Part 10 (1/2)

So instead, I force a smile that I am certain looks lame. ”It's been hard. But we're good.” I lift a shoulder. Just one more martyr making it through the day.

”Oh, Syl.” Rachel's voice is full of genuine pity, and I really do appreciate that she cares.

I glance down at the floor, as if I can see through the carpet and concrete to where Jackson sits many floors below in his office, working at his drafting table. ”The work helps, you know? It keeps him sane.”

”You, too,” she says, and I have to nod. There are only two things that pull me out of the path of the nightmare that is barreling down on usgetting lost in Jackson and getting lost in my work.

”How about you and Trent?” I ask, because I want to change the subject. Her cheeks turn a little pink, and I grin. ”Did you guys have a hot weekend in Santa Barbara?”

The pink fades and her mouth turns down and I want to kick myself.

”Santa Barbara?”

I shake my head. ”Sorry, I just a.s.sumed. I had dinner with my old boss, and he mentioned that he'd b.u.mped into Trent in Santa Barbara. And I know you guys are going out, so I thought . . .” I trail off with a shrug and a weak smile, a string of s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t running through my head.

”Nope,” she says, her voice just a little thin and possibly a little hurt. ”But maybe he was scoping out a place for a wild weekend.”

”Probably. Or more likely it had nothing to do with anything. Maybe he has family there.”

Her head tilts to the side. ”Actually, I think he does.” She nods firmly, as if she's just solved a sticky problem and is ready to put it away. But there's still a haunted look in her eyes, and I have a feeling that I may have just opened a nasty can of worms for Trent.

Honestly, considering how discreet I can be about Damien's personal business, you'd think I would know how not to open my mouth and insert my foot.

Damien's door opens and he steps out, and I swear I want to kiss him just for breaking up the moment. ”Rachel, I'm going to meet Aiden at the Stark Plaza site before my meeting with Dallas.”

I frown. ”Should I come? Are you talking about his investment?”

”Not at this meeting, no. Dallas is still on board.” He meets my eyes. ”I'm sorry, Syl, but Tarrant Properties pulled out. I don't have confirmation, but I think they've been courted by Lost Tides,” he adds, referring to the competing Santa Barbara resort that is my nemesis.

His voice is tight, reflecting my own coiling anger.

”Do you know who made the overture?” The developers of Lost Tides have been playing PR games, keeping the partic.i.p.ants under wraps, with their early marketing doc.u.ments claiming that it's the resort that matters, not the names behind it.

To me, all that means is that they don't have a name as big as Jackson's.

Damien shakes his head. ”Once they start actively signing investors, they'll have to be more transparent.”

”Good,” I say. Whoever started that d.a.m.n resort copied the idea from me. Even if I can't stop them, I want to know who it is I hate.

Damien's expression is knowing. ”Don't worry about the compet.i.tion,” he says. ”Just worry about making Cortez the best it can be. The rest will fall into place.”

”a.s.suming we don't lose all our investors.”

”No one else has bolted.”

”But there's no arrest yet.” I don't mean to say that. I don't mean to s.h.i.+ft the focus from the resort itself to Jackson. But the words slipped outthe worry that Jackson is going to end up behind bars is just too close to the surface with me.

”And if it comes to that, we'll deal with it, too,” Damien says gently. ”We'll meet for an update after my lunch.”

I nod, and he's heading toward the elevator when the doors open and Jackson bursts out. ”Have you seen the latest bulls.h.i.+t?” he asks as he thrusts his phone into Damien's hand.

”Well, h.e.l.l,” Damien says. ”Though I can't say that I'm surprised.”

I hurry to themand even Rachel abandons the desk to join us. I stand between the men, my hand on Jackson's shoulder so I can rise up on my toes to see better.

All I can read is the headlineAnother Alcatraz off the California Coast?

I look at Jackson, confused. ”What?”

”It's a bulls.h.i.+t editorial. About Reed's murder. The a.s.sault. And my alleged involvement in both of those and the Cortez project. And then, to milk the absurdity properly, the writer pulls in Damien, too.”

”A murderous dynamic duo,” Damien reads, his mouth curving down with a frown before he looks up at Jackson. ”You can be Robin. And I'm not wearing a cape.”

I take the phone from Damien and start to skim.

”It's not funny,” Jackson says.

”No. It's not,” Damien says. ”But it's also not unexpected.”

I'm barely listening to the two of them. Instead, my stomach is twisting more and more as I read. ”This is another dig on the project,” I say. I look at both men in turn. ”Like the land mine bulls.h.i.+t. This isn't gossip about Jackson or your relations.h.i.+p or Reed or any of it. This is about shutting down Cortez. A tainted island,” I read. ”Bathed in blood and tragedy. How much do you want to bet that every one of the investors will get this in their inbox?”

I see Jackson and Damien exchange glances. ”She's right,” Damien says.

A burst of fury cuts through me. ”I swear I will strangle whoever is behind this.”

Jackson reaches over and takes my hand, and I find the change in our positions both comforting and amusing. Usually I'm the one cooling his temper.

I glance at him, and see that he is watching Damien. ”Listen,” he says, as he glances at his watch. ”How's the rest of your afternoon? Can I buy you a drink at happy hour?”

For a moment, I'm confused. Then I remember Jackson's comment about doing his own investigation into Reed's killer, and asking Damien for help. Unfortunately, I happen to know that Damien's heading out to see Aiden, and after that his schedule is jam-packed late into the night, so that ball isn't going to start rolling today.

”I'm busy,” he says evenly. ”But it's nothing that can't be rescheduled. Rachel,” he adds, turning toward her desk, ”Take care of it for me.”

”Of course, sir,” she says, as Jackson shoots me a smug grin. My eyes, I know, are wide with surprise.

I'm still gaping as the two of them step onto the elevator, and when the doors shut, Rachel lets out a long sigh.

I laugh. ”It's not that bad. Just call everyone and tell them something came up. With a man in Damien's position, it's hardly unexpected.”

”Oh, that's not it,” she says. ”It's this.” She taps her monitor and I hurry around her desk to stand behind her, dread building as I do.

The moment I see the screen, I exhale, my breath forming a single word”s.h.i.+t.”

I'm looking at a scene from last night on the boat. It's an image of the three of us, with me standing just behind Jackson, who is looking at his father with an expression of calm, contained fury. His stance conveys power and control, and though this must have been taken by one of the paparazzi with a long lens, the shot is so clear that the scar that bisects Jackson's left eyebrow is in sharp focus.

The captionDaddy Trouble for the Man of Steele?is little more than a snarky irritation. But the photo itself scares me, and not just because of how closely the paparazzi have crept in, managing to take shots of conversations that should have been private.