I remember him referencing a gate during the call he took while we were shopping. “You told me that call had to do with Sofia,” I say.
“No. I said there were things I had to take care of. And that I was worried about Sofia.”
“Dammit, Damien, don’t split hairs with me. You deliberately obfuscated the truth. Why?”
“Because I didn’t want that bubble of yours to pop yet. Not when I’d brought you here to escape reality for a few more days.”
“I—” I want to cry out to him that he can’t hide shit like that from me, and he can’t plunk me in the back of a limo and expect that will keep me safe.
I don’t, though. Because I get it. He would have told me eventually—hell, the conversation would be hard to avoid. But he wanted to give me the gift of peace for just a few more days.
“Fine,” I finally say. “You’re off the hook about not telling me. But I’m not carpooling with Edward.”
“You are,” Damien says firmly. “I can’t protect you from everything, but I’m damn well protecting you from what I can.”
“Forget it. I’ll have the car detailed. I’ll make it work.”
“The hell you will. That car’s too old for a decent security system, the smell isn’t going to disappear, and it’s been on its last legs for a while. You told me so yourself. Besides,” he adds more calmly, “I already had my men arrange to donate her for parts.”
I gape at him. “Are you kidding me? No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. That car has too much sentimental value. I’m not stripping her for parts. And who the hell do you think you are anyway?” I mean honestly, what the fuck?
“I’m the man who would die if something happened to you,” he says. He’s as calm as the lake beyond us, and his level-headedness in the face of my fury only pisses me off more.
“That doesn’t mean you get to micromanage my life. Or dissect my car.”
“You want to keep the car, fine. Keep the car. We’ll park it at Stark Tower. You can keep it forever for all I care. But I’m buying you a new one with a perimeter-based security system, a GPS, an anti-theft tracking device, and whatever else goddamned security devices my tech team can come up with.” He’s not shouting, but he’s coming pretty damn close.
“You’re buying?”
“Absolutely.”
“The hell you are.”
“Don’t fight me on this, Nikki. Not on an issue of your safety. You want to keep the Honda, then keep it. I’ll bronze the goddamn thing if you want me to and we can mount it in the entryway. But you’re getting a new car to drive.”
“Fine,” I say. I know he’s right. The Honda’s been crapping out on me at intersections for too long now. And, yes, there’s sentiment, but no, I don’t need to keep my fishy car. Damien can donate it—not that I’m going to tell him that. Not yet, anyway.
But there is no way in hell he’s buying me a car, and that I do tell him. “I’ll get one myself,” I say. “You want to shop with me and give your opinion, then fine. But I’m writing the check.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “Until you get it, Edward can drive you.”
“Oh, no,” I say. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it today.”
“Today?”
“There are dealerships all up and down the 10, right? So let’s just go home tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’ll get a car on the way.”
He’s staring at me with an odd expression, as if he’s searching for another argument but can’t find one. The thought sends a little trill of victory coursing through me. Most people do not win arguments with Damien Stark.
“Fine,” he finally says. “Get packed. We can leave whenever you want.”
I nod, then stand to go pull my things together. I hesitate for a moment just to look at him.
“Something else?” His expression is unreadable.
“Just thanks,” I say, and watch as his features shift to something I think is relief.
“Does this mean you’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m pissed as hell. But I get where you’re coming from.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But, Damien? Don’t do it again.”
His mouth curves up into a lazy smile. “No promises. Where your safety is concerned, there’s not much room for compromise.”
I just shake my head. This is not a battle I will ever win, but all things considered, I suppose that’s okay.
“Sucks for Jamie,” I say, pausing once more before heading out of the room. “I think she was looking forward to another night.”
“She can have the entire weekend if she wants,” Damien says. “We’ll take the Jeep, but I’ve got a car in the garage. I’ll leave her the keys. Does she know how to drive a stick?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She does. What kind of car is it?”
“A Ferrari,” he says.
I burst out laughing.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Except that you’re one hell of a nice man, Damien Stark.”
By dinnertime on Thursday, I have a new love in my life. And although nothing and no one could ever replace Damien Stark, by the time we get back to LA in my brand-new, shiny red convertible Mini Cooper, I am completely and totally in love.
“I hope you’re not the jealous type,” I tell Damien as I lovingly stroke the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “Because I think Cooper and I are about to become inseparable.”
“Interesting,” he says, with a wry twist to his mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have left the Jeep for one of my assistants to pick up. I mean, if you two want some alone time.”
“I know I must seem terribly fickle,” I say airily. “But when true love strikes . . . well, you simply have to go with it.”
“Yes,” he says, looking at me with unwavering heat. “You do.”
I take my eyes off the road long enough to grin at him. We’re almost to my condo, cruising along Ventura Boulevard. I turn on Laurel Canyon, but then drive right past the intersecting street that leads to the place I share with Jamie.
“Joyriding, Ms. Fairchild?”
I run my hand lightly over Cooper’s dash. “A little respect, please, Mr. Stark. We’re bonding.”
“I may have to call Coop out for a duel at dawn,” Damien says. “Because I’m not interested in sharing you. I want you all alone and to myself.”