Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(54)

“Um, I don’t think so. Let’s just leave early enough that you can drop me at home.”

“I have early meetings.”

“Then we’ll have Edward drop me at home.”

“That’s a waste of time,” Damien says. “You can dress here, then go straight to your meeting. I’ll meet you afterward and you can give me the rundown.”

“No,” I say.

“Dammit, Nikki—”

“No.” I hold up a hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know something is. And you can just spill it right now.”

Beside me, Jamie stands. “You know, I have a sudden urge to go reorganize my suitcase.”

I don’t even bother to nod; I’m too focused on Damien, who continues to remain stonily silent.

“Don’t do this, Damien. This time whatever secret you’re keeping is about me. And we both damn well know it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I see the signs of weariness in his face. “Your car was trashed,” he finally says, his voice flat and even. Not with the tone of defeat, but with the level control of someone trying to keep a tight rein on fury.

“Say again,” I say stupidly.

“Someone threw paint all over your car,” he says. “That’s an irritation, but not irreversible. But they also jimmied a lock and filled it with raw fish. I sincerely doubt the smell will ever go away.”

“I—” I close my mouth, giving up. I have absolutely no idea what to say. “How do you know?”

He sighs heavily. “I’ve been concerned about the security at your condo for a while.”

“But you already installed an alarm system,” I say. After the first anonymous note, he’d asked Jamie if she minded. Because Jamie is not an idiot, she agreed, and Damien’s security dudes tricked out the condo’s security while he and I were in Germany.

“That’s clearly not enough. I arranged with the property management to install a security gate for the parking area and to enclose the entry foyer. Two days ago, my crew found your car. Needless to say, I stepped up the schedule to get that work complete.”

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 f*ck?

“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.”