Accept Me (9 page)

Noni smiles her typical sweet fashion. “Morning, Jo.”

Grams shuffles into the store first, followed by Noni, as I prop the door open with an outstretched foot.

“I’ve brought the pictures I told you about,” Grams says to Noni, covering her heart with her hand and smiling ruefully. “I’m excited to look at them. It’s been a while.”

“You two go on into the office. I’ve got that table guy coming at 10,” I say as I check the watch on my wrist. It isn’t Maman’s watch anymore and I’m still getting used to it. It’s a pricey replacement though. My new Rolex matches Damon’s (though I’m not sure much is the same besides the brand and the fact that it’s a watch); it’s a gorgeous, shiny rose gold with diamonds embellishing the face. It’s simple but elegant and I must admit that I love it. I tried to refuse, but Damon insisted that I have it until he can get Maman’s watch fixed after the bath water disaster. I don’t know why I bothered trying to resist the elaborate gift. Damon doesn’t take no for an answer. Ever. I need to remember to ask him about Maman’s watch when I get home…

Grams and Noni happily retreat into the office, leaving me to begin sorting things out for the table guy. He’ll be here in about an hour and since Damon is the one who arranged this meeting, there is no refusing it. He swears that this custom furniture company is the perfect thing to update the store to make it a more “young adult friendly” environment. Jonathan Greene is the guy’s name and apparently he custom designs charging station bistro tables. Each one seats three customers and accommodates charging needs for e-readers, laptops, tablets, and cell phones. They even have these little pop-up partitions for privacy, making the tables look like a pie chart of some sort. His company is called Going Greene and something about it just sounds so pompous that I find myself crinkling my nose at his choice in business name.

At 9:45, the door to the store swings open an in walks Damon’s assistant, Brian, a leggy blonde woman, and what I assume is her son. This must be Brian’s sister. The resemblance is uncanny.

“Jo, baby, meet my big sis, Lindsay. Lindsay, Jo.” He thumbs from me to her then back to me. “And this stud is my nephew, Trey.”

“Stud, indeed,” I say, winking at the handsome little boy. For the second time today I envision what Damon’s and my babies would look like—silky brown baby hair with honey eyes and pouty, fat little baby lips. Some super feminine side of me swoons and melts into a pool of hormones somewhere on the floor.
What the hell, Jo?
I shake off the vision and focus on Brian, who’s tapping his foot impatiently. “How can I help you, Bri?”

“I brought Linds with me because we’re job hunting for her today, but Boss Man told me to be here to take notes during this meeting with Going Greene.”

“You mean spy on me.”

“Not spying! More like micromanaging in his standard way.” Brian shrugs, then brushes a stray dirty blond hair from his forehead.
Must be out of hair gel
. Or spackle. Or whatever he uses to set that hair of his into a cast iron helmet-o-hair.

“You’re babysitting,” I toss over my shoulder as I retreat behind the coffee bar for a fresh cup. “Want something to drink, Trey?” I ask the green-eyed boy.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies politely. “Do you have chocolate milk?”

“I don’t think we do, but you know, there
is
someone here who makes a wicked cup of hot chocolate. Want some?” I offer, leaning forward as if telling some national secret.

Trey’s wide grin is answer enough.

“Be right back. Brian, you and Lindsay help yourself,” I call as I walk off towards the office.

By the time I pry Noni from Grams and return to the coffee bar, Mr. Jonathan Greene has joined our little private party. Brian is standing there with his tablet at the ready but Trey has disappeared into the children’s section. Lindsay appears to be immersed in the menu Noni has developed. Mr. Greene is standing with Brian, waiting for me.

“Hi. Jo Geroux. Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand to him.

Mr. Going Greene smiles pretentiously and I inwardly mark one for myself on the scoreboard for having predicted this. No one names their business after themselves like that unless they are truly and thoroughly in love with themselves.
Going Greene. Might as well have been Pompous Poop.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jo. Jonathan Greene.” He holds my hand for just a little too long, making this meeting awkward in a hurry.

“Yes, well, um. Let’s get to it, huh?” I ask, clapping my hands together in front of me.

An hour and a half into his presentation, I find myself making up a reason to go to the office, leaving Brian to take notes from the showy Mr. Greene. I’ve had about all I can take of his namedropping and bragging.

When I resurface, My Greene has left the store and apparently so have Lindsay and Trey.

“Where’d your sister go?” I ask, looking around.

“I don’t know, but she took off out of here like her hair was on fire. She said she’d be right back.” Brian waves dismissively towards the door as if he’s completely unconcerned. “I emailed you and Damon a copy of my notes. I gotta get out of here. Boss Man has already texted me twice to go get a file from Mike Passarelli,” he says, shaking his head and stowing his tablet in his man purse.

“Who’s Mike?”

“His personal snoop,” Brian replies easily.

“What?” I make no effort at hiding the quizzical look on my face.

“Yeah, Mike just does all of Damon’s personal snooping into everything business and personal. How do you not know this?” he squeaks in the most dubious fashion.

“Good question,” I mutter weakly, because I really don’t get why I don’t already know about this guy.
Who hires someone to snoop around for them? Someone with interests to protect.

“Yeah Mike is all macho Bruce Willis,
Die Hard
style. He’s pretty hot, too. Don’t go getting me into trouble, chick.” Brian points one manicured finger at me.

“Never,” I assert, holding up my hands in surrender.

“K. Later, skater,” he singsongs on his way out the door.

“Peace out, girl scout,” I counter.

Snoop? Like investigator?
Guess I’ll have to ask Damon about more than just the watch tonight.

When our house comes into view, I see Damon’s truck parked in front. I’m surprised. He rarely beats me home.

“I’m going to have a nap, Jo,” Grams says as I help her out of the car. “I’ll be in later on.”

“Okay, Grams. Get some rest.” I follow her down the walkway to her apartment and help her in. I smile and shut the door, then hurry back into the house to get out of these clothes and see what Damon’s doing. I’d like to know all about this Mike Passarelli snoop guy. I’m especially curious to learn if Mike investigated me when we first started seeing each other.

“Damon?” I call out, waiting a moment for his response. Nothing. I head in the direction of his office, betting that I’ll find my Big Man in there. I tap lightly on the door then open it before Damon invites me in. I never wait for an invitation. “Hey, I called for you,” I say as I enter. “What are you doing?”

Damon sits behind his desk, reading from a manila folder with a vacant expression on his face. Every nerve in my body goes on high alert. Something isn’t right. He stands without saying a word and rounds his desk, striding towards the door.

Damon shuts his office door and stands himself between me and my exit. “What did you do?” he asks levelly.

My heart instantly doubles its pace and I know what’s coming. I can see it in his eyes. He knows. This is happening and I’m not ready for any of it.

“What did you do?” he repeats in an eerily calm voice. The only response I can register is a series of confused shakes of my head. “Don’t you deny it, Josephine; I saw you with Grams talking to her at the store.”

“What?”

“CCTV, Josephine. It was installed yesterday evening.”

“You were using it to spy on me?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“No, I think it’s completely relevant. What else have you been spying on, huh? Has Mike fed you anything juicy?” I march to his desk and snatch the manila folder up and flip it open. My eyes scan the first few lines before Damon crosses the room and seizes it from my hands, flinging it back onto the desk.

Subject:
Edward Cole

Findings:
Substantial debt to various private lending institutions and their affiliates. No known aliases. No known foreign accounts or property. Record of two cellular numbers registered to “Edward Cole.”
Surveillance to continue as previously discussed.

Subject:
Philippe Geroux, Collette Geroux, Josephine Geroux

Findings:
Phillipe Geroux-deceased. Collette Geroux-deceased. Known relatives- Josephine Geroux,

“Give me that!” I cry. “It’s about me!”

“No. When did you find out?” Damon grates out, his jaw clenched.

Things are spinning out of control too fast. My head swims with words but all of them seem like the wrong ones.

“When?” he demands.

“I saw your birth certificate when I found the notebooks and I started looking for her,” I confess feebly. “I sent the person on the document a letter. I didn’t know it was her.”

Damon closes his eyes tightly and drops his head. He pushes his hands through his already disheveled locks. “And?”

“She called me the day you proposed and admitted that she’s your mom.”

“Josephine…”

It’s unclear if the way he’s said my name is a plea or a reprimand. I take one step closer to him and stretch my hand out to him. I just want to make this better. I don’t want him to hurt. I don’t want him to know, but it’s coming. I can feel his next question before he has even spoken it.

“What do you know?” His tormented gaze meets mine, leaving me unsure and frightened.

With one deep breath, I shore up what little courage I have left and prepare to confess the horrid truth. I prepare to break his already delicate heart and shatter his mind.

“Everything.”

The word that carries so much comes out as a mumble. It’s weighted with rape, tragedy, abuse, and lies perpetrated against Damon by everyone around him, including me. It doesn’t get much worse than this.

“Elaborate, Josephine.”

I hate when he uses my full name in that tone. It’s a sure sign that he’s beyond serious. I have nothing left to do but tell him everything and pray that he doesn’t crumble beneath the burden of knowing. “Ignorance is bliss” couldn’t ring truer right now.

“Damon, baby—”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare try to sugarcoat this right now! Tell me what you know!” He points his finger at me and bellows so loud that my ears ring in protest.

Tears sting my eyes and the knot in my throat is enough to choke on. I’m backed into a corner by my tormented Big Man with no place to go.

“He raped her, Damon,” I whisper. The admission sounds so foreign. It doesn’t sound like me. Maybe because I hate the truth so damn much or maybe because this is the first time I’ve actually said it aloud. I watch closely as Damon’s brows draw up, forming a crinkled line. His attention drifts from me to the floor at my feet. I can see him mulling over my words in his head.

“Oh my God.” He covers his face with his big hands and turns away from me. “Fuck!”

Damon’s balled fist crashes violently into the back of his office door. The wood shudders and splinters beneath the crushing force of his fist and I startle instinctively. I’ve seen him angry before, but I’ve never seen him quite this pissed. There’s far more than anger flashing in his eyes though. I see that he’s hurt, devastated. I imagine not only for the misinformation he’s been force-fed all these years, but also for the loss of his mother and for the unspeakable crime that his father committed. Damon knows what it feels like to be seventeen and feel as if your life has ended before it has even begun. Both he and Noni were robbed of so much by the same man. It’s a link of commonality between the both of them that I hope will help them connect despite their grim history.

“Go away, Jo,” he whispers, not looking at me. “I’ll give you all the money you need. Go to the penthouse for now. I’ll make sure arrangements are made for you, but you have to leave here.” He moves his head from side to side in little shakes, his lips pursed tightly together.

This is bad.

He strides right past me and grabs his suit coat from the chair in front of his desk, slipping into it with practiced ease.

“What? Why? I’m not going any fucking place!” I snap, all sadness evaporating into thin air. I’m partly puzzled and partly irritated. No. Scratch that. My level of frustration has just rocketed to somewhere between fuming mad and livid indignation. I’m supposed to marry this man and he expects me to tuck tail and head for the hills? He should know me better than that.

“You can’t be a part of this, Jo. I won’t put you at risk and I won’t be able to keep my eyes on you at all times.” He moves past me and rounds his desk.

“A part of what, exactly?” I demand an answer from him. He can’t do something brash or dangerous or illegal, for that matter. I won’t let him jeopardize himself in any way.