Damien has said he’ll cook for me—which is tempting as he has surprising skill in that area—but I’ve told him that if I’m getting back to work, then he must, too. And I’m not going to accept food charity if it keeps him away from his empire.
I’m not entirely sure that he’s getting much work done, but he does spend a few hours at his desk on the mezzanine level every day, and longer than that juggling conference calls.
By the fourth day, though, he stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders. “You need to slow down,” he says. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
I think of what Sofia said. About how she worked hard and clawed her way back. If she could salvage her sanity, then I can damn well save my business. “I’ve lost too much already,” I tell Damien. “I’m not losing this contract, too.”
He pulls up the chair beside me and sits down, then presses his hand over mine so that I’m forced to stop typing. I look up, irritated. Because, frankly, I really am screwed here, and if I don’t hit my next marker, I’m going to have to pull out of the project. Wait any longer, and it would be unprofessional; I’d be leaving Greystone-Branch in a terrible mess because there’d be no way for me to finish on time.
“You can’t push yourself like this for the next three months.”
“I made a commitment. More than that, I worked my ass off to get this job in the first place. I’m not letting it slip away.” I know I’m bordering on unreasonable, but I can’t stand the thought of losing the job after the baby. It’s too much—just too damn much.
He nods a little sadly, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “I know. But you’re pushing the limit.”
“Dammit, I don’t have a choice.” I lean back and hold up my hands. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap, but I’m under the gun, and I need to concentrate. I’m working on a tricky section and the coding is complicated.”
He sits for a minute studying my face, then he nods. “All right. What can I do to help?”
I cock my head. “In case you’ve forgotten, you have a universe to run.”
“Nikki—”
“If you really want to help, let me do this. I just need time. Please, Damien. That’s all I really need.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to argue some more, then he stands up and walks away with my coffee cup. He returns a few moments later with a coffee refill and a frozen Milky Way.
I force myself not to laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“Any time, Ms. Fairchild.”
He heads for the elevator that is the quickest route to the mezzanine, and I turn back to my coding. A few moments later, I hear the murmur of his voice as he starts to make phone calls. I tune him out and dive back in because there is more code to be written than there are hours in the day.
I’m deep in the thick of it when I hear the doorbell, which is odd because guests can’t actually get to the door without going through the security gate. But I assume that I was so deep in concentration that I didn’t hear the intercom, and that Damien took care of it.
I’m just about to dive back into work when I hear male voices downstairs and then two sets of footsteps coming up. I glance down at my ratty yoga pants and ancient Sea World T-shirt and mentally groan. Damien may think I’m stunning all the time, but as a general rule, I like to at least brush my hair.
I’ve just decided to make a break for our bedroom to quickly primp, when they step into view. I freeze in the middle of the kitchen, confused. Because Damien is standing with Noah Carter.
“Hi,” I say, looking between the two men and wondering why Damien didn’t tell me we were having company. “Did you guys have a meeting planned?”
“You said you needed more time,” Damien says. He gestures to Noah. “I brought you the next best thing.”
I stare at him, then at Noah. Then back to Damien. “All right, I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”
“I have a month before my contract starts with Stark Applied Technology,” Noah says as if that explains everything.
It doesn’t.
I look to Damien, then hold out my hands in an expression that says I got nothing.
“Hire him,” Damien says. “I promise you won’t regret it. You have coding to blow through? The man’s a genius.”
“Hire him,” I repeat as I let Damien’s suggestion sink in. Then I smile, first at Noah, then at my husband. “You really are amazing.”
Damien grins. “So they say.”
“All right,” I say to Noah. “You’re hired.”
“Excellent.” He cocks his head. “You do have major medical and a decent severance package, right?”
I roll my eyes and point to the kitchen table. “Your workstation. Come on, I’ll show you what I’m doing, and we can set up a file-sharing protocol.”
He nods and follows me. Damien lingers, leaning against the refrigerator. “Don’t look so smug,” I say. And then I mouth, thank you.
He actually does look a little smug when he leaves, but I realize I’m smiling, and since that feels pretty good, I decide to give it a pass.
Noah’s as sharp as advertised, and having him around gives me a little time to breathe. Over the next few days we hit the deliverables, outline the next phase, and I even have some time to poke around on the Internet, exploring a few ideas that have been bubbling in the back of my mind.
And for the first time in a long time, I genuinely feel good.
I pause for a moment, just to let the pleasant emotion linger. It’s been far too rare lately, and although it’s wonderful to feel my heart lighten, there’s a little bit of guilt there, too. Like I shouldn’t be ready to laugh again yet.
I push the guilt aside, though. I don’t need it. Not yet. Not when the sorrow still comes in waves.
The intercom buzzes, and I leave my seat across from Noah to go and check in with the guard. “Hey, Jimmy. Do we have a delivery?”
“A guest, Mrs. Stark. She says she’s your mother?”
He says it as a question—one I don’t particularly want to answer.
“Oh. Well, okay. You can send her down.”
Damien’s in the gym, but I call him over the intercom, and by the time I transfer a couple of files to Noah and head downstairs, he’s waiting for me in the entryway in gray sweats and a UCLA T-shirt.
“I can send her away,” he says. “You don’t even have to see her.”
I shake my head. She’d been on my mind before, but since the miscarriage, I’ve been thinking more and more about family and parenting and mothers and daughters. “No,” I say. “No matter what else she is, she’s my mother. She’s family.”
“She hurt you.”