“Fine. Great.” I quickly gather my stuff and swing my leather tote over my arm. “I’m glad your trip was good.”
“It really was,” Nikki says, and her voice sounds as strained as mine feels. “Lots of excellent theater.”
“Well, tomorrow, then.” I turn to head toward the elevator, but Damien’s words stop me cold.
“Fire him,” Damien says, and the ground falls out from under me. “First thing tomorrow, I want you to fire him.”
My back is to him, and I stand frozen for a moment, unable to move. Unable to breathe. Me. He wants me to do this? To take away this project that Jackson has come to love?
Bile rises in my throat, and I fear that I may throw up. But I force it down, then very slowly and very carefully, I turn around.
Damien’s expression is hard, and there is no denying the contained fury in his eyes.
“But … but the resort?” I want to scream that he cannot make me do this. That I can’t fire Jackson. Hell, that he shouldn’t fire Jackson.
Instead, I force myself to stay calm. To appear businesslike. “It won’t look good. There will be questions. The press will be all over it.”
“I believe I already made clear that scandal and the press don’t concern me overmuch. We’ll handle it.”
I lick my lips. “Don’t you want to talk about it?” Immediately I regret my words. I’ve crossed into personal, and right now I think that is a very bad move.
“He was raised by Jeremiah Stark.” Damien practically spits the name out. “Have you forgotten about the sabotage? All the bullshit we’ve dealt with getting even this far on the project?”
“No, of course not. But surely you don’t think—”
“I don’t know,” Damien says. “And that’s the point. I’m cutting my losses, Ms. Brooks. Take care of it first thing in the morning.”
The words are a dismissal, but I don’t leave. “So that’s it?” I demand. “The resort is dead?”
“Maybe not,” Damien says. “As it happens, Glau called me while we were in New York. He didn’t ask outright, but he beat around the bush enough that I can tell he regrets leaving the project. Apparently Tibet isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“But—”
“We’ll do everything we can to keep the project alive,” he says firmly. “But Jackson Steele isn’t going to be a part of it.”
I nod, because I know better than to argue. I’d known this might happen, dammit. As soon as Jackson told me the truth, I knew that Damien might want to push him as far from Stark International as possible.
I just hadn’t let myself believe it would really happen.
“Right,” I mumble. “Okay. Tomorrow, then.” I hitch the tote more firmly on my shoulder and start again toward the elevator. Nikki is standing in the doorway between the living area and the hall that leads to the bedrooms. I catch her eye as I pass, and she manages a thin smile, looking a bit like someone who has just witnessed a car crash and isn’t entirely sure what to do now.
As for me, all I want is to get out of there, because I know that any second the tears are going to start flowing. Ironic, because until yesterday when Jackson held me in his arms, I hadn’t cried for over a decade. Now I can barely hold it in.
I press the button for the elevator, expecting it to open immediately. When Damien is home, the elevator is usually where he is. But of course Jackson rode it down, and I have to wait for it to be recalled from the lobby.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, willing it to hurry. Needing to just be gone.
Needing to go find Jackson.
Finally, the elevator arrives. I squeeze in before the doors are even fully open, then jab my finger hard against the button to close them again. They’re almost shut when Nikki skids to a halt outside and slides her hand through the gap, tripping the safety feature and making the doors spread open again.
She steps onto the elevator with me, then leans over and pushes the button for the lobby. “Do you want to talk?”