Revenge Revealed Page 4

  “Why you no come visit more?” Rosalin demanded. “I ask and Mr. Franklin tell me you busy with your company, no time for us.”

  “That’s not true, Rosa,” he replied gently. “I always have time for you. But he’s right—the company does keep me busy.”

  “You need wife, babies,” the middle-aged woman insisted and Damien couldn’t resist a smile.

  “You keep promising to set me up with one of your granddaughters,” he reminded her. She scowled.

  “You are too good for those gold-digging putas,” Rosalin whispered in a loud voice. Damien snorted.

  “That’s your family!” he protested, amused at her liberal tongue. Rosalin shrugged.

  “I speak the truth. I no want to see you used for your money, querido. You are good boy. You find a good woman with hips to give you children, not these selfie-taking cholas who no understand a good man when they see him.”

  A pang of uncertainty touched Damien’s gut.

  I wonder what Rosa would say if she knew what I was doing with Rachel Vaughan. She wouldn’t think so highly of me then, would she?

  “Is he home?” Damien asked, eager to change the subject and she nodded, patting his cheek affectionately.

  “Yes but he in one of his moods.”

  “What else is new?” Damien asked dryly. “Where is he?”

  “Sun room.”

  “Thanks, Rosa.”

  “I make you something to eat. No woman want to marry a skinny man.”

  He laughed and rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As Rosa hurried off toward the huge kitchen, Damien made his way toward the sun room where Franklin sat, smoking a pipe.

  “That’s a filthy habit,” Damien greeted him. Franklin didn’t look up as he grunted.

  “Filthy habits are what makes the economy go ‘round,” the older man replied. “Can you imagine where the world’s economy would be without drugs, alcohol, tobacco or firearms?”

  “In a state of peace?” Damien offered. Franklin’s mouth became a fine line of disapproval.

  “What have I told you about bringing your left-wing propaganda into my house?”

  “I like how I say ‘peace’ and you automatically consider that an attack.”

  “Damien, did you come here to discuss your ridiculous socialist views or do you need something?”

  “I made contact with Rachel Vaughan today.”

  Franklin’s head whipped around to look at him for the first time.

  “Did you now?” he drawled. “And how did that go?”

  “Good. Fine,” Damien said quickly.

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her that I’m looking for hospice care for my father.”

  “And?”

  “And it led to a date tonight,” he said.

  “What kind of woman makes a date with a man under such circumstances? You go there to talk about your dying father and she’s dropping her panties. That entire family is despicable.”

  Damien didn’t bother to admit that he was the one who had brought it up, and that he had implied that the dinner would provide a way for them to discuss his ailing father and Damien’s predicament. It wouldn’t change his father’s mind about anything.

  I guess it’s good for him to hold onto that anger. It’s what keeps our eyes on the prize — revenge is messy, after all.

  “Have you found out any more about Vaughan Industries?”

  “I told you—I just made contact with her today. But I’m not sure she’s cashing in on any of her inheritance. She certainly doesn’t seem to be playing the role of heiress.”

  “Carter probably disinherited her then. But it doesn’t matter – I thought the same of his son, but now we know for a fact that Luke is running the company. They’re obviously close and they have the exact same moral fibre. She’s in on the desecration Vaughan Industries creates. There’s no doubt.”

  “Her financials don’t indictate that she’s getting anything more than the money she’s earning.”

  Franklin snorted derisively.

  “Maybe she’s spending it in other ways ...” Franklin commented leeringly. “Just because it’s not showing up in her bank account, doesn’t mean it’s not in some off-shore account somewhere. Don’t be fooled by what you see before you, Damien. How many times do I have to tell you to follow your gut and not your eyes?”

  Damien ground his teeth together.

  Every time I see him, it’s a lecture in my bad business sense. It’s getting old.

  “She probably sees you and thinks money signs ... she’s probably already thinking of ways to get a hold of your money!” Franklin continued, grimacing. “Are you going to be able to do this?”

  “Of course,” Damien snapped, offended by the question. “This is what we’ve been working toward for years. The Vaughans will finally get what they deserve.”

  “Everyone who comes into contact with these people gets hurt—both literally and figuratively. Luke was a goddamn MMA fighter before he decided to drop the sham and show that he was still close with his father. Lies! All of them!”

  His father’s face contorted with anger. “Pretending to turn his back on his father and the Vaughan name – then admitting that he was the goddamn CEO. Don’t forget!”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” Damien insisted.

  Franklin paused and studied Damien carefully.

  “Your tone sounds funny. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Franklin’s red-rimmed eyes became slits.

  “Damien, don’t forget why this all started. If you’ve lost sight of what happened in the past—”

  “I haven’t! Stop putting words in my mouth. I’m still very much on board.”

  “If you can’t do this—”

  “Are you trying to change my mind?” Damien snapped. “Because that’s what it sounds like.”

  “I’m just making sure you’re not going to bail in the middle of this.”

  “How many more ways do you want me to tell you I won’t?” Damien retorted. “I came to you, didn’t I?”

  “I suppose you did but that was a long time ago. People change.”

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “No, you haven’t, have you? You’re still very protective of your sister.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room and Damien flopped onto the oxblood settee.

  “Just watch out. She’s very pretty, Rachel Vaughan,” Franklin finally said, breaking the silence. “And I’m sure she knows how to use it to her advantage.”

  Damien’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead in disbelief.

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Damien demanded, aghast. “That I’m going to fall in love with Rachel Vaughan? Because she’s attractive?”

  Franklin visibly shuddered at the idea.

  “If you do, I don’t need to tell you how disowned you will be. Besides, I’m more worried about her pulling a fast one on you ... just be sure to keep your…interests…protected. She’ll do whatever she can to outwit you ... and I won’t be forking out any of my fortune for any screaming little Vaughan bastard she tries to trap you with.” He made no attempt to disguise his hatred.

  “Thanks, Dad—for the complete lack of faith in me — it warms my heart!” Damien muttered with sarcasm.

  “I’m just trying to protect my own,” Franklin growled. “You can’t fault me after what happened with your sister.”

  “Sure I can,” Damien retorted. “If you haven’t figured out the difference between the two of us by now, maybe you never will. I am not her. I don’t think with my heart.”

  I don’t shut off my brain when all the warning signs are screaming at me.

  Damien got to his feet and strode toward the door as Rosalin reappeared, a silver tray in her hands.

  “No! You no go! I made you sandwich!”

  “Sorry, Rosa,” Damien sighed. “I have to go.”

  He gave the house
keeper a peck on a wrinkled cheek and she scowled.

  “Don’t be mad!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m following your advice.”

  “What advice?” she demanded, her thick accent following to his retreating back through the corridor.

  “I’m going out on a date.”

  As he disappeared toward the front door, Damien found himself overthinking the words he had spoken to his father mere minutes before.

  I’m nothing like my sister. I’d never give someone that kind of power over me. And I will never need someone so badly that I lose myself.

  His thoughts drifted back to how Rachel and her father and brother had torn his world apart when he was just a kid. The memories of the chilling events weren’t exactly his – they had been described for him by his father and sister. The tragedy and the pain, the taunting and the ridicule, all painted out for him by the only family he had.

  Their plan was brilliant, really. The old ‘eye for an eye’ had never been so apt.

  So why then, was it was a long time before he could stop the word “hypocrite” from bouncing around in his mind.

  Chapter 4

  Rachel paced nervously outside the front doors of Hollywell just after six p.m., wishing she hadn’t agreed to meet with Damien Smythe.

  She certainly wasn’t dressed for the occasion in a simple pair of slim, form fitting black pants and soft brown riding boots, topped by a loose off-the-shoulder beige blouse.

  I could have looked up his number online and cancelled, she thought, running her hand through her ebony strands nervously. As if she was going to really call and cancel.

  She’d spent the better part of the day considering the somewhat odd meeting with him, like there was something she was missing about the entire encounter. Her gut was warning her that perhaps something was amiss but the heat in her loins was telling her that maybe she was going to get an opportunity to assuage the need she’d ignored for almost six months.

  When was the last time I was caressed or kissed, much less laid?

  It was a daunting question but she shamefully shoved it from her mind. This was business. She wouldn’t sleep with the son of a potential client.

  Potential is the operative word, isn’t it?

  Gratefully, a black town car pulled to a stop before her, forcing Rachel to stop the direction her thoughts were heading.

  Rich men are all bad news, she reminded herself. There’s a reason you left that world behind.

  The driver stepped out and nodded at her, a curt smile on his face.

  “Good evening, madam. I’m George.”

  “Hey, George,” Rachel said with deliberate casualness.

  “I will be taking you to the restaurant to meet with Mr. Smythe.”

  Disappointment filled Rachel.

  He really meant it when he said he’d send the car. He’s not even here to meet me.

  She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he had been clear it was just a business meeting.

  “Thanks.”

  She shuffled forward as he opened the back door for her and she slid inside, suddenly feeling terribly embarrassed.

  Keep your legs together and your head held high, she told herself. She realized that was something her father would say to her and it caused her to shiver with disgust.

  “Where is it we’re going?” she asked.

  Not that I’m up to date with the five-star establishments these days.

  In fact, Rachel had never spent a great deal of time knowing the New York high life, not when she had always worked while she was in the city.

  “Yeti’s. Do you know it?” George asked as he steered the vehicle away from the curb, his eyes meeting hers through the rear-view.

  “No,” Rachel replied quickly. “I don’t know why I even asked.”

  She laughed shortly, realizing that her unease was almost palpable.

  Just stop talking and see where this goes, she chided herself but by the time the car slid over the Williamsburg Bridge, bringing them into the heart of Manhattan, her palms were sweating.

  It’s not too late to change your mind, she reasoned but she didn’t open her mouth to instruct George to take her home.

  “This is it, ma’am,” George announced, stopping before the valet in front of a non-descript black building.

  It looks new, Rachel mused irrelevantly as she stepped out of the car. George waved the lurking valet away and nodded toward the entrance.

  “Mr. Smythe is expecting you.”

  In a panic, she looked at the driver and helplessly at her outfit.

  “I’m really underdressed for this,” she muttered, more to herself than him, but to her surprise, George smiled warmly at her, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes creasing.

  “You look lovely, Ms. Vaughan,” he assured her. Oddly, the compliment gave her the modicum of confidence she needed and with a deep sigh, she ambled toward the door.

  Inside, she was stunned to find the place empty. Only a maître d’ stood at the front, apparently waiting for her.

  “Ah, good evening, Ms. Vaughan. Follow me, please.”

  With mounting confusion, Rachel made her way into the eerily quiet restaurant, her heart beginning to thud.

  Is this a set-up? Am I about to be murdered or something?

  She knew the thought was ridiculous and when she let go of her irrational fears, she saw that her anxiety was really a shiver of excitement. Then her eyes clashed with Damien Smythe’s.

  The jolt of awareness burned through her, taking her breath away. Instantly, moisture flooded her core and her nipples tightened in anticipation.

  What was it about this man, dammit!

  After a moment where time seemed to stand still, she shook herself mentally and dropped a professional mask over her face. She saw by the flare of awareness in his eyes though, that he had caught her embarrassing moment.

  Unlike her, he was freshly showered, his thick head of hair brushed neatly back to show every line of his perfect features, including the intense eyes which fixed on her face with too much awareness. He had also changed since she’d seen him. His black jeans hugging the lower portion of his body, snuggly. He wore a dress shirt and blazer, no doubt due to the distinct chill in the air this evening.

  “You made it,” he said, rising as she approached.

  “Of course,” Rachel replied, slightly perplexed by the greeting. She extended a hand for him to shake and he took it. Gone was the standoffishness she’d sensed in him earlier and he offered her a smile.

  “Please, sit,” he instructed her and the maître d’ pulled the chair out for her to be seated.

  “Where is everyone?” she wanted to know, looking around again with some awe. “I know it’s still early but it is Friday night.”

  “I closed the restaurant for our meeting,” Damien explained, causing her eyes to widen in shock.

  “You what?”

  He shrugged and grinned at her and Rachel was having a hard time reconciling this man with the same aloof stranger who had come to the hospice that afternoon.

  Maybe it was just the stress of being around so much death that made him seem like a prick, she reasoned, permitting herself to warm up to the surroundings.

  “I wanted to have a private conversation,” he explained. “So I had the staff close the place so we could talk.”

  Rachel wasn’t sure if she was flattered or unnerved by his confession.

  “Do restaurants often close at your whim?” she asked lightly, sitting back to study him with thinly-veiled interest.

  “Only the ones I own.”

  Again, she was taken aback by the answer.

  “I-I thought your business was technology,” she said without thinking. Damien’s eyes lit up with some amusement.

  “Have you been reading up on me?” he asked innocently and Rachel’s face flushed with humiliation.

  “No,” she lied but the denial was ridiculous to her own ears.

  “That’s all right,” Damien sai
d softly, leaning across the table to stare at her with intensity. “I read up on you too.”

  Defensiveness sparked through Rachel and she sat back, her shoulders tense.

  “Oh?” she asked with some anger. “And what did you find?”

  God, I really need to change my name if I’m still being stalked by the rich boys. I imagine he’ll be less smug when he finds out I have nothing to do with my father’s company.

  “I know you’re the youngest director that Hollywell has ever had,” Damien replied, again catching her off guard. “I know you graduated top of your class at NYU.”

  Her face flushed as she realized that his research was strictly professional.

  Am I always going to have a chip on my shoulder about being Carter Vaughan’s daughter? The man came to you about his dying father and you turned it into something ugly. Shame on you, Rachel!

  “Why did you bother looking into my background?” she asked weakly, unable to meet his penetrating gaze.

  “I demand the best care for my father,” Damien replied evenly. “And that means doing my due diligence.”

  She looked up and nodded, contrition flooding her face.

  “Of course,” she mumbled. “You should know that all the staff is screened heavily. They are subject to random drug tests and there are security cameras everywhere.”

  “Lucky security guard,” Damien mused.

  “Pardon?”

  “I imagine he has a rather charmed life watching you all day long, Ms. Vaughan.”

  Their eyes locked and Rachel felt her cheeks tinge crimson.

  “We’ve already established you can call me Rachel,” she murmured. There was an undeniable attraction between them, one which Rachel knew she wasn’t imagining now.

  “Rachel,” he agreed. “Shall I order some wine for us?”

  She nodded, her body tingling in anticipation.

  Chapter 5

  After initially finding out from Damien that his father had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, but that he had not revealed that diagnosis to his children for quite some time, Rachel began to get the impression that his father was a very proud and stubborn man. Unfortunately, that stubbornness would ultimately cause his death. According to Damien, the lack of early treatment had caused the cancer to follow its natural course to other parts of his body and had ultimately compromised his lymphatic system metastasising to his bones.