Complete Me (15 page)

“I know,” I say. “Ollie’s always been a master of denial.”

The limo arrives and the valet holds the door open while the bellman moves to the end of the car to load the trunk with our luggage. Damien lingers to tip the staff, but I go ahead and get in, my mind still on what he said about reality. Because he’s right. Eventually reality catches up with everyone. The only question is, can you survive when it does?

The moment Damien gets into the limo, I can tell that he knows what I’m thinking. His expression softens, and he settles in next to me, silently taking my hand. He doesn’t say anything until we are off of the city streets and on the A9 heading toward the airport. The gap in the conversation doesn’t matter, though. I understand exactly what he’s talking about when he turns to me and says simply, “Different realities, Nikki. You and I are together, and we can withstand whatever the world throws at us.”

I draw in a deep breath, forcing myself not to ask the question that seems lodged in my throat, begging for release:
Are you sure? Can we survive? Can we really make it after the bubble bursts?

Damien goes on, either unaware of or ignoring my unspoken words that seem to me like such an elephant in the room. “Ollie has the chance to have what we have. To be part of something special. But he’s scared and now he’s sabotaging his own happiness.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture so sweet I am certain that I will cry. “I’m not scared,” he says. “Not about that. And neither are you.”

I nod, because he’s right. There are still a lot of things that I am afraid of, but being with Damien is not one of them.

“What did Lisa have to say?” Damien asks, and I have to once again marvel at how perceptive this man is. I am not afraid of being with Damien, but I still have sharp bouts of fear with regard to running my own business. And as a business consultant, Lisa is not only a friend, but also a potential colleague.

“She says one of her clients is moving to Boston and wants to sublet a space in Sherman Oaks at a pretty steep discount.”

“That’s excellent news,” Damien says.

“Maybe,” I say. “I’m still not sure I need it.” My start-up business has been a frequent topic of conversation between Damien and me throughout our time in Germany. Not only did I legitimately want his thoughts—after all, who better to take business advice from than a self-made billionaire?—but talking about my entrepreneurial adventures kept the focus off the trial.

Damien is convinced that I should go ahead and set up shop somewhere and hire myself out as an app designer for small businesses while I work on larger projects. I see his point, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.

“At the very least, you should meet with her and talk about the possibility. She’s sharp and has a good reputation and a solid client base. She can help you.”

I make a face, but I know he’s right. I know, because we already had this argument after he told me that he had his office run a background check on Lisa, just to make sure she was legit. I’d aimed a few choice curses in his direction and told him that I’d handle my own goddamned due diligence. He told me to say thank you for taking that burden off my shoulders.

The night had ended in a bath with candles, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been irritated.

The bottom line, though, is that I like Lisa. The times we’ve talked, we’ve hit it off. And I’m new enough to Los Angeles to crave the addition of a few more friends to the small circle I’ve gathered since I’ve moved to LA. Resolved, I email back that I’d love to meet with her. Then I drop my phone in my purse and try not to hyperventilate.

Beside me, Damien laughs. “You did good,” he says. “I’ll even take you out to lunch to celebrate. How do you feel about fish and chips?”

“Fish and chips?”

“I need to make a stop in London.”

“All right. Sofia?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” I don’t know much about Sofia other than that she had a rocky childhood, and that she and Damien and his friend Alaine were tight during his tennis days. I know that she’s been in and out of trouble recently, and that Damien has been frustrated by her inability to get her shit together, as he puts it.

I also know that she was the first woman he slept with, but they’ve been only friends for a long time.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, then runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s missing again.” He looks ripped, but he reaches for my hand, and I squeeze it tight.

“Whatever you need,” I say. “Anytime, anyplace.”

I have never been to London, and I can’t say that I’m seeing much of it on this journey. We went straight from Damien’s jet to his limo to his office. During the course of that ride, I saw traffic and people and buildings that are significantly older than any we have in either Texas or Los Angeles. But I didn’t see the Tower Bridge or Buckingham Palace or even a British pop star. In a way, I’m glad. This is hardly a vacation stop. On the other hand, who knows when I’ll be back this way again?

Now we’re at the London office of Stark International. It’s located in the Canary Wharf business district, and Damien’s office takes up one half of the thirty-eighth floor. The building is ultra modern, as is the furniture. Damien spent most of the short plane ride at my side, organizing a plan for locating Sofia while I made some notes about a smartphone app I’ve been pondering and sent Jamie and Evelyn both emails telling them we were on our way home and mentioning that I am—gasp—seriously considering leasing office space.

Now, I’m alone. I stand idly by the window and stare out into this dreary, overcast day. I have a view of the Thames, but not much else, and even that famous river doesn’t really draw my attention. My thoughts are twisting and turning when Damien comes back to his office, flanked by two efficient-looking women carrying electronic tablets and taking diligent notes.

He dismisses the one on the left and continues the conversation with the remaining woman. She’s in her late fifties, tall and slim and with the look of someone very capable. He introduced me to her earlier as Ms. Ives, his permanent London assistant. As far as I can tell, one of her primary duties is acting as the liaison between Sofia’s residential treatment facility and Damien.

I’m still fuzzy on why such massive resources are devoted to Sofia’s mental health. I understand that she’s a friend, but as far as I know, Damien doesn’t assign assistants to keep tabs on all of his friends.

“Let me know the moment you get through to Alaine,” he says to her. Alaine is now a chef in Los Angeles, but since he and Sofia and Damien were tight in their youth, Damien is hoping that he’s heard from her. He moves behind his desk and glances down at the neat piles of paper. “And since I’m in town anyway, bring me the projections on the Newton project.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” She pauses in her exit to nod at me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fairchild. I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t have been more pleasant.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too,” I say. I remain by the window until the door shuts behind her, then I move to Damien’s side. “Any luck?”

“Unfortunately, no. She checked herself out of the most recent rehab facility about a week ago, and no one’s heard from her since.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He grimaces. “It’s not the first time, but usually she turns up after a few days back in her apartment in St. Albans, drunk or stoned off her ass and ready to go get dried out again.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-nine. A year younger than me.”

I nod, digesting the information. “And she’s in rehab voluntarily? I mean, a judge didn’t put her there?”

“Sometimes I think it would be easier if one did,” he says flatly. “But no, it’s voluntary.”

“I see,” I say, but of course, I don’t. His desk is the size of the bathroom I share with Jamie, and made of chrome and glass and polished teak. I hop up on it, letting my legs dangle as I think about what he’s told me—and about what he hasn’t. “I get that you’re worried something happened to her,” I say. “What I don’t understand is why. She’s an adult and she checked out legitimately. Maybe she just decided to travel. To go hang with some other friends. They said she was almost dried out, right? Maybe she wants to prove to herself that she can operate sober on her own.”

I expect him to shoot me down. To tell me—rightfully—that I don’t know a thing about this girl. Instead, he seems to seriously consider my words.

“She may have done just that,” Damien says. “But if you suddenly couldn’t find Jamie, what would you do?”

Considering that happened not so very long ago, he knows exactly what I would do. Completely freak out. “Point taken, Mr. Stark.”

“There’s another reason, too,” he says. His voice is casual, his movements equally so as he moves to the window where I was standing only moments before. I join him, and we both look out over this industrial section of the city. But it’s not the view that has captured my attention. It’s the reflection of Damien’s face in the glass. His voice and manner may be casual; his expression is not.

I don’t say anything, and after a moment, he continues. “She and I had an agreement. I’d foot the bill, and she’d finish the treatments. I don’t like having my conditions ignored.”

I nod. Knowing what I know of Damien, what he is saying makes perfect sense. The only thing I don’t understand is why, and though I’m almost certain he will shut me down, I decide to voice the question. “Why are you paying for the treatment? And not just this one round. There’ve been others, too, right?”

The silence that hangs after my question seems unusually heavy, and I am not sure how much longer I can stand the weight of it bearing down upon me.

When he finally speaks, the words are soft, but there is a harshness to them that I don’t understand. “I’ve been paying Sofia’s way for as long as I’ve had the money to do so.”

My question is once again “Why?”—and it bursts past my lips before I can think better of it.

I am looking at him now, not at his reflection. But Damien is still looking through the glass, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s seeing the city or the past. Is it me that he is standing beside? Or is Sofia next to him?

I squeeze my hands into fists, because I do not want to be jealous of a ghost, and yet I feel those tiny green seeds begin to sprout inside me.

Damien still hasn’t answered my question, and I think that perhaps I have gone too far. But then he finally speaks, and I am suddenly cold—chilled to the bone for Damien, and for the innocent girl who was his friend.

“She was Richter’s daughter,” Damien says. “And he didn’t leave her a dime.”

It takes me a minute to fully comprehend what he is saying. “Sofia is Richter’s daughter, but he left all of his money to you?”

“He did,” Damien says.

“So that’s why you take care of her? Why didn’t you just sign the money over to her?”

“That wasn’t an option,” he says. “For one thing, she had issues even back then. She’s brilliant but impulsive, and she doesn’t make the best choices. So I set up a trust. She can access money for her needs. I bought an apartment for her. I pay for her treatment. The bottom line is that she has a life and property because I didn’t give her that money. If I had, she probably would have died from an overdose. At the very least, she would have either drunk, injected, or snorted it away.”

I nod because that all makes sense.

“But the truth is that I would have helped her even if there had been no inheritance.” For the first time since he has started speaking, he turns to face me. “She knew about what he did to me. Her friendship helped keep me sane.”

“Oh, God.” I’m not sure if he can hear the words through the hand that I have pressed against my mouth. But I am certain that he can see the horror—and the sadness—in my eyes. “She knew what kind of a monster her father was.”

“She did,” he says. “And we survived him together. In the end, I was better suited at survival than she was. But dammit, Nikki, she was there for me.”

I am nodding, tears trickling down my cheeks. “Alaine, too?”

Damien shakes his head. “He didn’t know anything. I value his friendship, of course. But my relationship with Sofia runs deeper.”

I take his hand and hold it tight. Those tiny green tendrils have completely shriveled up. There is no jealousy. Instead, I am as desperate to find this woman as Damien. This poor girl who shared what little strength she had with Damien, and suffered through her own kind of hell simply from knowing that the blood of a monster flowed through her veins.

“You’ll find her,” I say. “When have you ever not gotten something you want?”

As I had hoped, that draws a small smile to his lips. He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight.

“The trial must have been hell for her,” I say. “Her father. You.” I keep my cheek pressed against his chest as his reply rumbles through me.

“We didn’t talk about it. She didn’t like to think about the fact that Merle Richter was her father. I spoke to her a few hours before you arrived in Germany, actually. I kept expecting her to bring it up. She never did.”

I don’t know what to say next, so I am relieved when Ms. Ives’s voice comes across the intercom, telling Damien that she has Alaine on a video call, and does Damien want her to put it through to the wall screen?

Damien tells her to go ahead, and immediately a decorative mirror on the far side of the room turns opaque, then blue. And then, suddenly, I see Alaine’s face.

“Damien,” he says, “I was so pleased to hear about the dismissal.”

“Thank you. You remember Nikki?”

“Of course. It is a pleasure to see you again, Nikki. Hopefully next time it will be in person with a glass of my best wine.”

“I’d like that.” When I met Alaine, I hadn’t been able to place his accent. Since then, Damien has told me that he grew up in Switzerland. It’s still not an accent I would recognize easily, but listening now, I can hear the influences of both French and German.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you called earlier. Your message said it was about Sofia?”

“She’s gone again,” Damien says. “Checked herself out a few days ago and took off. I haven’t been able to find her, and I thought she might have called you.”