Full Disclosure (No Secrets Book 1)

by Julie Olsen

  I felt like I was back in the foam pit, letting the pieces slide over me like quicksand until I was fully immersed beneath them. Only this time I didn’t fight it. This time I embraced it and let myself fall backward, slipping gently through the chunks of my own heart.

  “Thank you for telling me,” I mumbled into his sweat-soaked shirt. He held me tightly against him, and I felt his head dip to kiss my hair.

  “Now you know the worst of me,” he said. “And you’re still here.” He looked at me questioningly, as if wondering if I was having a delayed reaction and my next move would be to turn tail and run.

  “I am.” I shook my head softly. “Not going anywhere, Tiger.”

  My attempt at levity was not lost on him, and his lips quirked upward briefly before finding mine in a crushing kiss that was at once searching and fierce. Pulling back, he stared into my eyes but said nothing for moments.

  “Let me take you to work,” he said, setting me away from him.

  I hastily wiped at my face. What I wouldn’t give to call in sick. “I’ve already called Paul.”

  “Let me worry about Paul.” He steered me toward the bed and sat me down.

  “Wait. What about you? Are you playing hooky?”

  “I’m working from home today,” he said as he chose clothes from my bag: black sweat pants and a black Star One shirt, along with a sports bra, socks, and white cotton undies.

  “Lucky. Are you dressing me now?” I asked, smirking as he tossed the clothes at me.

  “Just picking out what you already packed.” He gave me a half-smile before glancing around the room for my Nikes.

  “Conservative choice, Stone,” I muttered, slipping the towel off and dressing hurriedly. I didn’t even want to look at the clock.

  He didn’t reply, but I knew he was smiling. He had picked the most comfy, loose, and unsexy clothes I had packed, which I intended for lounging around the house, not working.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

  Outfitted in all black, I sat back on the bed to put on my socks and he knelt in front of me, sliding my shoes on and tying them. He was still sweaty from his workout, and his scent was so intoxicating. His head was mere inches in front of mine, and my hand itched to sift through his silky hair. I wanted to kiss him, to comfort him. To press against him and make him understand that I wasn’t going to judge him, and that he didn’t have to be alone anymore, that I was here for him.

  That I loved him.

  But I didn’t do any of those things. He looked up at me and hauled me to my feet. “No time for breakfast, but I’ll grab you a protein shake and banana from the kitchen.”

  “Okay.” I retrieved my phone from the bathroom and let him pull me along toward the kitchen.

  * * *

  For the first time since I had begun working for Weldon, I was late for work. Fifteen minutes late, to be exact. Damien drove no more than five miles over the speed limit, even though I begged him to step on the gas. “Your safety isn’t worth the risk, baby,” he repeated, much to my exasperation. Luckily, traffic was light and he was able to thread the Porsche through stalls and yellow lights, probably shaving a good five minutes off my late arrival.

  As it turned out, it didn’t matter. As per usual, Ms. Pritchard-Price was late herself, sauntering through the doors in her designer gym shoes at half past the hour. Weldon wasn’t thrilled with my tardiness, but I smiled meekly and apologized, intending to fill him in on the recent events of my life the first chance I got. There was no way he hadn’t noticed me getting out of the Porsche, since Damien had pulled up as close to the front door as possible without driving on the sidewalk. Weldon gave me a raised brow when I entered, but said nothing.

  Damien insisted on lunch, and as I had kickboxing at noon, he agreed to pick me up at one o’clock. “But remember, not a minute later,” he murmured in my ear just before I slid from the passenger seat with my protein shake and banana in hand.

  The session with Angelique passed in much the same way as all the previous sessions, but with one major difference: someone had cranked her attitude gauge to eleven.

  “Olivia, would you mind fetching me two clean towels.” (As if the two she had were covered in filth.)

  “Olivia, excuse me while I take this call. I will signal you when I’m done.” (Seriously? Nobody else was allowed phones during training sessions.)

  But I had enough on my mind that her antics didn’t even phase me. In fact, while she talked on the phone, I snuck in a quick chat with Justine, who was waiting for her next client to show up.

  “Thought you had The Hyphen this morning?” she said as I pulled off the foil on my chocolate shake, smiling inwardly at Damien’s thoughtfulness.

  “Oh, I do. She’s on a call,” I replied between swallows.

  Justine’s lip curled in disgust. “Rude bitch. Weldon’s going to get screwed in this deal, I know it.”

  “He wants to approach her for a new ad. Where she waxes all fangirl about what a great gym she belongs to.”

  “That would be a disaster. She’d never do it.”

  “I can’t imagine she would either, unless there’s something in it for her. She’s all business. And attitude.”

  “Speaking of attitude and business,” Justine slanted a look my way. “How’s our favorite billionaire?”

  I glanced in the direction of the aerobics room where Angelique was apparently still on the call. “He wants to go out this Friday. Sort of a get-to-know-my-friends night. Do you have plans?”

  “If I did, I’d cancel them. When and where?”

  “Will have to let you know.” Chewing my lip, I lowered my voice. “Also, I should probably tell you I’m staying at his place.”

  “What?” she sputtered. “Since when?”

  “Yesterday. He’s of the opinion that Travis is back and means me harm.” I shrugged and chewed my lip. “I told him. About Travis. And now he wants to put a force field around me. Lucy’s staying with James and I’m staying with Damien until we can determine what’s going on.”

  She met my eyes and narrowed hers fractionally. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded, noticing an unsmiling Angelique standing at the aerobics room door, holding her hand up and waving me over impatiently. Tossing my empty shake box in the trash, I flashed a quick grin at Justine.

  “Everything’s great.”

  CHAPTER 22

  At one o’clock Damien strolled in looking casual and sexy in jeans, tight black T-shirt, and gray Sperry’s. I was behind the front desk with a towel draped around my neck, having just finished up with my kickboxing class.

  Our eyes locked as he strode confidently toward me, his lips turned up at the ends in that James Dean thing he had going on. A few women stopped and stared as he passed, and I smiled possessively on the inside.

  Mine.

  I walked out from behind the counter to greet him, grabbing my purse as I did so. “Hope you don’t mind me sweaty, but I did warn you.”

  He stopped directly in front of me, and I caught a whiff of his Damien scent and found myself inhaling deeply. “Lucky for you, I like you sweaty.”

  We stared at each other for a moment, and I lost myself in those green eyes and devilish grin.

  “Hi,” he murmured.

  “Hi.” I bit my lip to prevent a full-blown goofy grin.

  “Ready?” He stepped aside to let me go first.

  “Uh-huh. Where are you taking me?”

  “The Ritz.”

  I swiveled my head toward him as I pulled the door open. “Look at me! I’m not dressed for that.”

  Damien’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Don’t worry. We’ll get a table downwind of the other customers.”

  We exited, and I stopped, sizing him up. “We’re really not going to the Ritz, are we?”

  He laughed and took my elbow, steering me toward the waiting car, only this time it wasn’t the SUV, but a gunmetal gray sp
orts car.

  “We can if you want, but I had hoped to surprise you.”

  He opened the passenger door and I slid in. This car sat much lower to the ground than the SUV, and even more so compared to my Jeep. It felt like my butt was going to drag on the road. It was disconcerting.

  As I snapped my buckle in place, Damien gracefully seated himself in the driver’s seat, somehow fitting his long legs in the small enclosure. “What happened to the black car?”

  “Paul has it and is running an errand for me.” He raised his brows. “And for your information, the black car is a Porsche Cayenne. Turbo.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “Porsche Cayenne. Turbo. Got it.”

  He looked sideways at me. “I like cars.”

  “I gathered that. And now I know what to get you for your birthday, because your cars are seriously lacking in the fuzzy dice department.”

  Damien threw back his head and laughed. The rich timbre of his laughter enveloped us inside the tiny confines of the sports car, and I smiled in appreciation.

  “Is this a new car?” I asked, sinking down into the soft leather.

  “It’s new-ish, yes.” He backed out of the parking spot and swiftly navigated onto the road. “I’ve had this for about six months. It’s a Porsche Cayman S.” He caught my eye and winked. “Fully loaded.”

  “But of course.”

  He grin was so boyish and sexy and playful that I grinned right back. Smiling at Damien, I had found, was addictive.

  Within a few minutes, he turned into Forest Park and parked in front of the art museum. It was a drop-off zone, and knowing Damien’s penchant for safety, the fact that he was parking there surprised me.

  “Wait there,” he said as he unfolded from behind the wheel. As I waited for him to come around to my side, I noticed Paul had appeared from nowhere and now stood next to Damien. They spoke briefly before Damien handed him the keys and opened my door.

  Helping me up from the low seat, he gestured to a blanket laying on the grass where a picnic had been set. “By my calculation, I have forty-eight minutes, give or take, to get you fed and watered and back to work.” He smiled shyly as he took my hand and tugged me along.

  “Did you set this up?”

  “Well, not exactly. But it was my idea.”

  We arrived at the blanket, where a picnic basket and cooler anchored opposite corners. An assortment of olives, cheeses, crackers, strawberries, grapes and tiny finger sandwiches had been laid out. Bottles of water and ginger ale were in a small cooler. A light breeze gently ruffled the edges of the blanket. I sat down and shook my head.

  “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

  He scoffed, but looked pleased at my compliment. “There you go again, stealing my lines.”

  Popping an olive into my mouth, I crossed my legs and leaned back on my elbows, letting the warm rays of the spring sun dance over my skin. In front of us, the fountains of the Grand Basin shot streams of water high into the air, while behind us the imposing façade of the Art Museum loomed with its columned entryway and classic Roman architecture. The car was gone; Paul not only set up picnics, but drove away fancy sports cars, too.

  Damien stretched out beside me, reaching across me for the sandwiches. “Paul tells me these are turkey and Gruyere with cucumber, and chicken salad.”

  “Sounds delish.”

  “So, you like both of those? What else do you like?” He took a bite of his turkey sandwich‌—‌which was cut to perfect two-bite portions‌—‌and looked at me quizzically.

  I shrugged. “I like just about everything. Not a fan of radishes. Or rhubarb.” I grabbed a chicken salad sandwich. “Or green bean casserole.”

  “Radishes, rhubarb, green bean casserole. Got it.” He checked the items off on his fingers as if committing them to memory.

  “What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “The list you just made?”

  “Just making sure Cassie doesn’t stock the fridge with food you hate.”

  I swallowed and grabbed two ginger ales, handing one to Damien. “Cassie?”

  “My housekeeper.”

  I should have known. Someone like Damien didn’t scrub his own toilets or do his own shopping.

  As if reading my thoughts, he added, “She comes Monday and Thursday mornings. You’ve never met her because you’ve been at work. I can arrange for you to meet her, if you’d like.”

  Chewing slowly, I paused. At my hesitation, he reached for my hand. “Too soon?” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles.

  The touch of his lips on my skin produced a warm shimmer of electricity that shot to my very center. “Maybe,” I said softly.

  He nodded, a tenderness in his eyes. “Okay, no hurry. We can take this as slow as you need.”

  I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

  As the sun glinted off the shiny white of the paper plates, a hummingbird swooped down as if appearing out of thin air. The tiny creature darted this way and that, emitting a soft buzzing sound as he hovered before us. Neither of us moved or said a word, but I couldn’t help smiling at the look of wonder Damien sported. Eventually, the hummingbird zoomed off, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

  “Wow, that’s never happened to me before.”

  Damien smiled, and it took my breath away. “You know those moments you sometimes have that you just know you’ll remember for the rest of your life? I just had one.”

  “Ditto,” I said, mirroring his smile. He blinked, and reached for my hand, kissing it. I could feel his smile against my skin.

  I will never forget this moment, Damien.

  “So, how’s your day been?” Reclining on his side, he faced me, his head propped in his hand, and reached for another sandwich.

  I mirrored him, stretching out so that we faced one another. “Productive. Yours?” I made a little cracker and cheese sandwich and took a bite.

  “Also productive. I spoke to Bella.”

  I kept chewing, willing myself not to let my claws show. “How did that go?”

  “I explained the situation, told Bella to stay away from you. And began discussions on her buying Mirabella’s outright.”

  The dark cloud that had momentarily descended at the mention of her name suddenly faded away. “You mean, sell her Mirabella’s?”

  He nodded and reached into the picnic basket, producing two napkins‌—‌cloth, of course‌—‌and handed one to me. Wiping his fingers, he looked at me. “Yes. I would finance the loan, but she would obtain full ownership rights. It would eliminate further business dealings between us. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  A sense of joy overcame me. Don’t make him choose between us, because you would lose, Olivia. I thought back to her comment with a sense of gleaming satisfaction.

  “I‌—‌I don’t know what to say, Damien. I didn’t necessarily mean for you to end your professional relationship…”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re right. This needs to happen and I probably made a mistake in waiting this long to sever ties.” He sat up suddenly and took a long swallow of ginger ale. “Do you know this is my first picnic?”

  I gave him a look. “Ever?”

  “Since I was a little kid.”

  I’m new to this sort of thing. My heart constricted at the memory of his words. God, he’s thirty and has missed out on so much.

  “Well, this has been the best picnic I’ve ever been on. No ants,” I teased.

  He grinned and leaned over, planting his hands on either side of my head. I rolled to my back as his lips grazed mine, my hands coming up to press against the hard contours of his chest. “No ants, she says,” he murmured as his lips traveled down to my throat, softly sucking.

  “Dance with me.” He grinned suddenly, leaping up to his feet, his hand extended downward. I blinked up at him, shielding my eyes from the blinding sun. From somewhere‌—‌music brought by other picnickers, probably‌—‌th
e sounds of Ella James’s “At Last” drifted to us with the breeze. Damien smiled down on me and twitched his fingers in a come hither motion.

  “I’m a little rusty,” I said, as he tugged me to my feet and onto the grass.

  “Perfect. So am I.” His arm snaked around my waist, cinching me tightly against the muscled slabs of his body as his hand lifted mine in the classic dance position. His nearness made it difficult to concentrate on dancing, though I soon realized Damien’s rusty was most people’s adept. He moved us fluidly across the grass with seemingly no effort. His palm was pressed across the small of my back while my hand not clasped in his firmly grasped his shoulder as we moved as one in perfect time.

  I felt graceful in his arms as he guided us to and fro, and looking up at him, I caught a glimpse of such carefree joy in his eyes that I lifted onto my toes and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

  He dipped his head to kiss me back, somehow continuing to skillfully control our rhythm. Lifting his head from my breathless lips, he said, “Ready?” and I nodded in delight, not entirely sure what he had planned but willing to take a chance.

  On a spin, he pushed me away, holding onto my hand as I unfurled from his embrace. Laughing, I hammed it up by raising my arm and a leg as I reached the end of the twirl. Without missing a beat, he snapped me back and I turned into his arms as the song ended.

  His arms were tightly wound around me, with his front to my back as we caught our breath to the sound of whistles and applause.

  “It seems we have an audience. Curtsy for the fans, Ginger.”

  “What?” I turned into his chest, suddenly embarrassed by our little show. I pressed my face into his warmth and felt the rumble of his laughter. Giving me a quick squeeze, he grasped my shoulders and guided me back to the blanket.

  Plopping down on my back, I stared up at him as he lowered himself next to me. His eyes shimmered, the pale green picking up the colors of the grass and sky and somehow intensifying, becoming even more vivid. I realized I had never seen them in broad daylight before.

  “Your eyes. They’re gorgeous,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away.