Well, f.u.c.k. Now I feel like s.h.i.t all over again.

The pounding ramps up. "All right! I'm coming! Hang on!"

I stand up and blink. I can feel that my face is puffy and I know that my unwashed hair is a mess. I'm wearing the same ripped flannel pajama pants I've been wearing for two days, and my tank top has coffee spilled on it.

I am pathetic, and I really couldn't care less.

I pad to the door in my fluffy socks, careful not to trip over Lady Meow-Meow, who seems thrilled to see signs of life in me.

I don't usually bother, but I take the trouble to look through the peephole to make certain it's not Damien about to see me like this.

It's not.

It's worse.

It's my mother.

28.

"Mother," I say. "What are you doing here?"

She brushes past me, then looks critically around the room, her nose wrinkling. After a moment, she walks to the dining table, then uses the tips of her fingers to pull out the chair. She takes a tissue from her purse, brushes the seat, and sits. She folds her hands in front of her on the table and keeps her back straight.

I follow and flop down in the chair opposite. I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my fist.

My mother smiles at me. The same fake smile she reserves for cashiers and gas station attendants.

I try again. "Why are you in LA?"

"I would think that was obvious," she says. "I came to help."

Granted my brain is a little fuzzy, but I don't know what she's talking about.

"With Damien Stark," she says, and my stomach clenches tight.

"What are you talking about, Mother?"

"I saw the picture, of course. And the caption. Why you didn't tell me a man like Damien Stark was courting you, I don't know. But it's the first good news I've heard about this move to Los Angeles."

I stare blankly at her.

"Well, darling, really. If you're trying to marry a man like Damien Stark, you want to make sure not to disappoint. He can so easily move on to another woman."

Yeah. Easy. As far as I know, he already has.

She looks me up and down, her lips a thin line. "Clearly we have a lot of work to do." She pulls her phone out of her Chanel handbag. "What's the best spa nearby? We'll focus on your makeup first. Thank goodness your hair is still stunning, even if it is filthy. We'll get the ends trimmed, of course. Then a new wardrobe and then this apartment. If Jamie is particularly attached to any of these things, she can put them in storage."

"I broke up with him, Mother."

I swear to G.o.d, my mother turns green.

"You what?" From her tone, you would have thought I'd told her that I only had twenty-four hours to live. "Why on earth would you do something so foolish?"

"Why?" I open my mouth, grappling for something to say. "Because he has some truly f.u.c.ked-up control issues. Does that sound familiar?"

She stands up, her movements slow and practiced the way she always moves when she's angry. A lady doesn't show emotion. A lady doesn't spout off. "You little fool," she says, calmly and coldly. "You always were too smart for your own good. Only Nichole knew best. Only Nichole knew what to do."

"For Nichole, yeah, Mother, that's right. Only Nichole knows what Nichole wants."

Her face is pinched so tight I can see where her makeup is caking and cracking. "You are spoiled and ungrateful. I can't believe I took time out of my schedule to fly out here and see you. I am going to go back to my hotel, and you think about your life. About what you want and where you're going and what you're throwing away. And when you can talk calmly and rationally, I'll come back."

And then she turns on her heel and marches to the door and leaves. She doesn't even slam it.

I sit there, numb. I know I should move, but I can't. I just sit and stare and feel like I'm floating out of myself.

I don't know if it's been fifteen minutes or fifteen hours when my leg starts to cramp and I have to move. I glance down and realize my hand is still in a fist. I open it slowly and see the indentations from my fingernails, some so deep they've almost drawn blood.

I stare at my hand as I get up. I don't realize I'm doing it as I walk into the kitchen. We have a knife block, and I take out a paring knife. I turn on the gas burner, because even in my haze I know I should sterilize the blade, and there's no alcohol in the kitchen and I can't leave the kitchen because then I won't have the courage.

I wave the knife through the flame and then wait for it to cool. I press the blade against the soft flesh of my inner arm. A new place for a new pain. I start to slice-and then I violently hurl the knife across the room. It crashes into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

Everything is blurry now, and I realize I'm crying. I stand up and turn a circle in the kitchen. I'm lost-so f.u.c.king lost-and despite everything it's Damien that I want right now. Damien's arms around me, holding and comforting me.

No, no, G.o.ddammit, no!

I s.n.a.t.c.h the kitchen scissors off the drainboard, then retreat to the corner by the dishwasher. I slide down to the floor and without thinking, I take a chunk of hair and cut it off. Then another. Then another until there is a pile of hair around me.

I look at it, run my fingers through it. That hair my mother loves so much. That hair that Damien loves, too.

I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tight. Then I put my head down and I sob.

I don't remember going to my room. I don't remember getting in bed. But when I open my eyes, Damien is beside me, his eyes sad and soft.

"Hey," he says.

Damien. My heart seems to swell and the blackness that's been clinging to me dissipates.

He reaches out and strokes my hair.

I sit up, remembering. My hair.

"It could use some cleaning up," he says gently. "But I think it looks cute short."

"Why are you here? How did you know?"

"Jamie," he says. "I've been calling her for days, checking on you. I thought you needed s.p.a.ce. But then this, with your mother ..."

I nod, vaguely remembering Jamie tucking me into bed and me telling her that my mother had come by. I can't repress my shiver at the thought of seeing her again. "She's still here," I say. "In town, I mean."

"No," he says. "She's not."

I look at him.

"I went to her hotel. I told her she needed to leave. And then I sent her home on the jet." Amus.e.m.e.nt lights his eyes. "Grayson's been dying to take her out for a long flight, so this was just the ticket. And your mother seemed thrilled by the prospect of a private jet."

I stare at him with awed amazement. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need, baby. I told you."

I shake my head. "No. Damien, I'm sorry. I-we can't."

He stands, and though I expect anger on his face, all I see is concern. "Because of Sara?"

I don't meet his eyes.

"Oh, h.e.l.l," he says, then sits back down on the side of the bed. He hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. "Do you really believe I killed her?"

"No." The word comes out quickly and firmly and it's completely true. A tear rolls down my cheek. "Damien, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shhh." He brushes my tears away. "It's okay. You're right. I didn't kill her. I wasn't even there that night. I was in San Diego. Charles finally got images from the hotel's security camera. I was in the bar most of the night talking with the owner of a company I was interested in acquiring. That's why he was so p.i.s.sed that I settled. We had what we needed to shut Eric down, and I went and paid him off."

I sit up straighter. "I don't understand, either. Why would you-"

"Two reasons. Maybe I wasn't there, but dammit, I should have shut it down with Sara long before it got out of control. I wanted her interest in the company, and I got it. I bought out some other shareholders, too, which gave me a controlling interest. I edged Eric out and I put people in place who could get the company running again. Turned a tidy profit quite quickly and the value of everyone's stock increased, Eric's included."

I watch him, not sure where this is leading.

"And during all of this I was seeing Sara. I don't usually date, and I didn't love her. But I was busy and she was convenient and more than willing to indulge me in bed. She clung to me and though I didn't admit it to myself at the time, I started to see signs that she was unbalanced. I knew I needed to break it off, but I was focused on some time-sensitive mergers, and I just let it ride. After the deal was complete, I did end it. But that just pushed her off the deep end." He drags his fingers through his hair. "I never expected her to kill herself-and I would never choke a woman in bed-but that doesn't change the fact that I played a role."

"But it wasn't your fault," I say. "And Eric's making horrible accusations. Why would you pay that b.a.s.t.a.r.d off?"

"Because of you."

I gape at him. "What?"

"I was willing to fight him until the end of time if I had to. But that was before he approached you at the fund-raiser. I'm not letting him drag you into this, and I'm d.a.m.n sure not letting him scare you."

I hug myself as goose b.u.mps rise on my arms. I'm in shock; I'm humbled. Damien completely rearranged his plans because of his concern for me. "I-but, Damien. Twelve million dollars?"

"It's the current value of the stock I acquired from Sara, plus the value of Eric's stock. I bought him out. A d.a.m.n good deal, too. The company's strong. I'll make it back."

"You didn't have to. I can fight my own battles."

He meets my eyes, and what I see in his is so much more than simple desire. It's need and longing. Maybe it's even love. "You can," he says simply. "But this wasn't your battle to fight."

He takes my hand. "Nikki, baby, I can't lose you."

I want to fold myself in his arms, but instead I turn away. "There's other stuff, Damien."

"I know," he says, and I turn back, surprised.

"You know?"

"Jamie told me. Apparently Ollie told her."

"Ollie?" s.h.i.t.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Don't worry. I won't say anything to Charles. Whatever confidences he betrayed, he did it for you. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d may have p.i.s.sed me off, but I understand why he did it. I would have done the same."

"You had Kurt fired," I say.

"h.e.l.l yes, I did."

"Damien, you can't just do that to people."

"Actually, I can. He worked for one of my companies."

"But-" I cut myself off. The truth is I don't give a f.u.c.k what happens to Kurt, and the fact that Damien had his sorry a.s.s fired doesn't really bother me. Not by itself, anyway. It's the rest of it.

"Nikki?" He's looking at me, his face open and vulnerable.

I reach out and stroke his cheek, the stubble of his beard scratching over my palm. The air between us is thick, and just touching him makes me feel alive. He's like a part of me, I think. h.e.l.l, he's like the air I need to breathe. And I need him. I need all of him. But I'm not as certain that he really needs me. "You're wrong about what you said. About me."

"What did I say?"

"You said I wasn't weak." I run a hand over my hair. "I am."

"Oh, baby, come here." I slide into his arms, and it feels like coming home. I press my head to his chest and listen to the rhythm of his heart. "Everyone breaks a little sometimes. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you wounded. And I will always be there to help you heal."

I release a shuddering breath as I pull back enough to look into his face. I can't imagine Damien breaking, but somehow I know that he's speaking from experience. Everyone breaks.

"Nikki," he says. "Baby, are we okay?"

I think about what my mother said about what I was throwing away, and I wonder if she's right. For the first time in my life, can my mother actually have something to offer me?

I close my eyes, because I don't want her in my head. When I open them again, I see only Damien. "I want to make this work," I whisper, and the relief that I see in his eyes washes over me like a balm. "Is Jamie here?" I ask, because suddenly I'm thinking about the thin walls of the condo.

I see the hint of a frown. "No." He clears his throat.

I narrow my eyes, confused. "What?"