Tall, Dark and Damaged (Damaged Heroes #1)

by Sarah Andre

  Devon forced his own face not to register alarm. “I can’t,” he said automatically. “I have a prior commitment.” No one canceled on Nicole unless it involved a hospital visit on her part. This was their engagement party at the most exclusive restaurant in Manhattan.

  “So it’s okay for me to confront dozens of angry people as long as you aren’t inconvenienced.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Hire a security firm and bill Ashby Enterprises.”

  O’Callaghan slapped his desk and stood, a position of power. Startled at the man’s sudden confidence, Devon rose quickly too. “Mr. Ashby, I’ll accept your twenty percent raise, the fishing trip, and the additional security measures only if you face these people with me. You choose what’s more important—this project or your prior commitment.”

  “Peter, this is ridiculous—”

  “Is it, Mr. Ashby? I tell you I’m being threatened, you witness a call threatening my children, and you think a few incentives will mollify me? It doesn’t matter if there are a hundred security people lining the walls. You confront these people and own this teardown.”

  Devon set his jaw, trying to hold back his temper. “I’d be happy to if you can reschedule the meeting for another evening.”

  “The notices have gone out. The last thing I’m going to do is cancel or reschedule. That’s just asking for a riot.”

  “Fine. I’ll get my CFO to fly out here and stand beside you.”

  O’Callaghan folded his arms. “You, Mr. Ashby. I need to know how important this project and my well-being is to you.”

  “I appreciate your point—”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Devon walked to the door, his back ramrod straight. Now was not the time to make any impulsive decisions or remarks, although obscenities clogged his throat. “I’ll be in contact.”

  “My secretary will text you the time and place.”

  Devon strode out into the sunny morning, a beautiful Indian summer day, but the synapses in his brain were firing so fast he barely noticed his surroundings. Cancel on Nicole? That would trigger unimaginable consequences. She still didn’t know about the takeover, but her ability to sniff out losers long before they became a problem was epic. If someone in their circle had behaved the way any of his family had last night or this morning, she’d have cut them out of her life without a backward glance. It was a talent he was still trying to acquire. How would he explain this without revealing how far he’d sunk into his family’s quagmire? She’d have little tolerance if he didn’t sound completely authoritative while explaining how crucial it was to remain here. In command. Efficiently solving this crisis. Remember the “love you.”

  Once inside the car, Devon hesitated over the green icon on the phone’s screen. Shit. There was no way. He had to go back in and tell O’Callaghan to shove it. Blackmailing the CEO of Ashby Enterprises just to prove a point? Let the developer find another fucking project; Ashby Enterprises would suffer through the consequences.

  No. O’Callaghan had the weight of his reputation and mega Chicago influence. It was in his power to make finding another developer very difficult, and Ashby didn’t have the leeway for a long-haul delay. No way could Devon afford to lose the man’s crucial union contacts just to attend a party that could also be rescheduled. He needed to channel Nicole’s ruthlessness at staying the course and ignoring the emotional upheaval inside.

  The call immediately clicked to voicemail. Oh yeah. She booked a spa day. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he listened to the clipped message. A short beep followed. He opened his mouth, heart hammering. Which decision was right? Out tumbled the words… “I’m sorry…emergency just cropped up…doubt I’ll get home in time.” He hung up and looked at the cell phone. Apparently his subconscious had decided for him, but he’d sure as hell sounded pathetic.

  Driving back to his childhood home, Devon dragged his attention to the next crisis: the upcoming meeting with his father. The mystery of Harrison wanting Ashby Enterprises had something to do with the sixties. Why else would Wickham Corp be so cutthroat in wanting to buy up that property again? Maybe it’d been the site of a toxic waste dump and his father was avoiding a class-action lawsuit. Or buried skeletons. Probably the latter. But hopefully this was enough to bluff the old man to back the hell off. Devon exhaled harshly.

  At the next traffic light, he put in a call to Eric, who answered in one ring. “How’d it go?”

  “Everything’s on schedule.” Devon skipped over the details. He’d tell Eric about the concessions later, after he knew where he stood with his father. “If there are no delays with union negotiations, we could get the project underway before the holidays.”

  “Excellent. I’ll call the board.”

  Devon caught him up on Wickham’s odd repurchasing of property they’d held in the sixties. “Hopefully this info will be the negotiating tool we’ve been looking for.”

  “If it is, I’m buying the first round of drinks at your engagement party.”

  Devon paused, dread pulsing through his veins. “I just canceled that. O’Callaghan needs a babysitter when he confronts the Rogers Park neighborhood tonight.”

  A moment of silence. Then, “Want me to Google whether ass transplants are successful? Because Nicole will shred yours.”

  Devon grunted as the light turned green and he waited for the car in front of him to clue in and drive. “So how many shares did you sell?” A question that should have been asked last night. Information he should have learned the day it happened. His hands tightened on the wheel.

  “Not enough for anyone to threaten us, Dev. I wanted to jump into the commodities and currency market; those traders are raking in the profits. I just needed some seed money.”

  Eric was the kind of guy who shared too much information: explicit descriptions of his sexual escapades with bar hookups, the mole on his toe that had three hairs growing from it, hell—even the frequency and descriptions of his bowel movements. That he’d held on to this side hobby was peculiar, to say the least. “When exactly did you sell?” Devon finally asked.

  “Last Tuesday. This should not be what we’re focusing on.”

  Devon bit back a caustic reply. Had the sale not happened, they wouldn’t be in this mess. “Have you gotten any info on Honey and Wesley?”

  “I hired an ex-NSA employee, name is Kevin Houghton. He’s working on them, plus anything he can come up with on Bryant. We should have a buttload of info by this afternoon. It’s costing us a ton.”

  “It’ll be worth it.”

  Twenty minutes later, Devon parked between the fire marshal’s sedan and a white van whose sides were custom-painted with Moore and Morrow Art Restoration. On instinct, he glanced around for a long auburn ponytail, but only saw a couple of skinny guys hammering two-by-fours into crates. He nodded as he passed, his mood brightening with each step. He had fodder on Harrison, had kept O’Callaghan on the job, and had just scheduled a midafternoon appointment to sign over his mother’s trust. The fallout when he heard from Nicole would be bad, but she also understood corporate life. In the end, she’d agree his decision to stay in Chicago tonight was crucial.

  He let himself into the Wickham foyer, starkly dim after the bright sunshine. Joseph appeared as he shrugged off his overcoat. “Lunch will be served in the dining room in five minutes, sir.”

  Devon tensed at the innocent statement. If the past had taught him anything, it was to enter that dragon’s den calm and indifferent. He couldn’t choke down food and dodge precisely aimed barbs with Harrison an hour before his meeting.

  A flash of movement on the landing caught his eye. Hannah descended the stairs, her steps light, her attention completely fixated on the musty, old tapestry curving along the wall. Once again her expression was entranced. She clutched a paper lunch sack in her left fist. A brief memory of how she gripped him— Enough. “I won’t be dining with the family today, Joseph,” he said, without taking his eyes off the ethereal woman. “Ple
ase have Mrs. Farlow prepare a picnic for two and send it out to the gazebo.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Devon crossed the foyer and stood at the bottom step. He hadn’t made it through the apology in the sitting room; this would be the perfect time. He waited for her to notice him.

  Back in high school, Hannah, who’d transferred in their senior year, had immediately hung with the book nerds. That fatal flaw, combined with being taller than most guys and her perpetual blush, had made her an easy target for the bullies. Why the blush, Stork—did you just fart? That remark was the first time he’d really noticed her, because the jerk sauntering past while yelling it was Brady Goff, the asshole linebacker who eventually became his brother-in-law. Amid the cruel laughter in the crowded hall, Devon had impulsively stuck out his foot. The thug had gone down like a redwood.

  Immediately the milling students had redirected their laughter, which Devon had barely registered because the sudden eye contact with Hannah had squeezed something in his chest. Her face grew redder, deepening the green of her eyes to emerald, and he’d zeroed in on the tortured vulnerability filling them. Protectiveness had swelled inside him, and when she’d gifted him with a faint smile, the hall noise faded dead away. Before he could emerge from the weird catatonic state, she’d disappeared into the girls’ room. And that was it. He’d even waited past the late bell, but she never came out.

  For two weeks, he’d impatiently sought her out—how hard could it be to find a tall redhead? Not a glimpse. It was almost like she was avoiding him, the All-American shortstop, captain of the baseball team, and generally considered the most popular guy. There wasn’t another girl in the three surrounding school districts who hadn’t made it perfectly clear she’d put out even before he reversed out of her father’s driveway.

  He’d finally caught a clue and went on reconnaissance through the library, and there she’d been, tucked in a far back corner cubicle. It’d taken every ounce of charm he possessed to get her to agree to a movie, but the whole process wasn’t the smooth, assured invite he was used to. In fact, it was so awkward he’d stuttered and matched her blush for blush.

  One thing hadn’t changed in all these years: Hannah’s inattention to the real world around her. Even when they were dating, a part of her had always been off somewhere in her head, her thoughts usually eliciting that secret half-smile. The harder he’d tried to capture all of her, the more it seemed like trying to capture a wisp of smoke. And in the end, he’d walked away with a shredded heart.

  He blinked the memories away, but a glimmer of the teenage indignation remained. With five steps to go, how could she be this close and not be as drawn to him as he was to her? Hypocrite. He’d just canceled on his fiancée—what was he doing mooning over Hannah and her secret smile? In fact, lunch with her suddenly seemed like a terrible idea.

  The second the thought flitted through his head, she turned from the tapestry, and they locked eyes. His heart thrummed in response. She inhaled sharply, and yep, there was the blush, creeping up her neck. That strange surge of protectiveness rose within him again, throwing him completely off guard. She paused on the step, almost shyly. He should say something, but nothing came to mind. Where was Renegade, who worked a room like a politician? He hadn’t felt this off-kilter since asking her for that first date. And this wouldn’t be a date. What the hell was the matter with him? Don’t ask her to lunch. Just say hi and walk away!

  “Is—is something wrong?”

  He realized he was scowling up at her, and forced out a grin. “Caught up in crazy thoughts.”

  Footsteps rang down the long hall, and he glanced right. Damn! Harrison and some minion were a hundred feet away. The old man was engrossed in barking out an order and scrawling his signature on the top sheet of a thick binder. Devon had seconds to get the hell out of here before he was tagged, bagged, and dragged to the dining room.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and snatched her hand. Or tried to. Because of her sack lunch, he grabbed more wrist than palm. Ignoring her shocked oh, he pulled her from the last step and speed-walked around the corner into the small parlor, out the other side, and across the sunroom. At the French doors overlooking the back lawn, he halted abruptly, pulse thumping as he listened for footsteps or voices.

  “What on earth are you doing, Devon?”

  He gazed down at Hannah’s wary face. Her pink lips were open and slightly breathless. Those deep green eyes, ringed with warm amber, blinked once as if in slow motion. Two glaring certainties struck him: he’d be perfectly content to spend the next hour standing here staring into them, and, on a gentlemanly level, he stood way too close. Just like when he’d hugged her way too intimately in the sitting room.

  He should back off, but his limbs wouldn’t budge. As if his soul had never splintered, some primitive side of him was blindly pulled to her.

  This was wrong. He was engaged. He drew in a deep breath, which resulted in the heady scent of summer peaches, and forced himself to release her wrist. Easing back, he searched for the commanding businessman, but the blustering high schooler grinned sheepishly. “I’m inviting you to lunch.”

  A faint smile lit her face. “You mean kidnapping?”

  He swept a hand around them. “I was giving you a quick tour first.”

  Her smile grew; that dimple forming on her right cheek. He chanted Nicole’s name in his mind.

  “Seriously, why did we race through the house like that?” Hannah glanced at the pink imprint of his grip still marking her skin.

  He caught himself before he reached out to caress it, and gestured at the back lawns instead. “It’s such a nice day, and I hate eating alone—”

  “Liar,” she scoffed. “I’d bet my paycheck you’re trying to avoid your father.”

  He winced. After all this time, she still read him too easily. “Having lunch with an old friend came in a close second.” Jesus! Could he have found a more insulting way to describe what she’d meant to him?

  An awkward moment hung between them until she held up her sack lunch. “Thanks, but I was heading out to sit out by Poseidon. I’ve got a bunch of calls to make, and my team’s crating out there. I should go check—”

  “They’re fine; I just saw them. Come on, Han. I haven’t seen you in twelve years. Let me have this one hour.” He motioned toward the gazebo to the far left of the property.

  The unease that flashed across her face mirrored the warning buzz inside his brain. But after a slight hesitation, she stepped out into the warm afternoon.

  Chapter 7

  Hannah had two options: continue trembling like a teenage imbecile, or completely ignore the familiar stranger striding on her right. She gazed left, where a thick forest of ancient oaks and maples blocked the mansion next door, and concentrated on how the trees swayed in the cheerful afternoon breeze. Leaves of scarlet, sienna, and sunburst fluttered like colorful rain onto the vast lawn. Ahead was a large gazebo right out of The Sound of Music, intimately secluded with twining vines of dark ivy. Beyond, like the backdrop to a vibrant painting, Lake Michigan sparkled in ever-changing hues of blues, the darkest of which reminded her of Devon’s eyes. She should’ve insisted on eating lunch by Poseidon.

  Abruptly, Devon halted. “You know what? Let’s eat down by the boathouse.”

  She glanced over. Boathouse? She hadn’t known one existed. A muscle tensed along his prickly jaw, and she followed his gaze toward the cliff. Although she murmured an assent, and they changed directions, her confusion grew with each step that led them closer to the place where his mother had died.

  Instinct told her this bizarre second meeting—third, counting the blow-off in the library—had something to do with Harrison. By the curt way Devon had said his father’s name in the sitting room this morning, the rift between them was as wide and engulfing as ever. But what was her role here? Devon may be engaged, but every minute she spent in his presence brought her heart that much closer to danger. Why didn’t she have the survival instinct to walk o
ut front and join her team?

  They slowed at the estate border, where a row of pine trees and the graceful weeping willow camouflaged the steep, rocky ledge. Even after all these years, the abrupt drop-off to the beach made her dizzy, and she fought the instinct to step back. She inhaled deeply and concentrated on anything that could be a boathouse. All she saw was the lake, sand, and rocky cliff. “I think it washed away.”

  Devon pointed past the willow brushing the top of the steep stone steps. “Halfway down, there’s an alcove built into the cliff. My great-grandfather carved out a boathouse.”

  Goose bumps prickled her skin at the thought of descending the cliff for any reason. “Why are we here, Dev? Why are you doing this?” A moment of silence stretched long enough that she figured he wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t a part of his life. She’d only been commandeered here so he could avoid his father. And she’d followed willingly, like a devoted puppy. Pathetic.

  He turned from the softly lapping waves. “I wanted to be alone with you. Somewhere no one can find us. And I want to apologize for being such an ass twelve years ago.”

  As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. The words she’d waited so long to hear. Her heart swelled, and her throat squeezed. Just before she completely embarrassed herself by tearing up, he looked over her shoulder and waved. A maid with a picnic basket was on the far lawn, crossing toward the gazebo.

  “Don’t climb down those steps without me.” He loped away in that lithe, athletic jog she remembered so clearly. She bit the inside of her cheek, seeing him that final night, drenched and unwilling to climb her mother’s porch stairs to shelter. Those five steps the figurative impasse as she stood at the top, dry and sobbing at his ultimatum.