Enchant Me by J. Kenner

17

I wake up with a cat on my pillow, a toddler’s foot in my face, and two little girls snuggled against me. I move slowly, trying to extract myself without waking them, and realize that Damien’s no longer in the bed.

I smile, remembering last night. It had been the first relatively normal hours we’d had in a while. We’d all climbed into bed with a big bowl of popcorn and another of candy, then we’d watched Frozen for the billionth time, with Lara singing along at the top of her lungs.

The bathroom door opens, and Damien steps out, a towel around his waist. He smiles at me, and I see that the stress that had been building on his face has finally faded, and that simple knowledge makes my heart fill with happiness.

“I think you’re trapped,” he says. “You move, and you’ll rouse the beasts.”

“I know,” I whisper, as Sunshine, the cat, gets up, turns in a circle, and resettles herself, her purr reverberating against my head.

“Shall I serve breakfast in bed?”

I laugh. “No. I know these guys well enough.” I glance at the clock, and see that it’s already past eight. “I’m surprised they’re not up already.”

“Late night movie night.” He comes and sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching for mine. “Last night was fun,” he says. But what I hear is, “I love you.”

“It was,” I say, my reply telling him that I love him, too. That I love our family. That as far as I’m concerned, even in the midst of all this drama and confusion, I wouldn’t change a thing about our lives because that might change the good parts, too.

There’s a tap at the door, and Damien moves back towards the bathroom. As soon as he’s slipped inside, I call out, “Come in.”

Bree bursts inside as Damien returns, now in sweats and a tee. She looks between the two of us, then notes the kids, and I see her visibly take her excitement down a notch, as if she’s afraid that whatever joyous thing has happened is going to wake them.

“Jane loved the book,” she says in a stage whisper.

Beside me, Lara stirs. Bree’s eyes widen, and I laugh. “It’s okay. They’re going to wake up soon anyway.”

As if to illustrate the point, I push back and sit up straighter, disturbing the cat, who lifts her tail and jumps off the bed. Lara rolls over, and Bradley’s leg shoots out, making contact with the pillow, right where my face was only moments before. I smile at Bree. “Tell me the rest.”

“Jane’s sending it to her agent.” Bree bounces, practically radioactive with excitement. “She warned me that he mostly does nonfiction stuff, but that he’ll read it, and if he thinks it’s marketable he’ll either send it to someone else in his group or recommend it to a friend. At any rate, at least something’s happening. Thank you,” she says looking from me to Damien. “Thank you both.”

“We didn’t do anything.” Damien says. “The one you should be thanking is Jane.”

“I think if I thank her any more, she’ll issue a temporary restraining order. And you did so do something. You’re the one who recommended it to her. And I really do appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Damien says. “You have to keep us posted.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? You two are going to be sick of me by the time this is either accepted or rejected.” She nods at the kids. “Want me to get them up and ready? I know the magic word to get them out of bed.”

“Good point,” I say. “So do I.” We share a smile, then in unison say, “Choca-pipcakes?”

Better than any alarm clock, the word alone sends Anne sitting bolt upright. “Really?” She claps her hands. “Really, Mama, can we? Can we please?”

I nod at Bree. “If Ms. Bree wants to make them, you can have them.”

Anne scrambles out of bed and stands in front of Bree in her nightgown. “I can help.”

“I know you can,” Bree says. She extends her hand. “Come on. If your sister and brother don’t hurry up, you’ll get to pick the best ones.”

“No fair,” Lara says, and scrambles to follow. I kiss Bradley on the head. “Staying with Mommy? Or going with Ms. Bree?”

He looks between the two of us, his thumb going to his mouth. Then he says “Pipcakes,” and slides off the bed as well. I catch Damien’s eye, and we share a smile.

Bree’s already led the herd out when Damien’s phone rings. He answers, and I see his expression shift.

“Hang on,” he says to the caller, “I want Nikki to hear this, too.” He looks at me as he puts the phone on speaker “It’s about Ashton Stone. Can you repeat what you just told me?”

“I have more information on the poaching.” I recognize Preston Rhodes’ voice. “Apparently, Stone’s approaching our employees systematically. I’ve personally heard from over a dozen so far, and we can assume that there are others.”

“What is his offer?” Damien says. “And how many have we lost so far? Do you know?”

“I don’t have solid numbers. But I do know that he’s offering double what we pay. And you know how well we pay.”

I gape, and see the shock on Damien’s face, too. “But that’s not sustainable,” I say. “And how does he have the capital to pay that much, anyway?”

“I agree. It’s not sustainable,” Preston says. “His start-up is barely funded, and all the money is going into R and D. But the offers are confirmed. So I have to assume he’s found an investor or partner.”

“Keep me posted,” Damien says, then ends the call.

I’ve been checking my phone during this conversation, and I freeze as a live social media feed pops up in response to a search I’d set last night for Ashton’s name.

I grab the remote to turn on the television, then mirror my phone so Damien can see, too. “Look,” I say, as Ashton stands in front of a group of reporters. “He’s giving some sort of press conference.”

“—a brilliant entrepreneur,” Ashton says on screen, “but he’s self-serving. Moreover, Stark’s famous for his temper and he’s a cutthroat in business. I find it very telling that he’s made multiple attempts to license my technology, including coming to me last night to try to convince me that he never knew about our relationship, when all he really wanted was his endgame.”

I glance at Damien, expecting to see fury on his face. What I see is disappointment. Not about the tech, but about Ashton.

“He wants to license my energy system,” Ashton continues. “I know it intrigues him. And I know that I could probably take the product far by partnering with Stark Applied Technology. But I don’t want to do business with a man like Damien Stark.”

He pauses, as if for effect. “I’m happy to announce that I’ve found financing to take Stone Enterprises to the next level. We’ll be finalizing the deal soon, and we’ll announce the partnership and our plan for developing and rolling out the product at that time. Thank you. There’ll be no questions.”

He turns and walks away, ignoring the reporters who are shouting questions at him. I lean back against the headboard, thinking what a horrible tragedy it is that Ashton Stone has no idea how good a man Damien is.

Damien comes and sits on the bed beside me, and I can almost taste the sadness.

“I thought we’d moved the needle last night,” he says. “I guess I was wrong.”

I nod, mute.

“He doesn’t just want to hurt me,” Damien says. “He wants to hurt my business and reputation. And he thinks I won’t fight back because he’s my son.”

I take his hand and squeeze. “He’s right, isn’t he?” I say softly.

Damien closes his eyes. “Dammit, yes, he is.”

Damien stands up and begins pacing at the foot of the bed.

“Who’s financing him?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I texted Charles during that dog-and-pony show asking the very same question. His people are looking into it.” His phone pings, and Damien raises an eyebrow. “And that’s why I pay them that ridiculous hourly rate.”

He opens the text, and from the way his expression shifts, I know it’s more bad news. “Carl Rosenfeld,” he says, making my stomach turn. “The attorneys are negotiating the final terms right now. Charles says he guesses they’ll have the deal papers signed within the week.”

I shudder. “He has no idea what he’s walking away from,” I say. “And into. Rosenfeld is a snake.”

Damien knows exactly how I feel about Carl Rosenfeld. He may be a brilliant entrepreneur, but he’s unethical as shit. He was my first boss in Los Angeles, and I learned that one the hard way. Most of all, he resents the hell out of Damien, who declined to work with him on what Carl considered a make-or-break deal.

Every once in a while, Carl manages to do the right thing, but it’s rare, and probably accidental. On top of that, a system for capturing and storing atmospheric energy is not within his regular field of expertise, so the fact that he’s involved at all seems incredibly odd to me.

“To me as well,” Damien says when I tell him as much. I pull my knees up and hug them. “I really thought you’d gotten through to him.”

“I thought I had, too.” He frowns, clearly considering something.

“What?”

“He said Jeremiah hadn’t been in contact, but this has my father’s scent all over it.”

“You think he lied?” The cat jumps back up onto the bed, and I stroke her fur, the sweetness of her purr counteracting the harsh reality that’s begun to fill the room.

“I think Ashton doesn’t trust me. And if my father’s been around since day one….”

He trails off, and I’m about to ask him to continue when his phone pings with another text.

He glances down, and I watch as his eyes go wide, this time not with surprise at the message, but with anger.

I start to ask what it is, but he passes me his phone, and I read it myself. It’s a text from the same number that has been sending the horrible videos. The number we now assume Ashton is using:

Did you hear my good news?

Of course, it’s not final yet. If you want to put up the financing—a non-equity position of course—I can publicly retract. Say I misunderstood my daddy. Do whatever I need to do to suggest you’re not the ass you are. Say the word and I’ll send you the wiring instructions.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I say.

“I know.” He doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he makes a call. He has the phone on speaker, and I know it’s for my benefit. I hear the ring, then Ryan’s voice.

“I just got a blackmail text from Ashton Stone,” Damien says. “At least it’s supposedly from him.”

“You think someone’s pretending to be him?” Ryan asks.

“It’s a theory.”

“Well, let me add some more information to the mix,” Ryan says. “I put a team on your father last night. Basic surveillance. Damien, I know Ashton told you he didn’t know the man. But apparently that’s not true. Hang on.”

A second later, there’s another ping signaling an incoming text. Damien switches to that app, and I climb off the bed so that I can look over his shoulder.

It’s a time-stamped photo from eleven last night, and it shows Jeremiah Stark and Ashton Stone deep in a conversation.

“Shit,” Damien says.

“I know.” Ryan clears his throat. “This is a still from the video. We don’t have any audio, but I can tell you that Stone looks agitated. About what, though, I couldn’t say.”

“Maybe he looked Jeremiah up after I talked with him,” Damien suggests.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. “You can’t give him the benefit of the doubt on this one. He lied to you. They’ve known each other for years.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Damien asks as his hand reaches for mine.

“Winston and Linda reported in this morning. They were able to get inside his childhood home yesterday evening. They talked to his mother. And they saw a picture of the two of them on her mantle. Jeremiah and Ashton looking pretty damn cozy.”

As he speaks, another ping hits Damien’s phone. Damien swipes, and the existing picture is replaced by another one. It’s far away, and slightly blurry, but it’s obvious that the men in the picture are Jeremiah and Ashton Stone.

“Linda was able to take a surreptitious picture. There’s no doubt about it. They know each other.”

I look at Damien’s face, and I see the sadness there. He thought that he’d made progress with the son he didn’t know he had. But now it seems like we’ve taken a million steps backwards.

This man’s heart has been poisoned against Damien. And I don’t know if there’s any way to fix that.

Under the circumstances, I’m surprised that Ashton lets us in to his hotel room so easily. It’s my first time up close with this man, and the moment is surreal. This is Damien’s son, after all.

As the door closes behind us, Damien walks past me. He passes Ashton the phone with the screen open to the blackmail demand.

I watch as Ashton’s eyes move as he reads the text. He looks up at Damien. “I didn’t send this,” he says. “But you already know that.”

“Do I?” Damien’s face is a mask, showing no emotion at all. Even I can’t read it. And I have no idea what Ashton’s talking about. Damien had been silent in the car, and I hadn’t wanted to press as he works through all the pieces of this family drama.

Ashton scoffs. “If you really thought I’d sent this, you’d release it to the press. Reveal me as a hypocrite.”

“Would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I believe you had a shit childhood, and I’m sorry about that. Maybe I wish I’d known you existed, and I’m sorry about that, too. Maybe that’s something you and I will both have to live with for the rest of our lives.”

He pauses, drawing a breath. “I know you’re hurt, and I get that. You’re pissed, and I get that, too. You want to know why someone kept you a secret from me, and so do I.”

He reaches for me, and I take his hand. “But I don’t think you sent that note. On the drive over, I wasn’t completely sure. Now, I think I am.”

“Think?”

“When Nikki got pregnant for the first time, we had a talk about how we would raise our kids,” he says, in what seems to be a complete non sequitur. “Ashley didn’t survive to birth, but everything we talked about that day was reiterated when we adopted Lara, then again when Anne and Bradley were born. Your sisters and brother.”

Ashton is slowly shaking his head, clearly confused by the direction of Damien’s thoughts. “What does that—”

“We swore we would tell them the truth. Always. We might pull it back to a kid-friendly truth, but we weren’t going to lie to our children. I figure you fall within parameters.”

“I see.” We’ve been talking in the small entryway. Now, Ashton turns and heads to the sitting area. Damien and I follow.

“I still don’t understand why you think I didn’t send that text.”

Damien shrugs, his mouth curving up at the corner. “Call it a father’s intuition. Or maybe I still owe you one more truth. For that matter, maybe you owe me one.”

Ashton stares at him for a moment, then starts to chuckle. “I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but yeah. I do know Jeremiah. He’s the one who told me you’d snubbed me.”

Damien nods. “I know.” He opens the phone again, this time showing Ashton the picture of him talking with Jeremiah.

Ashton groans, and rubs his hands over his mouth and nose. After a moment, he looks between the two of us. “I was telling him what happened. That you’d offered me the trust, so that maybe you weren’t the shit that he thought you were. Maybe you were okay.”

“And what did say?”

“He said you played games.”

“I do,” Damien said. “But not about this.”

Ashton got up and went to the window, looking out over Century City toward the Pacific Ocean. “Yeah,” Ashton said. “I’m starting to believe you.”