On My Knees

by J. Kenner

“And now you were going to sneak out without even saying goodbye. ”

  “No,” I say, but then blush when his brows rise with obvious disbelief. “Only because you were dead to the world, and I figured you needed the sleep. ”

  “Bullshit,” he says.

  I lift a shoulder, looking not at him but at the bed. “Fine. It’s weird going without you. ”

  He’s silent a moment, then he tilts my chin up and looks at me. “Go,” he says. “And when you get home tonight, I’ll take you out for dinner. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I agree, then laugh when he kisses my knuckles.

  My mood stays light all the way to the office, but shifts toward gray when I meet with Damien to go over some of the pending details for the resort, including replacing Jackson. It’s the longest forty-seven minutes of my life, and I’m not sure how I manage to keep my mouth shut and not tell Damien that he is making a huge, huge, huge mistake.

  “Under the circumstances, I think Glau is our best bet for a replacement,” Damien says. “I’m willing to consider other candidates, if you have them, but it’s going to have to be a perfect storm of availability, skill, and reputation to make it work. ”

  Other candidates.

  As in, not Jackson.

  As in, another architect that I will be working with. Because as much as I want Jackson Steele on this project, I don’t want it enough to walk away from the project manager position.

  And that is the real elephant in the room. The monkey in my wrench. The worm in my candy bar—I haven’t told Jackson I feel guilty as shit for not quitting the resort. And he hasn’t told me that he doesn’t blame me for doing so.

  But I know that he must, because how on earth can he not be pissed? Maybe not that I’m the one who fired him, because that really is on Damien’s shoulders. But that I stayed when I could have walked.

  The gray cloud that had settled over me turns stormy, and it’s not even soothed by a double latte and chocolate croissant from Java B’s, the coffee shop in the Stark Tower lobby.

  Nor does being at my desk on twenty-seven improve my mood, and for the first time in a long time I wish that I was sitting at the desk outside Damien’s office on thirty-five, and not here in the real estate department. Because every piece of paper I put my finger on reminds me of Jackson.

  That’s especially true when I pull Glau’s preliminary sketches from the file and start to study them.

  And goddammit, there is no comparison.

  Everything about Jackson’s work is better. The presentation. The layout. The flow.

  Where the resort that Glau had envisioned is undeniably dramatic, what Jackson has put on paper enhances the beauty of the island. Instead of using Santa Cortez as the equivalent of a concrete slab upon which to plunk an architectural masterpiece, Jackson has incorporated the island into his design. He used the tide pools, the inlets, the hills, and the valleys to define the layout, making the structures seem organic, as if they were part of the land and the sea.

  Glau’s resort could be built as easily in Idaho as on Santa Cortez. But Jackson’s vision is inextricably intertwined with the island, so much so that I can imagine no other architect coming close to creating such a sweetly perfect design. Page 26

  And yet somehow I have to find just such an architect.

  Well, damn.

  What I should do is march back up to Damien’s office and argue on Jackson’s behalf. But I can’t seem to make myself push back from the desk. I don’t want Damien to think that I’m simply arguing for the man I’m sleeping with, and that frustrates me even more. Because, dammit, the man I’m sleeping with really is the best man for the job.

  “Fuck. ”

  “Trouble?” The voice is cultured East Coast with just enough of a British flair to be inherently sexy. All of which means that it belongs to Aiden Ward, the vice-president of Stark Real Estate Development, and my immediate superior for The Resort at Cortez project.

  I twist around in my chair to find him leaning against the entrance to my cubicle, which constitutes my temporary office in the real estate department. When and if I leave Damien’s desk to be a full-time worker bee on this floor, I’ll get an office with a door and windows. Until then, I’m in cubicle land.

  “Usually you’re so bloody cheerful,” Aiden says amiably. He has dark blond hair and green eyes that flash when he’s amused. Like now. “Whatever could be the matter?”

  I make a face. “Don’t even pretend you haven’t heard. ”

  “I have, and I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I think Damien’s making a mistake. In this day and age, Jackson’s arrest is hardly a blip. Hell, the PR department could probably have a field day leaking stories to the press. We’d end up selling out opening day so fast we’d have to arrange for a month-long opening extravaganza. What?” he adds, frowning at me.

  I shake my head and adjust my expression. “It’s just that I agree with you. Did you talk to Damien?”

  “Haven’t seen him. I was in New York yesterday and I’ve been at the Century City site all morning. Why?”

  “No reason,” I say, and I have to wonder if Damien’s going to tell Aiden the whole truth. I suppose there’s no reason to, especially now that Jackson’s off the project. But at the same time, the truth about Jackson and Damien’s relationship is out there, and I’ve never known Damien Stark to let other people be in control of key information.

  “So was it your general malaise at the situation that had you muttering curses when I walked up? Or has something more specific got you riled up?”

  “This,” I say, passing him the folder of Glau’s work. “It’s trite and mundane and downright dull compared to the work Jackson was doing. ”

  He sits down on the corner of my desk and flips through the folder. Then he looks over at my bulletin board where I’ve tacked up Jackson’s sketches. One beat, then another. Then he tosses the folder with Glau’s work in my recycling bin. “So we ask him for a fresh approach or we find another architect. ”

  “Time’s an issue,” I admit. “Quality and experience are another. We’ve been down this road already, remember? When Glau quit, Jackson was our only legitimate option. Who else had the kind of reputation that would keep the investors happy?”

  “Agreed,” Aiden says. “But we’re further down the road now. ”

  “Not by much. ” Although it feels like Jackson and I have been working together for ages, the truth is it’s barely even been a week since he officially signed onto the project.

  “No, but sometimes it’s more about psychology. They’ve turned the ignition key twice now. That means that they think it’s a viable project. And no one likes to second-guess themselves. ”

  I consider his words and have to agree that he has a point. “The investors are invested?”

  He chuckles. “Something like that. ”

  “Even if you’re right, I still have to find someone that I can live with. ” I lean back in my chair and focus on the ceiling. “What about Nathan Dean?”

  “Really?”

  I sit back up again, the chair creaking slightly with my movement. “You’d veto him?”

  “I might,” Aiden admits. “More importantly, I think Damien would. ”

  “Yeah?” I’m surprised. Dean recently told me that he and Aiden have been friends for years. But more than that, Dean designed Damien’s extremely awesome Malibu house, so I happen to know Damien is pleased with his work. And since I was the point person for Damien on that job, I know that Dean is easy to get along with and doesn’t freak out at last-minute changes. I also happen to know that although his experience is primarily residential, he wants to branch out into commercial projects. And considering how much Damien enjoys finding and nurturing talent, I’m surprised by Aiden’s reaction. Page 27

  “I think the only reason Damien is willing to let Glau back on the project after he quit is because the man has a worldwide reputation. Dean doesn’t hav
e that going for him. ”

  Aiden has completely lost me. “But Dean didn’t quit,” I say stupidly. I mean, I should know. I was the one who brought Damien the final check to sign once the house was complete.

  “The bungalow,” Aiden says, and I shake my head, still clueless. “Apparently Damien wants to build a small bungalow on the property, but closer to the beach. A few months ago, last February, he and Dean talked about it, and Dean put together some rough sketches that Damien loved, but a few months later when Damien said they should go to contract and get started, Dean pulled out. Said he couldn’t do the project, after all. ”

  “Why the hell didn’t I know about this?”

  “No need to hook the assistant in until there’s a contract. I only know about it because I had a lunch meeting with Damien the day Dean pulled the plug, so I got the full story. Let’s just say that Damien wasn’t pleased. He doesn’t like having his time wasted. ”

  “No, he doesn’t. ” I lean back in my chair again. “So it was Damien who told you? Not Dean?”

  Aiden’s brow creases a bit. “Actually, Dean hasn’t mentioned it at all. Maybe he figures it’s a sore point around the office. ”

  “I guess it’s not too bad between them. I didn’t notice any tension when we had cocktails at his house the other day. ”

  “Who knows? Damien is more than capable of keeping his personal feelings to himself. Besides, I believe Nikki pulled together the guest list. And since the bungalow was going to be a surprise, it’s quite likely that she’s not even aware that Dean shot himself in the ass. ”

  I have to laugh at the somewhat vulgar expression pronounced by someone with such a hoity-toity accent. “Trent must not have known, either,” I say, referring to Trent Leiter. He’s under Aiden in the overall company hierarchy, and is directly in charge of all the projects in the Southern California area. All, that is, with the exception of The Resort at Cortez. I’d brought that idea to Damien personally, and he’d put me on as project manager, reporting directly to Aiden.

  “Trent? What does he have to do with it?”

  “He’s the one who suggested Dean as a replacement for Jackson. ” At the time, I’d thought he was just being helpful. But if he did know about the bungalow, I can’t help but wonder if maybe his suggestion was a passive-aggressive way to make me suggest someone to Damien that would piss off the boss.

  I hope not. Trent’s not on my favorite person list, but I don’t actively dislike him. I do know that he was irritated when I got Cortez, but I can’t imagine that he’d go out of his way to screw with me. And the idea of interoffice backstabbing just really turns my stomach.

  Aiden promises to think some more about possible replacement architects, then heads off to an afternoon meeting with one of the construction managers for a Stark Real Estate project. I decide that it’s time for another caffeine boost, and head down to the lobby and Java B’s. Since it’s a typically gorgeous Los Angeles day, I take a minute outside, and am sitting by the small reflecting pond sipping my latte when my phone pings, signaling a text from Cass.

  Sorry about the shitstorm

  Call if you need me

  {{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}

  I stare at the text, completely baffled, but with a very bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. And then, since I do need her to tell me what the hell she’s talking about, I hit the button to speed dial her cell phone.

  It rings once, then rolls to voice mail. “Dammit, Cass. What the hell? You said to call. Call me. ”

  I end the call, then scowl at the phone, my mind whirling. Did Jackson go to the press with news of his firing? Did he tell them the real reason why?

  Because Damien Stark with a secret half-brother definitely qualifies as TMZ material.

  I stand up and toss my half-finished latte in the trash, then hurry back toward the building, dialing Damien’s office as I do.

  Rachel answers on the first ring. “Mr. Stark’s office. ”

  “It’s me,” I say as I enter the lobby. I wave at the security desk as I head for the elevator. “Is he there?”

  “In a meeting,” she says. “Do you need him?”

  The elevator doors open and I step on, then hit the button for thirty-five and the reception area for Stark International. “I just wanted to check on something,” I say, but of course she hears none of that because the elevator is already moving and I lose the signal. Page 28

  I tap my foot until the elevator comes to a halt, and then hurry to Rachel’s desk. She doesn’t look the least bit ruffled, and I frown, confused. “Who’s he meeting with?”

  “Preston. Why?”

  I shake my head, but I’m secretly relieved. Preston Rhodes is the head of acquisition for Stark Applied Technology. If there was any sort of a shitstorm surrounding Damien right now, he would have rescheduled.

  But then what the hell is Cass talking about?

  “Syl?” Rachel is peering at me, clearly baffled. “Do you want me to tell Damien you need to see him?”

  “No. It’s okay. I just—” I take a deep breath and start over. “I had a thought about the resort,” I lie. “But I’ll run it past Aiden and we’ll pull Damien in if we hit a snag. ”

  She gives me a quick nod, then taps her headset to answer an incoming call. I wave as I head back to the elevator, relieved, but confused.

  As soon as I’m back in the real estate division, I open a web browser so I can see if there’s anything popping on the social media sites. I’m distracted from that task, though, when my phone buzzes on the desk beside me, surprising me and making me jump.

  According to the caller ID, it’s Jamie. I consider letting it roll to voice mail, but I’ve never been good at blowing off my friends. So I answer the call, but start the conversation with, “I’ve only got a second. ”

  “You didn’t tell me you were a teen model,” she says without preamble. “That is seriously awesome. ”

  I freeze. Literally, I just sit there, unable to move. And I’m cold, so cold I’m trembling. That must be why they say you’re frozen, I think stupidly. And that thought is immediately followed by, You’re in shock. This is shock.

  “You there?” Jamie is as chipper as always. She hasn’t picked up on my distress. Just the opposite. From the trill in her voice, I’m the new celebrity du jour.

  “I’m here. ” My voice sounds a million miles away. Surely she will notice. Surely she will ask me what’s wrong.

  “Did you do any acting? Or just the print stuff?”

  I try to make a sound, but don’t quite manage.

  “Syl?” For the first time, Jamie’s voice holds a hint of concern. “You okay?”

  “How did you know I modeled?” Somehow, my voice sounds reasonably normal. But I’m clutching my phone so tight my hand has gone numb.

  “I saw it on the internet. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere,” she says, though now she’s sounding like she’s wishing she hadn’t called. “Syl, what’s up?”

  “Why? Why is anyone talking about what I did when I was a teenager?”

  “Come on, Syl. You’re weirding me out here. ”

  “Dammit, Jamie, just tell me. ” I spit the words out, then immediately wince.

  “Okay. Sorry. ” I hear her draw a breath. “It’s really not that big a deal. And the pictures are great, so it’s not like they’re releasing crappy unairbrushed pics, if that’s what you’re worried about. ”

  “Why are they posting pictures of me at all?”

  “The Jackson story, of course. He beat the shit out of Reed, and this is Hollywood so you know they’re going to plow that story to death. Today’s exposé is on you. Because, you know, you have a connection to both of them. ”

  I close my eyes as if to block out the truth as she continues.

  “You’re working with Steele on the resort and back in the day, Reed photographed you. Right?”


  “Right. ” I’m not sure how I manage to say the word, because I’m pretty sure I’m about to hyperventilate.

  “They’ll be even more on top of you when they realize you guys are dating, but I don’t think the press has clued in to that yet. ”

  “Gee. I can hardly wait. ” I try to keep my voice light, but I can’t help but fear that if the press realizes I’m starchitect Jackson Steele’s girlfriend, they’ll start digging even deeper. And then they really might manage to unearth my secrets.

  “Listen, don’t worry,” Jamie says. “I get that it’s weird that old pictures have resurfaced, but it’ll blow over. You’re just today’s flavor while they dig around for the real story. ”

  “The real story. ” My words don’t sound like my own.

  “Yeah, you know. Why Jackson beat up Reed in the first place. ”

  The numbness has spread to my entire body. Because the real story is that Jackson beat the shit out of Reed because of what he’d done to me. How he’d molested me when I was a teenager. But that’s not a story I ever want to see go public. Page 29

  “Everyone has a theory,” Jamie continues. “Most folks are speculating that it’s about the movie, though no one knows what the big deal is. I mean—”

  She stops talking, as if suddenly realizing something. “Hey, you found him, right? Because you didn’t call back, and so I just assumed that everything was okay. ”

  “Yes. ” My word is short. Curt. “I have to go,” I add, then hang up before she can respond.

  I close my hands around the edge of the desk and sit very still, willing myself to be calm. To just be calm.

  When I’m pretty sure that I won’t throw up, I stand. I need to get out of here. I need to get home. I can feel the nightmares—the memories—pressing up against me, and I want Jackson. His arms. His strength.

  But he’s miles away in Marina del Rey, and I have to hold it together. Because I will not, will not, will not lose it in the office.

  Slowly, carefully, I make my way toward the elevator. I pass the reception desk for Stark Real Estate Development and give Karen, the receptionist, a wave.

  “Heading out?”

  I only nod; I don’t trust myself to speak.

  I jam my finger hard against the elevator call button, then again and again when the doors do not immediately open. Finally, it arrives, and I step inside. It’s crowded, and I clench my fists at my sides, willing it to go faster, because I can feel both panic and tears rising inside me, and I need to be clear by the time the explosion hits.

  It stops three more times, and each time more people get on than get off. I am trapped behind a wall of bodies and I will not scream, I will not scream, and when the doors finally open to my floor in the parking garage, I push out past the three men who still stand in front of me, broad shoulders and tailored suits blocking me from freedom.

  “Hey!” one calls, but they are not getting out here, and as the doors close on their startled faces, I bend over and press my hands to my knees and breathe and breathe and breathe.

  Okay, I think. You can do this. Car. Home. Jackson.