Page 35 of Enchant Me

I turn into Upper Crust, my favorite local bakery, and get in the line to grab a coffee for the road and a muffin for later. “Okay,” I tell her. “Send it. I promise I won’t drive off a cliff.”

“I hate this,” she says, but a moment later my phone pings, and I open to see the image she’s sent. It’s a note, and I wince at the familiar handwriting as I read the horrible words:

Do you not know how vile he is? Or do you just like being his slut? Do you really believe you’re the only one?

“You have the original?” My voice sounds raw.

“I gave it to Renly to look into,” she says, referring to her husband, a former movie and television consultant who now works for Stark Security. “I told him not to say anything to Damien yet. I figured you’d want to be the one to do that. Nikki, God, I’m really sorry. I was going to call you after you left the SCF. I knew you had meetings. I didn’t want to ruin your morning. Do you know who could have sent it?”

“No,” I tell her. “But it’s not the first.”

“What?” I hear the shock in her voice and hurry to explain.

“It’s not the first, and to be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. But call Renly. Ryan will fill him in, and you can get the scoop that way. And just in case, tell Marge to keep the office doors locked. It’s not like we get walk-ins, anyway.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I will. Nikki, I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Damien and I have weathered worse.” But even as I say the words, I’m not sure if it’s true. Because as far as I know, these creepy notes are just the beginning. “Call me later if you want,” I tell her.

“If I want? You’re the one getting creepy messages.”

The words and her tone make me smile. “True,” I say. “But you’re worrying.”

“Good point. I’ll call you later.”

We end the call, and once I’m back on the road and sufficiently calm, I call Damien’s cell, because this is something I want to talk about, not just drop into his text messages. But the call is forwarded to his desk, and his assistant, Troy Reed, answers. “Tell him to call me when he’s got a free moment. I’m heading to the SCF, so if it rolls to voicemail, just have him try me the next time he’s free.”

Troy laughs. “You should know he’s never free. Except for you, Mrs. Stark. Do you want me to buzz you through?”

“It’s Nikki, remember? And no.” If he’s in an important meeting, I don’t want to throw off his game. “But let him know I want to talk when he can carve out a few minutes.”

“You got it, Nikki. I’ll let him know.”

It takes me almost an hour to get to the Stark Children’s Foundation in Beverly Hills, but when I do, I’m a bit calmer. The situation sucks, true. And it sucks more than it did when we were getting harassed about the painting or the Richter murder trial, but that’s because this time it’s not just us. It’s our home and our family that are in the hot seat.

I wish I could figure out why. It seems like whoever is sending the texts is jealous of me and even of Sofia. So maybe we’re dealing with an old girlfriend? And while a crazy, stalkerish ex doesn’t sound like a picnic, it’s something I can deal with.

And you know what? No matter who’s behind this or what they want, Damien and I can handle it. After all, we’ve handled everything else the universe has thrown at us. What’s one more crisis?

That, at least, is what I tell myself. But it’s a big fat lie.

This time, the darkness has seeped into our home. The Malibu house has always been our fortress, a place to lock out the world. But Saturday night, the world got in. And though I don’t want it to, that scares me.

I’m not afraid of an attack—not really. Someone found a weakness and took advantage, and with the work Ryan’s team did yesterday and has on the agenda for today, I know that the house will be tighter than Fort Knox by the time I get home.

Mostly, I’m scared of what that note on my portrait represents. That we’re vulnerable. That despite everything Damien does to keep us safe—despite the incredible force of his will—it’s just not possible to wrap us all safe and sound in bubble wrap.

I know that, and I hate it. But I can live with it. Hopefully, Damien can, too, I think as my phone rings, signaling his incoming call.

I’ve just parked, so I keep the engine running as I answer the call, dreading what I have to tell him so much that all I say is, “You’re not going to like this. Check your text.”

I’m right, of course. He doesn’t like it. “I’ve got the meeting with Ashton Stone in five minutes,” he tells me, “but as soon as that wraps, I’ll head over to The Domino. By that time, they’ll have dusted for prints.”

I nod to myself. The Domino is the business park where Stark Security is located, and where Renly would have taken the envelope and note. “Tell them to dust Marge’s station, too. The guy might have delivered it himself if he’s ballsy enough.”

“I’ll mention it, but I imagine Ryan or Renly or Mario already thought of that.” His voice is tight. Businesslike. And I know he’s holding back fury.

“We’ll figure this out,” I say. “We always do.”