Damien picked up his charcoal blazer and strode to Leonard’s office. He stopped in front of his boss’s secretary, Dianne. “Thanks for squeezing me in.”
She offered a rare smile. The red, retro-style glasses connected to a thin, gold chain slid down her nose. She looked like a librarian whose highlight of the day involved disapproving nods and shushing. “Go on in, hon. He’s ready for you,” she greeted him in a thick Jersey accent. Her sharp, hazel eyes then focused back on the screen, and she resumed typing.
“And a good day to you, too, Ms. Dianne.”
She waved a hand. “Save those sweet words and silver tongue for Mr. James.”
Damien took her advice and walked into the office. Surveying the room, he nearly missed the new photo of himself and Vanessa—Leonard’s daughter and Damien’s girlfriend.
Damien had known Vanessa since she was a teenager, when Leonard had taken him under his wing. Back then, she’d been a wild child—skipping curfew, maxing out Leonard’s credit cards, and sneaking into clubs.
Damien had kept his distance until they’d reconnected nearly a year ago at the company’s volunteer project. As they sorted food donations for a local charity, Vanessa had drew him in with her witty personality and sharp intelligence.
Leonard had pulled him into his office the next day and, to Damien’s surprise, encouraged him to date his daughter.
“Take a seat,” Leonard greeted him from the couch.
Damien unbuttoned his blazer and sat across from his boss. A frosted, hand-blown bottle of scotch stood in the middle of the gleaming mahogany coffee table perfectly dividing the office, with black leather sofas on either side.
Damien cleared his throat, gearing up for the pitch he’d practiced only ten minutes ago.
“Son. I know why you’re here, and I know you’re passionate about Refurbished Dreams. I remember when Leslie paired us up for the mentor program. You were pissed at the world and moody as all hell about your injury, but look at you now.” He waved his hands toward Damien.
Damien shook his head. He had been such a whiny little asshole after his injury. Thank God Leslie and Leonard had been there to help him pull his head out of his ass.
Damien’s eyes darted from his boss to the bottle. Scotch in the middle of the day meant a celebration or bad news.
“How are things with you and my baby girl?” Leonard crossed his navy-blue, pinstriped slacks at the knee. His smile looked as if an arthritic ventriloquist controlled it. New wrinkles zigged and zagged around his mouth. Bags, dark and deep and heavy, weighed down his eyes.
Damien surveyed his boss and matched his faked nonchalance. Leonard would share when he was ready. “We’re doing well, and I’m glad you got us together. She’s smart, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s a stunner. But I’m guessing she got those genes from her mother, sir.”
Leonard laughed with his whole body and patted his knee. “You got that right, son.” He pointed to his wrinkled brown skin and large crooked nose. “Thank goodness the infamous James nose didn’t curse my child. When she was born, swear to God, I looked up to the sky and thanked the Lord my baby girl had her mother’s cute button nose.” He leaned closer to the table. “Now, son, Vanessa mentioned that you discussed marriage. And I must say, it does my heart good to know she’ll be taken care of.”
Discussed marriage? Damien’s mouth went hot and dry. They’d barely mentioned it. Not that he was against marriage as an institution. And sure, he’d briefly thought of Vanessa as a candidate for the future Mrs. Richards. But they hadn’t talked in depth. Just where in the hell did Vanessa get off telling her dad they’d discussed getting married?
Anger bubbled and boiled, heating his skin from inside out. No, his hand wouldn’t be forced. Leonard appreciated honesty, and Damien would give him just that. Before he could craftily reply without disrespecting his boss’s overzealous daughter, Leonard plowed ahead.
“My Evelyn is a sensitive soul. That’s what attracted me to her. She needed protecting, and I needed to protect someone. And for thirty-one beautiful years, I’ve been doing a damn good job.” Leonard pulled out two stout glasses shaped like old-fashioned lanterns from the cabinets beneath the table. “Have a drink with me, son.”
“Sir, it’s not quite noon, and I have a client call and a—”
“Damien. I’m asking, but I’m not.” His boss poured the amber liquid with a dash of water and dropped the drink in front of Damien.
So the meeting is bad news.
Dread slowed his heartbeat. Slowed the inhale and exhale of air through his nose. Slowed his thoughts. He knew this feeling. Self-preservation. His body prepared to handle the blowback.
Leonard lifted the glass, chugged the drink, winced, and slammed the empty glass back on the table. “I’ve got cancer,” he announced flatly, as if they were going over the agenda in a meeting. The man stared at his glass and poured another round for himself. Lifting the drink to his mouth, he hesitated and looked at Damien. “Detected early, and they’re optimistic about removing it. But, hell, who really knows?”
Leonard drank the second round, and Damien gulped his first. The sting in his chest didn’t compare to the pain that surrounded his heart.
A powerhouse in sports marketing. An exceptional husband and father. And to Damien, his mentor and friend. Once again, cancer made a victim of someone he loved.
“Like I said, it does my heart good to know one of my girls will be taken care of should anything happen to me.”
Damien leaned closer to the coffee table and leveled his eyes. “Sir, if anything happened to you, I’d see to your daughter and your wife. No matter what.”
“I know you would, son.” James released a deep sigh and leaned back into the couch. “They think radiation and chemo will fix me right up. I’d been dragging my feet, but I finally told my girls about it last night. But color me surprised when Vanessa told me your good news.”
Color me surprised, too. He gripped the armrest of the chair.
“So then I told baby girl to let me tell you about the cancer, and well, I got to thinking that the wedding would be a perfect diversion. Something good to focus on while I’m in treatment.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. The walls were closing in, and Damien had nowhere to run. He couldn’t tell a possibly terminally ill man that he hadn’t proposed marriage to the man’s daughter.
James dug into his pocket and pulled out a worn velvet-and-royal-blue box. “Not to put a rush on things, but this ring has been passed down to each male James in my family. But the Lord saw fit to bless us with just my baby girl.” The mask crumpled. Tears gathered in his whisky-colored eyes and slipped down the cheeks of his weathered face. “I’m sure Vanessa would love to have this ring. It’s her legacy, and it would be nice to keep it in our family until we have another James. Well, half James and half Richards.” He placed the box on the table and, with his fingers, shoved it in front of Damien.
Hands shaking, Damien opened the box. A silver ring with ornate flowers held a dark stone. Finely made. Of course, he’d have preferred to do the ring search. Hell, he’d have preferred to do the bride search. They’d only been dating for six months, but to an outsider, their relationship seemed picture-perfect. Handsome and successful couple with the same political, religious, and family values. But there was a small, niggling feeling that wormed inside of him—that she wasn’t who she pretended to be.
She was perfect. Too damn perfect, and that bothered him for some reason. What had happened to the wild child? Now she was daddy’s perfect girl.
He’d never seen her without makeup. Even after marathon rounds of sex, every hair was in place, no beads of sweat to be seen. But he’d pushed away his suspicions, determined to end the revolving door of women and settle. Besides, getting to know someone took time.
But time isn’t on my side. And he couldn’t say no to a dying man.
A dying man he loved like a father.
Damien closed the box and stuffed it into his gray slacks. The pain in his chest that had started as a slow burn spread to his stomach. Could’ve been the scotch or could’ve been the pain from the news. Probably the latter. Clenching his fists on his knees, he fought the urge to rub his stomach and heart.
James cleared his voice. “Now, this funding thing. You asked for fifty thousand, but you know what? I’ll personally match what the company is giving. Consider it an early wedding gift.” He chuckled and smiled.
But for the life of him, Damien couldn’t return the sentiment.