Page 61 of Enchant Me

Anne scrambles out of bed and stands in front of Bree in her nightgown. “I can help.”

“I know you can,” Bree says. She extends her hand. “Come on. If your sister and brother don’t hurry up, you’ll get to pick the best ones.”

“No fair,” Lara says, and scrambles to follow. I kiss Bradley on the head. “Staying with Mommy? Or going with Ms. Bree?”

He looks between the two of us, his thumb going to his mouth. Then he says “Pipcakes,” and slides off the bed as well. I catch Damien’s eye, and we share a smile.

Bree’s already led the herd out when Damien’s phone rings. He answers, and I see his expression shift.

“Hang on,” he says to the caller, “I want Nikki to hear this, too.” He looks at me as he puts the phone on speaker “It’s about Ashton Stone. Can you repeat what you just told me?”

“I have more information on the poaching.” I recognize Preston Rhodes’ voice. “Apparently, Stone’s approaching our employees systematically. I’ve personally heard from over a dozen so far, and we can assume that there are others.”

“What is his offer?” Damien says. “And how many have we lost so far? Do you know?”

“I don’t have solid numbers. But I do know that he’s offering double what we pay. And you know how well we pay.”

I gape, and see the shock on Damien’s face, too. “But that’s not sustainable,” I say. “And how does he have the capital to pay that much, anyway?”

“I agree. It’s not sustainable,” Preston says. “His start-up is barely funded, and all the money is going into R and D. But the offers are confirmed. So I have to assume he’s found an investor or partner.”

“Keep me posted,” Damien says, then ends the call.

I’ve been checking my phone during this conversation, and I freeze as a live social media feed pops up in response to a search I’d set last night for Ashton’s name.

I grab the remote to turn on the television, then mirror my phone so Damien can see, too. “Look,” I say, as Ashton stands in front of a group of reporters. “He’s giving some sort of press conference.”

“—a brilliant entrepreneur,” Ashton says on screen, “but he’s self-serving. Moreover, Stark’s famous for his temper and he’s a cutthroat in business. I find it very telling that he’s made multiple attempts to license my technology, including coming to me last night to try to convince me that he never knew about our relationship, when all he really wanted was his endgame.”

I glance at Damien, expecting to see fury on his face. What I see is disappointment. Not about the tech, but about Ashton.

“He wants to license my energy system,” Ashton continues. “I know it intrigues him. And I know that I could probably take the product far by partnering with Stark Applied Technology. But I don’t want to do business with a man like Damien Stark.”

He pauses, as if for effect. “I’m happy to announce that I’ve found financing to take Stone Enterprises to the next level. We’ll be finalizing the deal soon, and we’ll announce the partnership and our plan for developing and rolling out the product at that time. Thank you. There’ll be no questions.”

He turns and walks away, ignoring the reporters who are shouting questions at him. I lean back against the headboard, thinking what a horrible tragedy it is that Ashton Stone has no idea how good a man Damien is.

Damien comes and sits on the bed beside me, and I can almost taste the sadness.

“I thought we’d moved the needle last night,” he says. “I guess I was wrong.”

I nod, mute.

“He doesn’t just want to hurt me,” Damien says. “He wants to hurt my business and reputation. And he thinks I won’t fight back because he’s my son.”

I take his hand and squeeze. “He’s right, isn’t he?” I say softly.

Damien closes his eyes. “Dammit, yes, he is.”

Damien stands up and begins pacing at the foot of the bed.

“Who’s financing him?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I texted Charles during that dog-and-pony show asking the very same question. His people are looking into it.” His phone pings, and Damien raises an eyebrow. “And that’s why I pay them that ridiculous hourly rate.”

He opens the text, and from the way his expression shifts, I know it’s more bad news. “Carl Rosenfeld,” he says, making my stomach turn. “The attorneys are negotiating the final terms right now. Charles says he guesses they’ll have the deal papers signed within the week.”

I shudder. “He has no idea what he’s walking away from,” I say. “And into. Rosenfeld is a snake.”