I force myself to stay on topic. “Why did you ask Mother how much Damien is worth?”
His forehead creases as he shakes his head once more, more slowly this time. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me again.”
“Nikki, I swear—why would I? All I have to do is pick up a copy of Forbes or get on the Internet.”
I say nothing; he has a point.
“If I were planning to ask you for money, do you really think I would clue your mother in to that fact? That woman is the last person I want in my business.”
“If you don’t want anything, then why did you come?”
His eyes go soft. “I told you. I’m moving to Los Angeles. I want to open a studio here. I want to settle down.”
I lick my lips. “Why here?”
“Because—because I have this crazy idea that maybe I can get to know my daughter. Assuming that she wants to get to know me.”
Tears lump in my throat, and I swallow, trying to hold it together.
“Do you believe me?” he asks. “Please say yes. I’ve done so many things wrong that I’ll own up to. But I don’t want you thinking ill of me for things I didn’t actually do.”
“I believe you,” I say, surprising myself as much as him. But the moment the words are out, I know they’re true. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I really do believe him.
I take a deep breath, then realize I’m feeling a little shaky. He pats the cushion beside him again, and this time I do sit down. Right next to my father.
I grin. Because at least in my memory, this is a first.
I’m about to tell him as much when the studio door bursts open.
“Frank Dunlop, you goddamn—”
I hear Damien’s voice before I see him, and the moment he rounds the corner and we’re in each other’s line of sight, he clamps his mouth closed.
“Nikki,” he says as Ryan and Dallas hurry to stand on either side of him. “Why are you here?”
I don’t know when I got to my feet, but I’m standing awkwardly by the couch. “I figured it out,” I say. “Why he’s so familiar. Probably why seeing him spooked me.” I’m stumbling a bit, wanting to share my good news, but also terribly afraid that the world is about to crash in around me. But I have to tell Damien, and so I draw in a breath, and then blurt it out. “Frank’s my father.”
I can tell immediately that he already knows this. So, for that matter, do Ryan and Dallas.
I glance over my shoulder toward Frank, and then back to Damien. “What’s going on?”
“I searched Frank’s room,” Dallas says.
“You what?” Frank demands, rising to his feet. “What the hell—”
“You shut the fuck up,” Ryan says, and I haven’t seen that much fury in his face since the day he beat the shit out of a man who was blackmailing Jamie.
Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling.
“Damien?” I ask.
Damien nods to Dallas. “Show her.”
Dallas passes me an envelope. I don’t want to look—I really don’t. But of course I do.
There are two photos inside. One is a still from a sex tape with Jamie and our former neighbor, Douglas, taken without Jamie’s permission. The other is a grainy photo of Damien and supermodel Carmela D’Amato. They’re both naked, and Damien’s mouth is on her breast.
I’ve seen these photos before.
I’d hoped to never see them again.
Chapter 9
“No,” I say, dropping the photos. “No, he can’t have anything to do with that.”
I’ve seen both these photos before, of course. Just over a year ago, actually, when they were used as part of a failed blackmail scheme. Damien called the blackmailer’s bluff, and the photos never went public.
But what the hell are they doing in my father’s hotel room?
“I don’t understand,” Frank says. He’s hurried to my side, and now he bends to retrieve the photos. “These aren’t mine. I don’t know anything about these.”
The disgust in his voice sounds genuine. I don’t know what to think.
“They were in your hotel room,” Dallas says. “In your suitcase, to be exact.”
“You went through my—”
“You goddamn prick,” Ryan snarls. I remember how Douglas looked after Ryan took a swing at him and step in front of my father.
“He says he didn’t do it.” Behind me, I can practically feel Frank’s relief. In front of me, Damien tilts his head, clearly taking stock. “Please,” I say to him. “He says he didn’t do it.”
“And you believe him?”
Honestly, I’m not sure what to believe. But I can’t turn my father loose with either Ryan or Damien—not until I’m certain.
Damien takes a step toward me, and I realize he’s seen my hesitation.
“Dammit, Damien, stop. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“That’s a lot of proof you tossed onto the floor.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But maybe there’s another explanation. Please. Please be sure. Be absolutely sure.”
I see the sadness—the compassion—in Damien’s eyes. For just a few glorious moments, I had a father. Flawed, yes, but without an agenda. And I so desperately want to hang on to that.
Maybe those stupid photos will destroy everything. But maybe they won’t. Maybe it’s all a big mistake.
And maybe if I press, I can have just a few more hours of bliss, safe in a world where parents don’t stab their kids in the back, and where people who leave you sometimes really do come home.