The words hit her with unexpected force. She shot to her feet to face him.
“I’m not a prize for the taking, Damon.” Fuming, she folded her arms.
“And that’s not how I see you. But make no mistake, your father views your affection for me as a betrayal.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, but nothing else can explain the way he tried to shut me out of Lucas’s life. The way he misled the police when you disappeared.”
Caroline didn’t want to believe it. Her head hurt just thinking about all the ways her dad had tried to keep her and Damon apart. Had her therapist been correct when she gently suggested she’d been a victim of gaslighting?
Had her father tried to undermine her recovery from amnesia by lying about not knowing the father of her child?
“I don’t claim to understand his motives. But I know I won’t be manipulated anymore.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Not by him. And not by you.”
“I’m trying to protect you.” Damon’s hands moved to her shoulders, his touch gentle. “And I’m ensuring Lucas’s future is secure by introducing Transparent to the market in the most successful way. The company is his legacy.”
Some of the anger thrumming through her eased. She understood his point.
“I want that, too.” She’d always hoped for Transparent to succeed. She’d been a fan of the concept even before her father had gotten involved with the company. Now, there was far more riding on Damon’s public launch, since Lucas would one day inherit whatever his father built.
“Do you?” He let the question hang between them for a moment. “Because if you want the business to succeed in spite of your father, I would appreciate it if you would share your notes. I need to know how much inside information he has.”
“I’ll do it.” She bit her lip, hating being torn between someone she’d felt loyalty toward for the last twenty-plus years of her life and the man she’d married. “If you can tell me how it makes any sense for Dad to sabotage a business that he has an enormous stake in.”
“I think revenge has become more important to him than walking away with a profit this time. Especially when he has investments in plenty of other lucrative ventures.”
He let go of her shoulders, so that it was only his powerful words that kept her close to him.
“You think he wants revenge enough to ruin his own grandson’s future?” She didn’t want it to be true. But she couldn’t deny all the ways her father’s actions had hurt her in the past year.
“Lucas is a McNeill now.” Damon straightened. “He might not feel any loyalty to our son.”
But she knew for certain Damon would protect their child no matter what. Even if he didn’t love her.
“Very well.” She nodded, her mind made up. “I’ll send you all of my research. Everything that I shared with my father.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Damon hated that Caroline was under such tremendous stress. Thank goodness she’d agreed to his idea for a break from it all, a chance to unwind and let the pieces of life slide back into place.
“I didn’t think sledding was possible in New York City,” Caroline called to him as they crossed Fifth Avenue the next morning, a bodyguard trailing them.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her brown eyes bright as they trudged the snowy path already worn from early morning visitors to the park. She wore black ski pants and a bright aquamarine parka with a pair of insulated boots left behind by another guest of his grandfather’s. The maids had produced the clothes within minutes of his asking about winter gear. Caroline had brought her own gloves and a white knit hat for the trip, so she’d been well equipped for the outing he’d suggested. He wanted to smooth things over between them after the talk about her father last night.
While she’d complied with his request and sent him the files he’d asked for via email before midnight, Damon had sensed that she was upset. No doubt, she wished things had turned out differently in regard to her father. But in time, she would have to see that Stephan Degraff was far more ruthless than she knew.
“It’s the City that Never Sleeps, not the City that Never Plays.” Damon juggled the brightly colored inflatable tube under his arm, an item he’d had specially shipped from a local seller capitalizing on the snowstorm. He hoped his own son would one day be as industrious as the teen who’d showed up at the mansion this morning on a fat-tire mountain bike, five more sleds strapped to a wagon on the back.
“But are there hills?” Her gaze swept the bright terrain where a flood of early risers built snowmen along the park paths.