I snatch the kitchen scissors off the drainboard, then retreat to the corner by the dishwasher. I slide down to the floor and without thinking, I take a chunk of hair and cut it off. Then another. Then another until there is a pile of hair around me.
I look at it, run my fingers through it. That hair my mother loves so much. That hair that Damien loves, too.
I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. Then I put my head down and I sob.
I don’t remember going to my room. I don’t remember getting in bed. But when I open my eyes, Damien is beside me, his eyes sad and soft.
“Hey,” he says.
Damien. My heart seems to swell and the blackness that’s been clinging to me dissipates.
He reaches out and strokes my hair.
I sit up, remembering. My hair.
“It could use some cleaning up,” he says gently. “But I think it looks cute short.”
“Why are you here? How did you know?”
“Jamie,” he says. “I’ve been calling her for days, checking on you. I thought you needed space. But then this, with your mother …”
I nod, vaguely remembering Jamie tucking me into bed and me telling her that my mother had come by. I can’t repress my shiver at the thought of seeing her again. “She’s still here,” I say. “In town, I mean.”
“No,” he says. “She’s not.”
I look at him.
“I went to her hotel. I told her she needed to leave. And then I sent her home on the jet.” Amusement lights his eyes. “Grayson’s been dying to take her out for a long flight, so this was just the ticket. And your mother seemed thrilled by the prospect of a private jet.”
I stare at him with awed amazement. “Thank you.”
“Whatever you need, baby. I told you.”
I shake my head. “No. Damien, I’m sorry. I—we can’t.”
He stands, and though I expect anger on his face, all I see is concern. “Because of Sara?”
I don’t meet his eyes.
“Oh, hell,” he says, then sits back down on the side of the bed. He hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. “Do you really believe I killed her?”
“No.” The word comes out quickly and firmly and it’s completely true. A tear rolls down my cheek. “Damien, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” He brushes my tears away. “It’s okay. You’re right. I didn’t kill her. I wasn’t even there that night. I was in San Diego. Charles finally got images from the hotel’s security camera. I was in the bar most of the night talking with the owner of a company I was interested in acquiring. That’s why he was so pissed that I settled. We had what we needed to shut Eric down, and I went and paid him off.”
I sit up straighter. “I don’t understand, either. Why would you—”
“Two reasons. Maybe I wasn’t there, but dammit, I should have shut it down with Sara long before it got out of control. I wanted her interest in the company, and I got it. I bought out some other shareholders, too, which gave me a controlling interest. I edged Eric out and I put people in place who could get the company running again. Turned a tidy profit quite quickly and the value of everyone’s stock increased, Eric’s included.”
I watch him, not sure where this is leading.
“And during all of this I was seeing Sara. I don’t usually date, and I didn’t love her. But I was busy and she was convenient and more than willing to indulge me in bed. She clung to me and though I didn’t admit it to myself at the time, I started to see signs that she was unbalanced. I knew I needed to break it off, but I was focused on some time-sensitive mergers, and I just let it ride. After the deal was complete, I did end it. But that just pushed her off the deep end.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “I never expected her to kill herself—and I would never choke a woman in bed—but that doesn’t change the fact that I played a role.”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” I say. “And Eric’s making horrible accusations. Why would you pay that bastard off?”
“Because of you.”
I gape at him. “What?”