always put impossible clauses into the offer, like we will never again be allowed to talk to the media about this.”
“Do we really need to keep talking to reporters?”
His shoulders stiffened. “I will always want the right to speak the truth.”
“Well, then stay strong on that and give up the rest of it. Take less money. Or take no money. We don’t care about the money anyway.”
“The money will be for you.”
“I don’t want their damned money,” she burst out, bristling so much she forgot her old-fashioned grandfather didn’t like it when she swore. “I’d never touch their money. I don’t want anything to do with the Damons. I just want the whole thing over with so we can move on.”
She’d done her best not to think about the Damons for the last fifteen years. She still occasionally had nightmares about the hellish car ride in the rain, so she did nothing that might trigger any further trauma. She didn’t read about them in the papers. She changed the channel when Cyrus Damon was in the news. She avoided anything connected to the Damons and prayed for the day the lawsuit was finally settled, so they’d no longer be part of her or her grandfather’s life.
“I will try. I will try.”
It was the best she could hope for. She stood when her grandfather did and brushed croissant crumbs off the skirt of her dark blue suit. “Is it time to go down?”
“Yes. Are you sure you must go?”
She’d never attended any of the meetings. When she was a child, he hadn’t let her, and later she hadn’t wanted to. She’d insisted on coming to this one, however, to make sure her grandfather settled. “I’m definitely going.” She put a hand on her stomach at the stirring of her nerves. “I haven’t seen Cyrus Damon in person since I was a kid.”
“He never comes himself. He won’t lower himself to meet with me. He sends one of his nephews and an army of lawyers.”
She took her grandfather’s arm. “Well, we’ll be more than a match for them.”
…
They met their lawyer in the lobby of the hotel and then took the elevator to the second floor, where they’d arranged to meet the Damons in a business suite. There, they were offered coffee, juice, or water by a hotel employee—Yvonne, according to her engraved nametag—and were shown into an otherwise empty conference room.
Marietta had heard voices in another room. She assumed that was where the army of Damon lawyers and the nephew were.
She wondered which one had been sent.
She sipped her water and tried to stay calm, crossing her legs over the slight soreness.
Marietta couldn’t believe she’d had sex last night. It would have felt like a thrilling, sensual dream, except she was definitely tender. She could still feel Harry on her lips, lying on top of her, moving inside her. She was sure he’d enjoyed himself, too.
Maybe he would find her number. It would be ridiculous to imagine any sort of a future, but one more night might not be too much to hope for.
It was exactly nine when the voices got louder. They must have opened the door to the other room. She honed in on one in particular.
“Yvonne?” he was saying—clear, masculine, cultured, American with an occasional British inflection, like he’d gone to Oxford or Cambridge. “Can you bring the coffee into the conference room so we don’t lose time? And we’ll break in two hours. Thank you.”
Marietta’s first reaction was surprised joy at the sound of his voice, but that sentiment quickly faded. She stood in an anxious rush. What the hell was Harry doing here?
Maybe he was a Damon lawyer.
No. That wasn’t right. It took only a few seconds to put the pieces together.
One of the nephews was named Harrison. She remembered that, despite her avoidance of all things Damon. Harrison Damon.
Her Harry.
She paled. Covered her mouth with her hand. She’d had sex with a Damon, and now he was about to walk into this room.
Nothing good could come of this. A settlement would never be made. She couldn’t be here.
“Etta, girl, are you ill?”
“Yes,” she said, improvising, “I don’t feel well. Is it all right if I go?”
“Of course. Go lie down. I will come to check on you later.”
She started for the door, but it was too late.
He looked professional in his expensive black suit. He exuded that aura of power she’d first noticed in the club. His presence alone commanded attention in any room.
Of course. He was a Damon. He’d been raised to think he was a king.
Just like Michael, whose recklessness had killed her sister.
She clutched the edge of the table to stay on her feet.
Harry—Harrison hadn’t noticed her yet. He was shaking hands with her grandfather, smiling with perfectly cool courtesy.
He hadn’t known who she was last night. He’d thought she was just some girl.
He was going to be…
“Let me introduce my granddaughter, Marietta.” Her grandfather looked over at her like she was precious. He didn’t know she’d given herself to a Damon last night.
Harrison froze when he saw her. She could see the truth processing in his eyes.
“What is this?” he demanded at last. “What is this?” He only raised his voice slightly, but his anger was palpable, intimidating.
This was bad. This was so, so bad.
“Harr—Harrison,” she began, trying desperately to control her voice. “I think there’s been some confus—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He turned to her grandfather, shooting him a frigid look. “You’d really whore out your own granddaughter to win the case?”
Marietta’s vision darkened when she realized the horrible conclusion he’d leapt to.
This was so much worse than she’d thought.
…
The truth closed in on Harrison like a sledgehammer.
The sweet, sexy, clever, utterly sincere Etta from last night was also the girl who’d been seriously injured in the car accident fifteen years ago, now no longer in a wheelchair. The girl who falsely accused Michael Damon of reckless driving. The girl whose grandfather had hounded his family with this lawsuit for years.
Just like Grace. All of it was a lie.
She’d known who he was all along. She’d found him at the club, tripped over him on purpose, seduced him like a pro.
And he’d fallen for it like a clueless, horny teenager—wh
en he really should have known better.
“How stupid you must have thought me,” he said coldly, turning back to Marietta.
“No,” she choked. “That’s not what happened.”
She sounded convincing, but she’d also sounded credible last night. She was a consummate actress.
“What did you call her?” Edwards roared.
Harrison had years of experience in dealing with conflict and angry negotiations. He didn’t even flinch at the other man’s bellow. “What would you call it, then? What is it called when you send your granddaughter to screw me—for what? To somehow get me on your side? Did you think that would work? Or was the plan for her to screw me into—”
“Stop it.” Marietta’s gripped the table so hard her knuckles turned white. “Stop. It. Now.”
He arched his eyebrows and tried to appear in control, but he didn’t feel in control.
Waves of hot and cold assaulted him as shock, rage, betrayal, and bone-deep humiliation vied for control. He felt just like he had with Grace. Except it was worse this time. He’d already been through it once.
He’d thought Marietta was different.
He couldn’t stand to look at her anymore and wasn’t sure what he should do.
One of his lawyers was talking to him. “Mr. Damon? Maybe we should sit down and discuss—”
“No. The negotiations are over. I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to dealing with, but I do not play games, and I will not negotiate with anyone who uses such underhanded tactics to win.”
“Nobody used any underhanded tactics.” Marietta’s voice shook. “If you’ll just listen—”
He glanced toward her but couldn’t really see her. “Listen to more lies? I don’t think so. You’ll have to fuck your way into a different fortune.”
She made a sound like a whimper. He tried to take pleasure in having hurt her.
“How dare you!” Edwards burst out, stepping over until he was in Harrison’s face. “You’re just like the rest of them. You Damons are all selfish, uncaring, womanizing criminals. The authorities might be under your thumb, but not everyone will be deceived. The world will know—”
Harrison sucked in a breath, suddenly understanding their plan. “So that’s it,” he drawled in the tone Andrew called his viper voice. “You have pictures? Videos? Of your granddaughter naked in bed with me?”
When he realized what he was saying—how out of control he was—he turned abruptly on his heel. He didn’t behave this way. He wouldn’t let them reduce him to their level.
He strode out of the room without saying another word.
He tried to think clearly, tried to move into crisis mode. He’d always been good at dealing with emergencies with a cool head and keen insight.
This could be bad for the family, for Damon Enterprises. If they had pictures, videos, they could use them to…
He couldn’t seem to follow any thought through to the end.
He shouldn’t react this way. Not after a random one-night stand with a woman who meant nothing to him.
Harrison was a business and legal strategist. He tackled complex problems and overwhelming challenges with smooth efficiency. He was the nephew who could always be depended on.
If he’d thrown his family into more scandal by this foolish affair, his uncle might never forgive him.
“Mr. Damon!”
He turned and saw Marietta hurrying down the hall after him, her heels clipping on the polished floor. He’d hoped the elevator would have come by now, but no such luck.
He turned to her, some niggling sense of fair play prompting him to not simply walk away. “You have something to say to me?”
She’d been pale in the conference room. She wasn’t pale anymore. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes flashed with anger. “Yes, I have something to say to you, you arrogant, foul-minded asshole. What did we ever do to deserve being treated that way?”
He almost gaped. “What did you do? Shall I rehearse the entire litany of offenses over the last fifteen years? Or shall we sum it up with simple, dirty extortion?”
She clenched her fists at her side, trembling with fury. “After last night, how can you possibly think that about me?”
Beneath his anger, he was astonished she still held onto her lies. “How can I not think it? How much of a fool do you take me for? You think I’ll believe you really didn’t know who I was, when your family has spent years trying to bleed money from us?”
“Why would I have done it at all?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who used her body for profit.”
“Fine. If I’m a whore, then tell me how much my performance was worth last night. How much are you willing to pay to have fucked a virgin?”
A question flashed in his mind about whether she’d been a virgin at all. Could she have faked it? For what purpose? She hadn’t bled, but he understood that virgins didn’t always do so. Could she have…
He shook the thought away. It was irrelevant. “Name your price, and I’ll write you a check. Or do you prefer cash?”
He hated himself for the crude words almost as much as he hated her. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick billfold, and counted out bills. “I’ve got…two thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars here. Is that a sufficient down payment? You know I’m good for the rest.”
His tone was nasty, bitter. It didn’t sound like him at all.
“Stop it, Harry! Just stop.”
She wasn’t going to call him Harry again.
He stuffed the cash into his pocket. The depth of his wrath was irrational, but he couldn’t rein it in. Beneath the anger was humiliation, as excruciating as any physical wound. Beneath that, there was something else, an ache he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge, much less identify.
But together they pushed him into the icy hauteur he commanded when he was most furious. “My name is Harrison,” he bit out. “Harrison Damon.”
Marietta’s face twisted. His words had found their mark, but she didn’t cave. She replied with an exhausted bitterness, “Well, you’ve certainly lived up to your name today.”
Those words stung as much as everything else had, but the elevator had finally come. Harrison stepped on without another a word.
Chapter Four
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Anne asked as she and Marietta waited in line for the security checkpoint at the Marseille airport.
“Don’t be silly. You already took a day off to meet me here. You can’t take off any more.” When Anne looked like she was about to object, Marietta continued, “I do appreciate your coming. If you hadn’t, Grandpapa would have come, and then I wouldn’t have been able to stop him from going with me.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone with you when you talk to Mr. Damon?”
“Yeah. But it’s my disaster. I’m the one who needs to fix it.”
She and her grandfather had gone home to Aix shortly after the confrontation at the hotel. She’d cried and thought and talked with her grandfather for a week until she’d decided on her plan—fly to England to meet with Cyrus Damon and try to get negotiations back on track. She and her grandfather needed the closure, and the only way to get that was to settle.
“Are you sure it’s not worth talking to Harrison again?”
Marietta stiffened. “No. He’s not going to believe me. Anyway, I don’t want anything to do with him after the way he treated me. I’m hoping not to see him at all. If I can get in to see Mr. Damon, I’ll try to explain things and arrange another meeting—hopefully with him rather than Harrison. Then I’ll leave.”
“Okay.” Anne stepped out of the way of a pushy middle-aged couple behind them. “You’ll do great.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Marietta smothered a swell of insecurity. It did sound like a rather insane plan.
“No. I think it’s good that you’re doing it.” When Marietta raised an eyebrow Anne continued, “It’s like the old you.”
“What do you mean?” Despite the question, she knew exactly what Anne meant.
“The old you. Before you could walk you were fearless. But for the last two years you’ve just sort of…I don’t know…shrunk.”
Her friend was right. Marietta could argue she was getting used to the drastic change in her life, but she’d had a hard time moving on. Whenever she tried, panic paralyzed her.
She’d never believed the endless surgeries would be successful. She’d never thought she would be able to walk again.
Her life was supposed to have headed one way, and now it went another. She hadn’t been ready. Maybe that was why she still felt stuck.
“Well, wish me luck.”
Anne hugged her and stepped out of line, since Marietta had reached the checkpoint. Dread rose in her belly as she went through security alone.
It had been a long time since she’d done anything alone.
…
Marietta had waited for more than an hour, and it was getting on her nerves.
She’d shown up at Damon Manor without an appointment on a Sunday afternoon, so she certainly hadn’t expected him to drop everything to talk to her. She hadn’t even been sure he’d let her in.
Security had motioned her through the gate, however, and the butler had shown her to a sitting room and offered her a cup of tea. Then she’d been completely ignored.
If they’d let her in, they could at least give her the courtesy of acknowledging her existence. Cyrus Damon was supposed to be the model of old-world civility, but he was evidently as rude and arrogant as his nephew.
He was probably jerking her around. Making her wait forever in this stuffy, old-fashioned room.
She’d worked herself into a fine state of righteous wrath when the door opened. The butler entered.
“Would you like more tea, Ms. Edwards?”
Marietta released a breath and smiled at him. She could hardly take out her frustration on this quiet, considerate man. Even if he resented her for his employer’s sake, his blue eyes conveyed nothing but kindness. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
If she drank any more tea, she would have to go to the bathroom.
“My pleasure, Ms. Edwards.”