Free Lie to Me by Nicole L. Pierce Page B

benefit. “Flora, skip security. The cops!”
    Damian threw his entire weight against the door, straining the wood. “The police?” He spoke equally as loud. “What a scandal that would be. The Ballantines hate scandals.”
    A commanding but calm voice rang out. “Flora, go back to your desk. I’ll take care of the problem.” There was a brief pause. “Sam, let Damian in.”
    Hearing his father’s steady, authoritative voice had startled Damian, although he didn’t know why. Maybe from not hearing him for so long. Damian stopped his assault against the door and once again put his arm around Casey. She slid hers around his waist in, what he felt, was a show of support.
    A moment later, Sam stood before him, his legs astride, the door not completely open. A large purple bruise marred his jaw and a swollen nose distorted his normally handsome face. Even dressed in one of his brown designer suits, complete with silk tie, he couldn’t capture the distinguished air he flaunted so much.
    “What does the other guy look like?” Damian asked with feigned innocence. He knew that, except for a slightly puffy lower lip, he appeared unscathed.
    “You’re trespassing. Get lost.”
    “Sam, I said to let him in.”
    Damian hated how deeply it affected him to be near his father, who had loved him so much before his life had spun out of control. This would be damn hard. He appreciated it when Casey tightened her hold around him, and he knew she understood.
    “Following him around, Casey?” Sam asked. He grinned unpleasantly. “Are you his bodyguard now?”
    “He doesn’t need one. Check the mirror,” Casey said, in a sweet voice.
    Good girl. Damian then addressed Sam again. “All right, you leave me with no choice.” He hurled his large body into the door, and it flung wide open, throwing Sam aside. As Damian stepped across the threshold, tensing for a possible blow from Sam, he inhaled the sweet, lingering scent of pipe smoke.
    Ah, yes. Dad and his pipe. He had warm memories of that pipe; his father puffing on it as Damian sat on the old man’s lap. Damian’s gaze veered off to one side and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Dad,” he said, nodding his head, trying not to show the fierce emotions blowing him apart inside.
    Michael Ballantine nodded back and, for a moment, Damian felt almost like that child again. His father was the only parent he remembered, his mother having died of cancer when he’d been a toddler. Michael had been his hero, his world.
    His father strode up to him, six foot five inches tall, like Sam, and impressive looking in his matching navy blue suit. Thick silvery blond hair was combed off his only slightly lined face. Michael stopped just before him, his gray eyes giving nothing away.
    Behind Michael, the office could have been an elegant room, straight from a decorator magazine. The dark wood, armoire, mirrors, plants, and pristine off-white walls with off-white carpeting—it hardly resembled a workplace. Damian’s gaze slid to his father’s heavy oak desk and the family photos scattered across it. When he spotted one of himself, he glanced at Casey. Hadn’t the old man disowned him? He looked back at his father.
    Michael’s eyes assessed, head to toe. Why is he studying me that way? Alex had told him that his father had acted cavalier about his accident, yet had asked about his condition every day. It was Alex’s opinion that their father had been sick with worry.
    Alex always saw the best in everyone. It couldn’t be true.
    “Do I look so different that you have to gape at me?” Damian asked, his voice an exaggerated southern drawl.
    “No.” Michael let his eyes stray for a moment. “Don’t you have a job in Alabama? Did you come back to ask me to hire you?” He sounded matter-of-fact, but Damian took his words as a subtle dig. His father probably figured he’d visited the mill because he hadn’t been able to make it on his own, that he’d screwed up. Didn’t occur to the