Interview with the Billionaire Read online

  * * *

  But she is mine now.

  * * *

  And Ollie, my man, it is time for you to move on.

  I would have sought you out. Count on it, Mrs. Stark. We’re part of each other, Nikki. We’re inevitable, you and I.

  * * *

  - Lost With Me

  Chapter 3: Blast from the Past

  As Damien started down the stairs, he heard the sound of Gregory, his long-time house manager, opening the door.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Mr. Stark is on his way. If you could just wait here,” he added, and Damien saw his arm indicate the sofa in the first floor great room. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “I’d love some. Thank you.”

  Damien frowned. The open door was blocking his view of the woman, but there was something familiar about the woman’s voice. Something he couldn’t quite place.

  Perhaps she’d interviewed him before or they’d met at a function. Except that didn’t seem right either. He’d paused midway down the staircase instead of continuing down to greet her immediately, and something told him to trust that instinct.

  A moment later he was glad that he had, because the moment she passed the door, he recognized her.

  Well, fuck.

  He turned, hoping she wouldn’t notice him, then hurried back up the stairs and into the kitchen, well out of view of the first floor. Without thinking, he grabbed a cup of coffee off the small table, then took a long swallow, barely even noticing that it had gone cold.

  “Damien?”

  He looked up to see Nikki at the opposite entryway, still in her robe. “I came back for another cup of coffee. Why are you here? I thought you were going down to greet that reporter.”

  “Gregory let her in.”

  She stared at him as if he was speaking Latin. Of course, Gregory had let him in. That’s what Gregory did if he was on-site. And then it was Damien or Nikki’s role to actually greet the guest as the homeowner.

  “I need to call Evelyn,” he said.

  She moved closer, then put her hand on his arm, her forehead furrowed. “What’s going on?”

  He only shook his head, then held up a finger. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of the suit he’d worn in anticipation of the photo shoot, then indicated that Nikki should follow him. The odds of anyone on the first floor overhearing a third-floor conversation were slim to none, but he still felt better in the bedroom with the door closed.

  He put the phone on speaker and dialed Evelyn’s mobile.

  “How’s my favorite son-in-law?” Not Evelyn. Frank.

  “Could be better,” he admitted. “Is Evelyn around? We’ve hit a speed bump on this interview she set up.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound good. Hang on. She just stepped outside.”

  As Frank put the phone down to go get Evelyn, Damien met Nikki’s eyes, and her smile just about melted him. When Frank Dunlop—originally Leonard Frank Fairchild—had come to Los Angeles with the hope of getting to know the daughter he’d abandoned as a child, Damien had been terrified that the man was going to hurt Nikki again. And considering her mother’s utter inability to be either a decent human or a good parent, the thought that Frank would break her heart, Damien still believed he’d had good reason to be worried and suspicious.

  Thankfully, Frank had been sincere, and over time he’d become a true father and a solid addition to the family. His recent marriage to Evelyn was an even bigger plus, bringing the woman who already stood as Nikki’s surrogate mother truly into the family.

  “Damien?” He heard the concern in Evelyn’s throaty voice as she came onto the line. “What happened?”

  “Maggie Bridge.”

  “I’m not following, kiddo.”

  “She’s here. She’s Lena. Maggie Bridge is Magdalena Spicer.”

  “Good God.”

  “Yeah,” Damien said, his eyes on Nikki’s confused expression. “That pretty much sums it up. I want her out of my house. Normally, she already would be, but I know you’ve been working your ass off to pull together all the marketing and publicity for the Center. So I figured I owed you the courtesy of the call.”

  “And I appreciate it. Can you give me five minutes?”

  He checked the security feed on his phone, saw that Lena was settled on the sofa reviewing what looked like notes as she sipped a cup of coffee that Gregory must of served her.

  “Five is fine.” Let her stew a little bit longer.

  “I’ll call you right back,” she said, then ended the call.

  “Okay,” Nikki said. “What’s going on? Who is that woman?”

  “An ex,” Damien said, the word feeling chalky on his tongue.

  Her brows rose. “I’m guessing it didn’t end well.”

  “It most definitely did not.”

  “When was this? And what happened?”

  “About two years before we met at Evelyn’s party.”

  “Met again, you mean.”

  He thought of the way she’d looked the first time he’d seen her. A reluctant pageant princess with something more interesting to offer than an empty hope for world peace. “Yes,” he said. “Met again.”

  “So this was back in your fucking, not dating period.”

  “Nice to know my wife pays attention.”

  “And has an excellent memory. Especially when the topic intrigues me.”

  “Are you saying I intrigue you?”

  “You always have,” she said, then raised a brow. “And quit flirting and tell me. Evelyn’s going to call back soon.”

  He chuckled. He wasn’t happy about the woman sitting downstairs, but the banter with his wife had definitely improved his mood. “Fair enough.” He moved to sit on the foot of the bed, and Nikki sat beside him. “We went out. We enjoyed each other.”

  “You romped between the sheets.”

  “Such a way with words. But yes.”

  “And how exactly is she’s different from all the other women who’ve shared your bed?”

  “I didn’t think she was. She certainly wasn’t the woman who had been on my mind since I’d been one of the judges in a certain Texas beauty pageant.”

  A slow grin danced on her mouth. “Buttering me up?”

  “Just being honest. The truth is that she wasn’t different. We had sex. Not vanilla, but nothing particularly over-the-top. We went to restaurants. Bars. A few clubs. I took her to a few functions where a date was expected. It was fine. Not exceptional, but fine. And neither of had expectations.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “I was. Later I came to the realization that her expectations had nothing to do with me and everything to do with my bank account. And once it became clear that I didn’t intend open the purse-strings for more than the cost of a few gifts and meals, she devised her own path.”

  “Ahhh.” She stretched out on the bed, propping herself up so that she could look at him as he shifted to face her.” Elaborate, please.”

  “She started to publish and sell articles about me. About our sex life. As graphic as she could get away with, and not even entirely accurate.

  As soon as I realized—and Evelyn drew my attention immediately—I cut all ties with her. She continued to publish, with even more exaggeration, and suggested that our break-up was the kind of clusterfuck that entailed flying dishes and keyed cars.”

  Nikki had propped herself up, and now she was looking at him with wide, disgusted eyes. “Did you bury the bitch?”

  He smiled; god, but he loved her. “I didn’t. I denied her allegations when directly asked and otherwise ignored them. I think that pissed her off more.”

  “I bet it did.” She frowned. “But Evelyn said she’s legit. She wouldn’t have hooked you up with some sort National Enquirer type rag. And a legit magazine wouldn’t have hired her if she’s writing trashy tabloid stuff.”

  “True enough.” He glanced at the phone. If Evelyn was really calling back in five, they should be hearing soon.

&nbsp
; As if the thought had conjured her, the phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and pushed the button to connect the call simultaneously. “Tell me.”

  “The magazine doesn’t have an alternate reporter. Not one who can file the story in time. We can pull it, Damien. It’s your call. But I’m going to advise against it. Maggie Bridge has a solid reputation, and her editor is fine with giving you final approval of the article after I suggested that you’d had some issues with her coverage under her previous pen name.”

  “I see,” he said as Nikki reached for his hand. “So they were aware of the Lena Spicer by-line?”

  “She owned up to it when she applied for the job. Said she didn’t want to do the tabloid trash. She also said that she knew she crossed the line with her articles about the two of you. That’s one of the reasons for the new name. She wanted a bridge between the old Lena and the new Maggie.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I was surprised, too,” Evelyn admitted. “So what do you think? It’s your call, obviously, but I think you should move forward. You have full veto power on the actual article, so other than spending time with a woman you’d rather be far away from, there’s really no downside.”

  He glanced at Nikki, who nodded.

  “We’ll move forward. You’ve done a hell of a lot to get the publicity for the center set up. I’m not going to sabotage that because of ancient history.”

  “That’s the mogul I know and love. Call me if you need me.”

  His smile widened. “Consider this the call. You said yourself she wants family here for interviews and photos. A year ago, you might have had an excuse. But as long as you’re wearing Frank’s ring, you’re tagged. He’s coming, you’re coming. Mom.”

  “I knew I’d stumble across a reason I shouldn’t have signed that license.”

  He grinned, hearing the humor in her voice.

  “Everyone’s coming at eleven,” Nikki put in.

  “I know, Texas. I was already planning on it. You don’t think I’d send your dad into the lion’s den alone? Now go do that interview. Assuming you’re okay with it, too, Texas.”

  “As long as she’s not making a play for my husband, I think I’ll survive. I mean, if I eschewed every woman in Damien’s past, I’d have essentially no women to talk to in this town.”

  “My wife is a comedian.”

  “And yet remarkably accurate. Ciao, you two. We’ll see you soon.”

  She ended the call, and Damien reached for Nikki, pulling her across the bed until she was spooning against him. “All those women, but it was only ever you I wanted. From the first moment I saw you on that stage rattling on about world peace.”

  She squirmed around to face him. “I never.”

  “I know. Why do you think I fell for you so hard and so fast?”

  “Me, too.”

  “There’s only you, baby. There’s only ever been you.”

  “Liar.”

  He cupped her chin as he looked deep into those blue-green eyes, as vibrant as the sea. “I’m not. And you know it.”

  “Yeah, “she said with the kind of smile that set his heart on fire. “I do.”

  Damien’s Journal

  Lena/Nikki

  So many years of keeping a journal, and now I’ve fallen out of the habit.

  * * *

  No, I’ve been shoved out of it.

  * * *

  This life I’ve fought so hard for for is a harsh mistress, and my time is no longer my own. That’s not a complaint, but the truth is that there are too many things I want to accomplish. Too many mountains to climb. Too many opportunities.

  * * *

  Perhaps there is value in recording my thoughts—certainly these musings helped me keep my sanity during the long years with my father. With Richter. When Sofia and I were being sucked into the seventh circle of hell.

  * * *

  But that is not where I am anymore.

  * * *

  And so I will retire this journal. My calendar will be a new record. Not an emptying of my thoughts, but a recordation of key moments. It is a compromise, and isn’t that what all the pundits who comment on my success are always saying? That my greatest skill is my ability to juggle. To choose the path. To face my choices and make the hard decisions?

  * * *

  It’s true, so why not embrace it?

  * * *

  And yet…

  * * *

  One more entry, because I have to get it out. And better on paper than fulminating in my blood — Lena. The woman I’ve been fucking. I thought we had an understanding. That we were both burning off steam. Simply enjoying each other until we were tired of each other. And now she’s taken to the press to vilify me.

  * * *

  I have no intention of sinking to her level. As far as I’m concerned, she can say whatever the hell she wants, but if she’s looking for a reaction, she’ll get no satisfaction from me.

  * * *

  For that matter, perhaps she’s done me a favor. The truth is, I’ve found no no satisfaction—well, none more than physical—with any of the women I’ve gone out with, and certainly not within the last four years.

  * * *

  That was when I saw her. When I heard her speak to those stone-faced pageant judges. Not about bullshit causes that she knew nothing about. But about education and science. About learning and progress. About achievement and hard work.

  * * *

  The woman is stunning. Poised and beautiful. And yet that is not that attraction. At least not all of it. No, I find her fascinating. The way she thinks. Who she is.

  * * *

  She has become the standard against which I measure all other women, and none have lived up to the example she’s set.

  * * *

  I wonder what she would think if she knew that I was watching her academic career even as I have financed part of it. I haven’t cut corners for her—in fact I specifically recused myself from the committees that selected her. She did not need my help.

  * * *

  But now that my money is financing much of her education, it seems only fair that I should watch from afar.

  * * *

  She is the one.

  * * *

  Nikki Fairchild.

  * * *

  And since the day I first saw her, all other women have paled in comparison.

  * * *

  I want her. I can say it here, on these pages that I will soon abandon.

  * * *

  I want this woman. I want her submission, her trust, her love. I want to know that a woman such as her wants me as well. That she sees me and not the bank account.

  * * *

  I believe she would. No, I am certain of it.

  * * *

  And yet I don’t know if that day will every arrive.

  * * *

  If it doesn’t, will I spend the rest of my life lost in a sea of what might have been? Because I’d had the chance. For one shining moment in Texas, I could have taken her hand and run away.

  * * *

  She would have come with me; I’m certain of it.

  * * *

  But we both stayed.

  * * *

  And now I can’t help but wonder if we will be together again.

  * * *

  But, no. That is pessimism talking.

  * * *

  We will be together.

  * * *

  She is mine, after all.

  * * *

  And no other path is possible.

  Every one of your scars reflects strength. But yes, he adds, brushing his lips over the C-section scar. “This one is definitely my favorite.

  * * *

  - Hold Me

  Chapter 4: Family Time

  The Story

  “She’s waiting downstairs, and the others will be here soon. We should go.” She started to turn toward the door.

  He took her elbow, tugging her toward him. “No. I don’t think so.”

  She tur
ned back to him, and he could see the question in her eyes. It faded, though, and in the same moment her eyebrows rose in both amusement and interest.

  “You have another suggestion, Mr. Stark?”

  “I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting,” he said, moving closer, then tugging on the sash on her robe to release the bow. It fell open, and he slid his hands inside, his palms grazing her hips as she drew in a breath. “And I think you know exactly what I need.”

  “She’s waiting.” The protest was soft. And not the least bit convincing.

  “So you said. But I need this, baby. I know why I’m letting her into our home, but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “Do you think I don’t understand? You’re pissed off that she’s here and you can’t toss her out. Or you could, but it wouldn’t be satisfying because it would tank part of the work Evelyn’s done.”

  “You do know me well.”

  She put her hands on his, then gently pushed them off her hips. For a moment his heart hitched, fearing that she could deny him this. Then she moved to the intercom. “Gregory, something’s come up. Can you make sure our guest is comfortable? We should be free by ten-thirty.”