Claim Me(133)

There is no trace of the hurt left on his face. Instead, there is only something soft and tender. His smile is slow, and the shake of his head is even slower. “No,” he says, and I gasp in surprise. “That’s not what I do. But I do oversee my own managers with such microscopic interest that I imagine they consider me among their most irritating clients. Fortunately, the percentage they earn off the growth is sufficient to quell that irritation. I won’t manage your money, but I will babysit it. I’ll introduce you to my manager, we’ll get you set up, explain your goals, and then I’ll watch over your nest egg. Sound good?”

“Will you explain the investment choices to me?”

“I’ll explain anything you want. We’ll do this together, okay? And who knows. Maybe next you’ll be asking me to help with your start-up.”

“Don’t push,” I say. I’ve explained to him why I want to take it slow, though I think he is on Jamie’s side of the equation. Damien would simply jump in and do brilliantly. I want to wade in slowly and do brilliantly.

He holds a hand up as if in self-defense. “I’m not pushing. Why would I push you to go out on your own when I’d much rather get you set up as a division of Stark Applied Technology?”

I laugh. “Once I’m out there on my own and raking in the dollars, then you can buy me out for some obscene amount of money. But I’m starting on my own.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “I just want to see you actually start. I’m waiting, you know. I fully intend to license some of your software for use in my offices. The cross-platform note system you told me about could come in quite handy.”

“All the more reason not to jump in before I’m ready,” I say firmly. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” he says. He pulls me in for a quick, firm kiss. “And, Nikki? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me to help you with the million.”

I nod slowly. Have I made this decision because a man I trust happens to be brilliant with money? Or am I following the pattern of last night, surrendering control to Damien instead of coping for myself?

He’s told me more than once that there is strength inside me. And though the words are a comfort, I’m not sure I believe them. I didn’t feel strong last night. And every time I think about the press going apeshit over my personal business, nausea crashes over me.

But Damien is looking at me with such tenderness that I say none of that. “I’ve trusted you with my heart,” I say, because that is an undeniable truth. “Why wouldn’t I trust you with my money?”

I speak the words lightly. His expression, however, is serious. “You do know that I trust you, too?”

“Of course,” I say.

“Just because it takes me time, doesn’t mean I trust you less.”

“I know that,” I say, because in my head, I do get it, and I have to admit that he’s already told me so much. In my heart, though, I want him to spill out everything still locked inside. But do I want that so that I can be strong for him as he is for me? Or am I simply being selfish, looking for a tangible confirmation of how he feels about me, even though I already know from every glance and every touch that I am cherished?

For the rest of the afternoon, we do little more than laze about in bed, our arms touching, our legs crossed over each other. Damien reads various reports that Sylvia emails to his iPad. I flip through magazines, folding down pages with clothes that I like or that I think might look good on Jamie. Sometimes I see an interesting piece of furniture and show the picture to Damien who tells me to mark the page, then promises me we’ll go to the Pacific Design Center soon and try to find some of these pieces for the Malibu house.