“And Steele?” Aiden asks.
“Well, of course. But considering I was approaching him, that would have been self-evident anyway.”
One brow quirks up in a way I consider very British, and he glances toward Damien. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he says.
I turn my attention from one to the other. “Wait a minute. You’re suggesting that Jackson Steele leaked this to a reporter? Why on earth would he do that?”
“I did some digging after he so emphatically turned down my offer to sign on to the Bahamas project,” Damien says. “Turns out that where I’ve had a few deals flourish, he’s had a few go sour.” He meets my eyes. “I knew the odds of getting him on board were slim. It didn’t occur to me he’d set the rumor mill buzzing.”
“I can’t believe it.” I’m not sure if I’m angry or flabbergasted.
I start to tell the men that I absolutely don’t believe that Jackson would do such a thing, but then remember what Jackson said about revenge. If he’s going to mess with me, might as well go all out.
“You gave it your best shot,” Aiden adds, even as my temper is spiking. “And the work you did was first-rate. Get Damien to cut you loose and I’ll give you an office on twenty-seven whenever you want it.”
I manage a smile. Stark Real Estate Development takes up the entire twenty-seventh floor, with thirty-three satellite offices around the globe. But this isn’t about the job, it’s about the project.
A project that Jackson Steele has ripped right out of my hands.
Shit.
I look straight at Damien. “It’s really over, isn’t it?”
“Unless by some miracle Steele says yes, then yeah, I’m afraid it is.” He shifts his attention to Aiden. “We already have the conference call scheduled for Monday, so have the PR department respond with no comment until then. After the call we’ll release a statement. Syl,” he continues, “get me a draft by morning.”
“I’ll get on that now,” I say, grateful for a reason to leave. Right now, all I want to do is get out of that room.
I excuse myself and am stepping out when Damien’s intercom buzzes. Since the door is partially open, I hear Rachel’s voice in stereo. “Mr. Stark, there’s a Jackson Steele here to see you.”
I freeze. Just freeze right there in the doorway, with my arm thrust out in front of me. Then he’s there, taking hold of the door and pulling it open all the way, so I have to either unfreeze or topple over.
I manage to get my act together and stumble back into the room.
“Ms. Brooks.” He takes my hand, but whether it’s in greeting or to steady me, I’m not sure.
After a moment, he releases me, then strides confidently toward Damien. “Mr. Stark,” he says as they shake hands. “How nice to see you again. I’m sorry to come without an appointment, but I wanted to tell you personally how excited I am to be a part of The Resort at Cortez.”
nine
The rest of the meeting is blurred by my fury, though I manage to keep it in check until Jackson and I leave Damien’s office so that he and Aiden can personally call Sykes and the rest of the investors in order to both dispel the rumors and announce Jackson’s participation.
I manage to stay silent until I’ve led him into the single small conference room on this floor. “What the hell?” I snap as soon as the door snicks shut behind me. “What in the goddamn hell did you just do?”
I surge past to the control panel on the nearby credenza and hit the button to close the electronic blinds. I fully intend to scream and rage, and I damn sure don’t want an audience when I do it.
Jackson, damn him, is brutally calm. “I’m just making sure that everyone has all the relevant information.”
“What does that even mean?”
He moves to the window and stands beside it, so that downtown Los Angeles is spread out behind him. I’m reminded of the image from the premier—Jackson on the girder in jeans and a hardhat, all power and control, force and motion.
Today, he wears a finely tailored suit, and looks crisp and put together.
Or mostly put together.
Because it is impossible not to notice the wound on his cheek. It’s covered by an adhesive butterfly bandage, but the cut and the bruising are still somewhat exposed. And when I glance down, I see that his knuckles are raw as well.
Those injuries weren’t there last night, and as I stand there, I’m absolutely certain that I am the reason for them.
I’m not entirely sure how that makes me feel.
He may be injured, but nothing about this man looks like a victim.
On the contrary, he’s a man used to getting what he wants—and right now, I know that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“Stark’s a powerful man,” he says, then turns from the window to face me. “I don’t want him thinking ill of me because he believes I turned down his project.”
“That’s a load of crap,” I retort. “You turned down the Bahamas resort without even blinking.”
He simply shrugs. “Maybe I was overbooked. Maybe the terms were unacceptable.”
“Or maybe you told Stark you didn’t want to work on a Stark International project. That he casts too long a shadow.”
“True,” he says. “But don’t you think it’s reasonable that now I want to show Mr. Stark that I spoke too hastily? Because the truth is that I cast a long shadow, too, and if I do this, it will ultimately be known as a Jackson Steele project.” He meets my eyes, his expression flat, but the corner of his mouth curves up just enough so that his amusement is plain. “Don’t you agree?”
Since he has just tossed my words back in my face, I can hardly disagree.
“I’m ready, willing, and able to perform,” Jackson says. “Stark needed to know that. The only question is whether the specific terms of the deal are acceptable, and I believe that’s what Stark told you to work out with me.”
It’s true. Damien had originally left it to me to put together the deal points with Glau, and now I’m supposed to do the same with Steele.
How uncanny that I already know what our sticking point will be. Me.
His smile is wide and smug. “If it turns out that we can’t come to terms, then you can relay that to him. But at least I’ll leave here knowing that Damien Stark is aware that I was, at least for a time, ready to work on his resort. Enthusiastic, even,” he adds as he looks me up and down.
I feel a rush of sensual pleasure that, God help me, I do not want to feel. I don’t want to surrender. All I want to do is run.
I force myself to stand taller. Straighter. To speak cleanly and crisply despite my frayed nerves. And, yes, despite my own damnable desire. “Why are you doing this?”
“You know why,” he says as he strides to me. I hold my ground, resisting the urge to move backward and clutch the credenza behind me. “Because I want you, Sylvia.”