Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1)

by Julie Olsen

  Damien was nowhere to be seen.

  “Good afternoon, Miss St. Clair. Mr. Stone was detained but I am to deliver you to Park East Tower,” Paul said as I approached. He was dressed in dark pants and a white shirt with a navy tie. His reddish blond hair was short and parted on the side. He wore dark sunglasses and looked very Secret Service-ish. I looked longingly at my Jeep. This was so weird. Why couldn’t I just drive my own car?

  Sighing, I forced myself to brighten. “Thank you, Paul. I will need to stop by my house first, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course.” He nodded at the other man who had brown hair and a goatee liberally sprinkled with flecks of gray. “Miss St. Clair, this is Matt Bronson. He has been instructed to drive your car to Mr. Stone’s apartment. Do you have your keys?”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes as I found my keys in my purse and handed them over. Honestly, this was ridiculous. If anyone were to see me, they’d think I was making a street-side transaction of some sort.

  Just as he had done this morning‌—‌after I had phoned him using the card Damien had given me‌—‌Paul held my door open as I slid into the backseat. I wondered what he had done with the photo of Travis I gave him this morning. I quickly put the thought out of my head.

  It was all very surreal, being chauffeured around in a Porsche and being called Miss St. Clair. I felt like an imposter to this world, especially in my current clothing choice. Bella would fit in much better in these regal surroundings, my inner-voice taunted.

  With a sinking heart, I couldn’t deny that she was right. I didn’t belong here now. Maybe I never would.

  * * *

  After a quick pit stop at my house‌—‌where I noticed the same dark car from this morning parked across the street and standing sentinel‌—‌we were on our way to Damien’s. I had packed a small bag to last a few days. Paul had accompanied me inside the house, even after I protested that it wasn’t necessary. No doubt, Damien told him to do it.

  I was learning Damien wasn’t kidding when he said he set the rules and everyone followed them.

  After taking my bag and escorting me back to the SUV, Paul once again held the door for me. He placed my bag in the trunk then tucked himself behind the wheel. I met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Please fasten your seat belt, Miss St. Clair.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I frowned bemusedly as I snapped the belt.

  Paul started the car and backed out. I stared out the window at my neighborhood. Once again, it was a surreal feeling. And like before, I felt like a pretender.

  Paul caught my eye in the mirror again and smiled, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “One of the rules, Miss St. Clair. Mr. Stone is a bit of a worrier.”

  I smiled back in commiseration. Of course, as his employee‌—‌his right-hand man as Damien called him‌—‌Paul would definitely be aware of his safety issues.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” I agreed, a light bulb going off. “So, have you done this long? This job, I mean.”

  “I have worked for Mr. Stone for six years.”

  “And has he always been such a stickler for safety?” And what can you tell me about Bella?

  “Since I’ve worked for him, yes.”

  “Do you know why?” The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them.

  Paul stilled, either weighing his next words or not intending to respond to my obvious fishing for information.

  “You should speak to Mr. Stone if you have questions, Miss.” The mood in the car had shifted decidedly toward the arctic climes thanks to my nosiness. What was I thinking, asking kindly and obviously loyal Paul to gossip about his employer?

  “I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t know where that came from.” Yes, you do, that voice in my head singsonged, never missing a chance to kick me when I was down. “It’s been a long day,” I finished lamely.

  “It’s quite all right, Miss St. Clair.” He was all business again and in spite of my apology, a weighted silence permeated the car’s interior.

  Within a few minutes, we turned onto Laclede Avenue. Paul pulled up to the entrance to the building. Unsure of protocol, I forced myself to sit patiently as he rounded the car and opened the door for me.

  Paul smiled warmly. “You will need the code for Mr. Stone’s apartment to enter.” He recited the numbers. “I did not write it down, as it’s sensitive information, but if you prefer, I can escort you up.”

  I repeated the code a few times, committing it to memory. “No, I’ve got it.”

  “I will be up with your bag in a few minutes. Will there be anything else, Miss St. Clair?”

  I wish I hadn’t stuck my foot in my mouth earlier. Things seemed strained between us now.

  “No. Thank you again, Paul. Do you know if Damien will be working late?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you a firm time, but Mr. Stone said he wants you to make yourself at home.”

  Oh. With another small smile, I left Paul and went inside the building. I found the elevator easily enough, as this was my first time entering through the main entrance. When I was here before with Damien we had accessed his apartment through the garage.

  I punched the code into the elevator keypad and was whisked upward. A sense of trepidation overcame me because it felt odd to be here without Damien. Would there be anyone else here?

  The elevator slowed and the doors opened, revealing the foyer I remembered from before, except this time it was flooded with natural light. Taking a calming breath, I stepped out and walked into the great room, my footsteps echoing through the massive space.

  Once again I was awed by the size of the place. I walked to the windows overlooking the green expanse of Forest Park and gazed out on the sprawl of city and parkland. It must have been closing in on six o’clock, the miles of gridlocked cars down Kingshighway a testament to another hustle and bustle rush hour. But from up here, it was serene and peaceful.

  The elevator opened and Paul appeared with my bag. I smiled shyly at him.

  “I’ll just take this upstairs, Miss St. Clair.”

  I walked toward him. “Really, I can handle it. Thank you, Paul,” I blurted.

  He appeared torn. Had I overstepped some sort of boundary by offering to take my own bag? I hoped not; on this I wasn’t backing down. “It’s no trouble, Miss.”

  “I insist, Paul,” I said forcefully, and with a tight smile, he acquiesced.

  “As you wish. I’ll leave it at the foot of the stairs.”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you.” This being waited on business was going to take some getting used to. Whatever must Paul think of me, this girl who Damien rescued off the middle of the street and who now was in possession of his apartment code? Even if he already knew, and he probably did, I’d rather not broadcast our sexual relationship. For all he knew, I was sleeping in a guest room. Sure, that’s exactly what he thinks.

  Oh shut up.

  After Paul left, I meandered through Damien’s apartment, pausing to look at the original artwork adorning the walls. The place was so large for just one man. Every sound I made echoed. It was very unnerving. If I didn’t think I’d break it, I would turn on the TV just to have some background noise, but his media setup was far beyond my capabilities.

  My phone rang, making me jump at the noise. I hurried to my purse, which I had left on a kitchen barstool, and retrieved my phone. It was Damien.

  “Hi,” I breathed.

  “Hi yourself.” His voice was like melted chocolate‌—‌deep, dark and luscious. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and let it drip all over me.

  “Are you making yourself at home?”

  “Yes. When will you get…‌here?” I almost said home, and in fact the word still hovered on my lips.

  Home…

  “I’ve just landed. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “You’re at the airport?”

  “I had meetings in Chicago.”

  Oh
. The meetings I messed up for him yesterday.

  “There is wine in the fridge. Please help yourself. How does Italian sound for dinner?”

  “Sounds yummy.” At the mere mention, my stomach growled.

  “Good. We’ll order in.” There was a rustling on the phone and then the obvious sounds of a car door opening.

  “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” I smiled goofily into the phone at his chuckle.

  “As am I, Olivia,” he said and then inhaled deeply. It was a basic sound of breath being taken, but it was like unspoken words that called to me on a primal level. My grin faded as raw need flooded over me.

  “I’ll see you shortly, sweetheart,” he said softly, and hung up.

  His endearment washed over me, making me feel warm and safe, even as I looked around at my vast surroundings.

  Sighing, I set my phone down on the kitchen bar and easily found the wine in the fridge, which was a study in condiments. Eggs, butter, bread, small cartons of milk and orange juice. A bachelor’s fridge, I mused. The wine was a Pinot Gris, and I grabbed it, searching several cabinets until I found the wine glasses. An electric opener stood at the ready on the counter, and I made quick work of opening the bottle, giving a little cheer when the cork came out cleanly.

  I grabbed the glasses and the wine and headed upstairs, hoping for a quick shower before Damien arrived. After a return trip to retrieve my phone and bag, and several sips of the delicious white wine, I shot off a text to Lucy as to my whereabouts and strolled into the bathroom. The silence was deafening in here as well, my every movement echoing off the walls, so I brought up my playlist on my phone and after arranging my toiletry products where I would need them, I stripped down and relaxed under the warm shower spray.

  I heard, rather than saw, him. My eyes were closed to keep the shampoo suds out, but the sound of the shower door opening and closing was unmistakable.

  “It’s me,” he said softly.

  I smiled, feeling his eyes on me. The knowledge that he was watching me sent shooting sparks to my core and made my nipples stand at attention.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I use your shower,” I said suggestively, my eyes still closed as I rinsed off the shampoo.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I watch,” he said huskily. From the sound of his voice, he was still several feet away within the supersize shower.

  “Why watch, when you can join?”

  The shampoo finally rinsed away, I connected my eyes to his quickly darkening ones and held my hand out. He was still dressed but didn’t hesitate, wrapping his fingers around mine and bridging the gap between us in quick, long strides. Within seconds I was hauled up against his hard body, his mouth slanting over mine.

  “Olivia.” He breathed my name on an exhale. “What are you doing to me?”

  I slid my arms around his neck and pressed against him, raising a leg to wrap myself even more tightly to him. Pulling back to breathe, I whispered against his lips. “Just this.”

  With a smile I pushed him against the wall and, lacing my fingers in his, I sank to my knees.

  CHAPTER 20

  Hours later, tipsy from the wine and our languid lovemaking, we were sprawled on a corner of the half-moon-shaped couch eating fettuccini with clam sauce. Soft music from my playlist enveloped the room, piped through hidden speakers. My legs were across Damien’s lap and a fire crackled in the fireplace, although Damien gave off enough BTUs to keep me warm without its ambient heat.

  “I really like your music selection,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “What’s the name of this group again?”

  “Morcheeba. They’re good, huh? Actually, this song reminds me of you.”

  He raised his brows. “How’s that?”

  “It’s called ‘Undress Me Now,’” I said, biting my lip and holding back a giggle.

  ‘Hmm,” he grinned, boyish and charming and making me want to pull him down on top of me. “Now you’ve done it. Wait till you see my playlist. It’s called Songs that Remind Me of Olivia. First on the list, ‘I Kissed a Girl.’”

  “Maybe you’ll play it for me some time, Mr. Smooth Talker.” I batted my lashes at him and he laughed, big and booming and totally disarming.

  “First chance I get to use my own stereo equipment, I will,” he teased.

  I smiled at him and rolled another forkful of the creamy pasta. “This is so good,” I moaned between mouthfuls. “Think Paul could run out for more?”

  He gave me a wry smile and a pointed look at my midsection. “You’ve already polished off a salad, four garlic bread sticks and now a double-portion of fettuccine is almost history. Where do you put it?”

  I grinned wickedly. “You’re the culprit. All this extracurricular activity has made my appetite skyrocket. I’ll need to take on more cardio classes at the gym if this keeps up.”

  “You better sign up then. As long as they don’t require you to work overtime. I want you all to myself in the evenings.”

  I reached for my wine glass on the curved table behind the sofa. “Is that so? You know, I do have friends and a life.”

  “As do I. But they’ll have to step back now. It’s only fair. Now that I have you, it’s my turn to monopolize your time from now on.”

  I scoffed. “I can’t spend every evening with you, Damien.” Even as I said it, a part of me realized that was exactly what I wanted.

  “Of course you can. And you will.”

  I gave my head a slight shake. “You’ll get sick of me eventually.”

  He snorted softly. “That’s never going to happen.” He reached over and lifted my hand to his mouth, kissing my fingers gently. “Why don’t we go out with your friends Friday night? I’d like to get to know them better, and with your friends there you won’t feel like I’m infringing on your friend time.”

  My fork was mid-way to my mouth. I stopped it, gauging my response.

  “I’d really like that. I’d like to get to know your friends also.” I took a deep breath and dived headfirst into the deep end. “But I’m not sure I can be friends with Bella.”

  Clearly, this was not the response he was expecting as his brows shot into his hairline. “I’m trying and failing to see the relevance here,” he said quietly.

  “She came to the gym today.”

  He stilled immediately. “Bella came to see you?”

  I nodded. “She put on a nice show about how she wanted to be friends. But she also revealed a rather large detail which will prevent that from ever happening.”

  Damien’s eyes were dark and glossy. A muscles twitched in his jaw. “Go on, please.” His voice was calm, belying the palpable tension that had commandeered the room.

  “She’s in love with you.”

  His jaw stiffened as he stared at me but said nothing.

  I plowed ahead, my insecurities getting the best of me. “What I’m trying to figure out is, why do you want me, when she’s readily available?”

  He frowned, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Bella and I are friends, Olivia. I have told you this.”

  “You told me there was nothing between you. And now I’ve got it from the horse’s mouth that that’s not the case.” I wanted to rail at him, but somehow I kept my voice steady.

  “We don’t have that kind of relationship and she knows it. She’s like a sister.”

  “Do you want me for a threesome?” The restraint I had snapped and my voice raised an octave. “Is that it, Damien?”

  His hands lashed through his hair. “No. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Because I will tell you right now, I’m not into that.”

  “Enough!” he snapped. Taking our takeout cartons, he leaned forward and placed them on the coffee table. I was fuming, my mood doing a crazy one-eighty in less than a minute. Was I turning into one of those harping girlfriends?

  He shifted us so that he was cross-legged on the couch facing me, and I was sitting with my back flagpole-straight against the cushions, my
arms hugging my bent legs. I was suddenly tense and overwrought. Since my foot was in no position to tap, my fingers began a rhythmic beat against my leg. This wasn’t how I intended to talk to him about Bella, but it was too late to take back my words now.

  “I should never have taken you to Mirabella’s, but as I’m the owner, it was simply a matter of convenience‌—‌”

  “You own it? I thought Bella was the owner?” I interrupted rudely.

  “Bella is the head chef. I bought the place for her and she operates it, but I retain full ownership.”

  I know the owner. It wasn’t hers, it was his. A puzzle piece snapped into place. “Okay.”

  “It’s been ten years since there was anything romantic between us.” He paused to let that sink in. “I assume she told you she has a child?”

  At my nod, he continued. “I’ve known her since high school. She was my sister’s best friend, and during my junior and senior years in high school, I worked for her family’s construction business. After high school, we became something more than friends. We maintained a long-distance relationship for two years while I was at Wash U and she went to UNLV in Las Vegas.”

  I sat and stewed, letting his words percolate.

  “After the relationship had run its course, I heard she’d started seeing an older, married man. They had an affair which lasted several years, and during this time we didn’t keep in contact. Not until she appeared at my office six years ago, pregnant and barely making enough money to get by. She’d finally realized he was never going to leave his wife, but by then it was too late. She’d been estranged from her family for a while, and when she approached them for help, they turned her away.”

  I frowned. “Why would they do that?”

  He shrugged. “Not every family is like yours.”