Free Lie to Me by Nicole L. Pierce Page A

witness in case either Dad or Sam try to kill me.” He flashed her a grin.
    She grinned back at him, enamored, and he reached over to give her a hug.

    The paper mill emitted a stench that reminded Damian of rotten eggs. Depending on the wind, certain parts of Wepeika also carried some of the same odor. Damian, when he’d been in favor with his father, had tried researching ways to minimize the smell. His father had fired him before he’d made progress, if, indeed, there was any way to combat the odor. Damian wrinkled his noise as he and Casey strolled down the corridor. “The workers have to smell this all day,” he murmured. “For that alone, they deserve good wages.”
    Casey had her hand over her nose and mouth. “You said it.”
    Walking through the black tiled floors and dirty whitish walls gave Damian an eerie feeling. He remembered, as a little kid, coming to work with his father. Without a doubt, he’d been his father’s favorite, and heir to the paper mill. Sam had been really jealous of the favoritism. Often Michael had dragged all three sons to work with him, taking special pains to teach even a very young Damian about how to run the business while Sam stood nearby, a more eager pupil, and Alex found paper and pencils to sketch. Damian thought of those times and almost smiled.
    Some of the workers recognized him and stared. Others waved. He nodded at those who waved. For the most part, he tried not to meet the curious stares of the workers. Casey grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and he appreciated her silent communication of support.
    When he reached Michael Ballantine’s suite of offices, he pushed open the door and stepped into the plush surroundings to confront the secretary. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
    Damian flashed her his best grin and paused at her desk. “I can’t believe my eyes, Flora. You look so much younger than you did the day I last saw you.” Which was a day he’d been shit-faced drunk.
    Flora, with her crooked bun, glasses, and dour black suit, clasped her hands to her heart.
    He bent over the desk and kissed her knuckles. “It’s really me. Flora, was that beau of yours smart enough to marry you?” He winked at the middle-aged woman, remembering years past. While he’d spiraled downhill, she’d mothered him, brought coffee to his desk, and worried about his lifestyle. For a moment she gave him a soft smile that almost made her seem pretty, but, just as fast, it fled. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I was told to call security if you showed up. Don’t make me do that.”
    Damian glanced over at Casey. She gave him a sympathetic look, and he let out a breath. This wouldn’t be pleasant, but he would do it. “Flora, don’t call security, but I have to see my father.” He yanked on Casey’s arm, and started walking toward his father’s office, Casey keeping up with him.
    “Wait!” Flora had gotten up and he could hear her carpeted footsteps right behind him. “Damian, you know I’ve always liked you, but—I can’t even repeat what your brother told me—don’t make me have you thrown out, dear.”
    “Don’t do it then. I won’t leave even if security comes.” He put his arm around Casey and whisked her down the hallway at a faster pace.
    “Please, you can’t! He’s going over some things with—”
    “I don’t care if he’s with the President of the United States.” Damian spoke in a pleasant voice, but didn’t break stride. When he reached the oak double doors, he banged his fists against them. “Let me in, damnit!”
    Flora spoke up from behind him.” Don’t fire me, sir! I couldn’t stop him!”
    “Open up!” Damian ignored her, as he rattled the doorknob. “If you don’t, I’ll kick it in.”
    “Oh, great! Just what we need!” Sam, from the other side, sounded furious.
    Damian smirked at Casey as he heard both his father and Sam whispering to one another.
    “Call the damn cops,” Sam finally said, loud, for his