by J. Kenner
I grimace, but agree. “You’ve hostess guilted me. Want to go make the rounds?”
“Only if we can go see Ollie first. I thought he’d bring a date, but he came totally alone.” Ollie’s dated sporadically since he broke up with his longtime girlfriend, Courtney, but he hasn’t gotten serious about anyone since things ended between them.
“I’m worried about him,” I admit.
“Me, too,” Jamie says. “I think he needs to get over you before he can move on.”
We’d been walking toward the taco stand by which Ollie is lingering, but now I stop cold. “He is. He has been for a long time.” For years, Ollie had a huge crush on me, and while I know that he will always love me as a friend, I truly believe that we’ve moved past that.
Jamie just shrugs. “Probably. Maybe. But I don’t know. I think he holds you up as the standard, you know? I mean, you’re perfect. What other woman can match perfect?”
“Hello? Have we met? I’m a hell of a long way from perfect.”
“Well, sure. I know that.” She flashes a mischievous grin. “Come on, Nik, he’s not that far off. You’re smart and you’re strong. And do not mention the cutting. You got past that, and one relapse doesn’t change anything. You know I’m right. You’d have to be strong to match a guy like Damien. And you do match him.”
My heart stutters in my chest, because she’s right. Damien and I match each other perfectly.
“But Ollie?” Jamie continues, “he needs … well, honestly, I don’t know what Ollie needs.”
“Love,” I say. “He had it with Courtney, and he blew it, and I don’t understand why.”
Jamie gives me the look. “Hello? He couldn’t keep it in his pants, remember? And yes,” she adds, holding up her hands. “Guilty. But that was a mistake. I’m reformed now. A blissfully married woman. And,” she adds, “thank God for that.”
“I just worry about him,” I say as we continue toward him. He glances up, sees us, then says something to the server manning the taco station, a cute guy who I assume is an actor wannabe.
Alaine has several established restaurants around town, plus the catering service he’s currently beta-testing for select clients. Which is fortunate for us, as the serving stations smell absolutely delish.
The server at the taco station grins, then passes Ollie a plate. He takes it, then heads our way. “I come bearing food.” He offers us the plate, now topped with six small tacos. The aroma alone makes my stomach growl, and I realize I’ve been so busy today that I’ve barely eaten anything.
“How goes the secret agenting?” I ask him, making him roll his eyes. Ollie left the practice of law not long ago to work for the FBI. He’s hardly James Bond, but he seems to like the work.
“Screw that,” Jamie says. “Why didn’t you bring a date?”
“Too many women in my life,” he retorts. “All of them wouldn’t fit on the patio, and how could I choose just one?”
“Not seeing anyone at the moment, huh?”
Ollie runs his fingers through his wavy hair. He used to wear it long, but it’s short now and makes his cheekbones, the kind that any woman would die for, stand out even more. “The well is completely dry,” he admits. His shoulders rise and fall. “It’s fine, though. I’m swamped at work. I don’t have time for a relationship, and I haven’t met anyone that I’d want to go there with anyway.” His gaze moves between me and Jamie. “You two set a high bar.”
“You should make time,” Jamie says. “Or at least make time to get laid.”
Ollie and I exchange glances, then burst out laughing.
“What?” Jamie asks as Ollie hooks an arm around both our shoulders.
“Nice to know some things never change,” Ollie says. “Right now, you two are the only women in my life. Except actually, no. I see two beautiful girls over there, and I need to go claim a dance.”
“What?” Jamie asks as Ollie kisses her cheek. “Who?”
But he just grins, kisses me, too, then heads off across the patio to my two little girls, now barreling toward him and squealing for their uncle Ollie.
“He’s a sucker for younger women,” Jamie says, and I laugh.
“Honestly, I don’t know who Ollie’s type is anymore.” I glance back at him once more. “But I hope he figures it out soon.”
“Who are we gossiping about?” Sylvia asks, as she slips past Charles and his wife, both of whom are standing a few yards away. They’re chatting with Carson Donnelly and Matthew Holt, two powerhouses in the entertainment industry. Considering Charles’ firm does a significant amount of entertainment law, I have a feeling they’re talking business despite the party atmosphere.
“Ollie,” Jamie and I say in unison.
“What’s up?”
“Just want to see him settled,” I tell her.
She skims the patio until she finds him. “There’s a new woman at Stark Real Estate Development,” she says. “I could probably manage a blind date.”
I shake my head. “Ask him if you want, but I think he’s in a funk. He’ll figure it out,” I add, with more certainty in my voice than I feel. “Ollie’s an amazing guy, and he deserves an amazing relationship. But I don’t think we can matchmake him into that situation.”
“Matchmake who?” Evelyn asks, coming to join us.
“Ollie,” I tell her, then give her a hug. “Feel different now that you’re married?”
“I do and I don’t. I already loved your father, so nothing’s changed there. But it’s nice to put it out there in the world. You three know what I mean, don’t you?”
I exchange glances with Jamie and Sylvia, who are both smiling and nodding. “Yeah,” I answer for all of us. “We definitely do.”
I spend most of the next two hours with Damien at my side as we dance with the kids and mingle with all the guests, praising Evelyn and Frank while catching up on everybody’s news. Which is how I learn that not only is Matthew Holt producing a new musical that will premier next year, but that Kelsey—an incredible dancer—is starring in it.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” I tell her.
“I can’t,” she says, leaning against Wyatt. “But that’s part of the show. In a world where everyone communicates by singing, I’m the oddball who only dances. It’s different, but the book and lyrics are brilliant.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Damien says.
“We’re rehearsing and opening in LA,” she tells us. “I insisted because I don’t want to be away from Mandy.” She crosses her fingers, and adds, “Once we move to Broadway, Wyatt and I will get an apartment there. But that’s still a long way off. Right now, I’m just so grateful to Matthew for taking a chance on the show.”
I glance over at Matthew, a stunning man with broad shoulders, chestnut hair, and the reputation of being an eccentric genius with a dangerous edge. Like Damien, Matthew exudes power and control even when he’s doing nothing more than standing there.
He’s also the owner of Masque, a private sex club that Damien and I have visited, and where I know Jamie and Ryan have a membership.
Now I can’t help but wonder how much Kelsey knows about the show’s benefactor. Or, for that matter, if she and Wyatt are members of the club. I think about Wyatt’s photography show filled with erotic images for which Kelsey posed not long before they got married, and I have to admit the possibility wouldn’t surprise me at all.
“We need to go back,” Damien whispers.
His finger traces up my spine, setting my whole body on fire as I tilt my head to look at him. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just kisses my nose and whispers, “Soon.” And from the heat in his eyes, I know he means it.
After more mingling, eating, and drinking, Alaine finally rolls out the wedding cake. As Evelyn and Frank wanted, it has only two tiers. The bottom is a yellow cake with white frosting and the top is chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Nothing ornate but, as Evelyn said, “Our cake,
our day. And I’ve never been a fan of fancy sweet things. Give me Betty Crocker, and I’m fine.”
This is definitely several steps up from a box cake, but it has a practical simplicity that I think fits both Evelyn and Frank. Soon the cake has been diminished to almost nothing, the kids are covered in chocolate, and we’re all raising our champagne glasses to toast the bride and groom before seeing them off to the bungalow.
Everyone gathers for hugs and congratulations, and happy tears prick my eyes as I wrap my arms around each of them in turn. Then we wave them away as they walk hand-in-hand down the lit path to the bungalow. I watch until they round a bend and disappear out of sight.
I’m leaning back against Damien, and his arms go around me, his chin on top of my head. “May their love be as strong as ours,” he whispers, and the tears finally escape to trickle down my cheeks.
“That’s beautiful,” I say.
“It’s the most I can hope for anyone. The most and the best.”
I turn in his arms, then kiss him, my whole body alive with happiness.
“All right, you two,” Jackson says, striding up with Ryan at his side. “Aren’t you supposed to slide into work mode now?”
Damien chuckles. “If you mean asking for everyone’s opinions on the catering, we are indeed.”
Alaine joins us, along with all of the servers who were manning the various stations. They look like an army of men and women in white shirts and black vests, but I don’t see the man I saw slip out of the back row.
I’m about to mention him to Damien, but am sidetracked when Alaine asks the lineup to describe the dish they were serving and then invites our friends to comment on which ones they liked the best. We end up spending the next forty-five minutes discussing the dishes, and even sampling a few all over again. Just to be sure, of course.
Alaine takes notes, then promises to call me and Damien early in the week so we can further discuss and finalize our menu.
“This has been amazing,” I tell him a few moments later after Damien and I have said goodbye to several of the guests. “Thank you so much. Do you want to join us for a drink? A few of us are going to go inside for a coffee or nightcap.” Jamie and Ryan are staying, along with Sylvia and Jackson, who have no reason to get home early since their kids are staying overnight in the playroom with ours.
Ollie, unfortunately, declines, as does Alaine, who notes that some of his staff are still being trained, and he wants to keep an eye on them as they close the kitchen.
“So it’s just us six,” I say, as we start to head inside. I lock the first floor’s sliding patio door so none of the little ones can escape back outside. Not that I’m worried; the house has all kinds of security, after all.
Jamie and I fall in step together as we head up the stairs, the others lingering behind since Jackson, Sylvia, and Damien are talking about a new Stark-Steele real estate project in which Ryan has invested.
“Do they not understand that now is the time for wine and chill?” Jamie asks.
“It’s their way,” I say, and we both start to laugh.
The sound dies in my throat, though, as we reach the top of the stairs and my portrait—the nude for which Damien paid me a million dollars—comes into view.
But it’s not the familiar painting that draws my attention. It’s the note taped to the frame, written in red crayon on gray construction paper.
Do you really love her, or is she just one more woman you treat like a whore?
7
“Damien!” Nikki’s shrill cry jarred Damien away from a discussion about a permitting issue on a new real estate project. He caught Ryan’s eye in the same instant that they both sprinted for the stairs, with Jackson right behind them.
“Check the playroom!” Damien called back to Sylvia, who took off running to the first floor room.
Damien reached the landing only seconds before Ryan to find Nikki gaping at him. He yanked her into his arms. “What is it? What happened?”
Her answer was cut off by Sylvia calling out that the kids were fine, and in that moment his terror faded somewhat. Not completely, though. His wife was pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury “Nikki? What—”
“That!” She thrust her hand toward the painting, and he immediately saw the note taped to the portrait. The note that called his wife a whore.
“Son of a bitch.” The word burst from him, fueled by both fury and fear. Fury that someone had come into the house and violated their personal space. Fear for the children, because Damien knew better than anyone just how vulnerable they were. “Whoever did this—”
“They’re fucking with us in our private space,” she said, the fury in her voice matching his own.
He wanted to rip the damn note down, tear it into pieces, but he couldn’t. It needed to stay where it was until they had the chance to examine it, check for fingerprints, do all of the grunt work that comes with a threat.
Nikki’s hand closed tight in his, and he met her eyes. He saw her fear, and he forced himself to dial back his own. To channel it into control and action. Because he would find whoever did this, and he would make them very, very sorry.
“I didn’t mean to scream and terrify you. I just—well, ugh.” She lashed out, smacking the shit out of the banister. “Fuck. I just wasn’t expecting this in my living room.”
“I know, baby. Believe me, I know.”
“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Jamie said, which was absurd, but had the effect of lightening the moment. And the fact that she didn’t ask who could possibly have done such a thing—as Jackson was asking right then—suggested to Damien that Nikki had told her about the video. And Jamie, of course, had told Ryan.
Jackson held out his hands. “You weren’t expecting this?” he said, repeating back Damien’s words.
“You should have filled me in yourself this afternoon,” Ryan said. “I would have brought in a team.”
Jackson looked between the two of them. “Filled you in? On what? Come on, little brother,” he demanded, his full attention on Damien. “What the hell is going on?”
“I intended to tell you everything tonight once we were all up here with a drink in our hands. Looks like someone stepped on my line,” he added with a glance toward Jamie, who smiled sheepishly and held up her hands in surrender.
“I only told Ryan,” she said. “You still get to be the one to fill Jackson in.”
He fought back a much-needed laugh, then gestured for the sofas. Nikki held back, her attention on the first floor where Sylvia and Bree were hurrying toward them, the latter now barefoot and in a tank top and jeans. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a single ponytail, making her eyes look even wider.
“What happened?” she asked, her question overlapping with Sylvia’s statement that, “The kids are fine. What’s going on?”
“You were downstairs?” Nikki asked Bree. “I thought you were at your place, and Ronnie was playing babysitter.”
“Ronnie’s in charge,” Bree confirmed as both she and Syl climbed the stairs. “I didn’t want to take that away from her. But I felt weird leaving them alone in the house with people here….” She trailed off as she met Damien’s eyes. “I know Alaine’s your friend, but I don’t know his staff, and, well, after everything this morning….”
She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. Though they hadn’t shown her the video, he and Nikki had told Bree that someone had sent a potentially threatening text. Considering their shared history with the kidnapping, she deserved to be among the first to know.
“You did great,” he told her. “I’d never doubt your judgment about taking care of the kids.”
“Thanks.” She aimed the words at both him and Nikki, her brow furrowing. “But what’s going on.”
Jackson had been standing in front of the note, but now he stepped away. “This. You were in and out with the kids all evening. Any chance you saw someone where they weren’t supposed to be?”
Her eyes went wide as she
saw the note, then she slowly shook her head. “I haven’t seen anyone in here. I never even crossed paths with the caterers. But I spent most of my time outside with the kids except to take Bradley to the bathroom.” She looked between Damien and Nikki. “Is there anything on the security feed?”
“Doing that now,” Ryan said, and Damien glanced over, unsurprised to see that his friend and head of security for all of Stark International was on the ball.
“There was a man,” Nikki said, addressing both Damien and Ryan. “Before the wedding, I saw someone sitting in the last row. He was dressed like one of the servers, and although it was odd, I didn’t think too much about it.”
“He stayed for the ceremony?” Damien asked, pulling her closer. Needing to feel her near him.
“No. He left right before it began, then headed into the house. I meant to ask Alaine about it, but by the time we got to the reception, it had slipped my mind. Until I saw that,” she added with a nod toward the note.
Still beside him, Bree shuddered and hugged herself. He was about to say something to her when Ryan said, “Got it.”
Damien stepped aside to peer over Ryan’s shoulder, Nikki beside him. “Is that the guy you saw at the ceremony?”
“Hard to tell,” she said. “I can’t see his face at all here, so I can’t tell if he has a beard, and it’s hard to judge his height because of the angle. But his hair is dark, and he’s wearing the outfit, so the odds are good.”
They watched the screen as the man hurried up the stairs, taped the note, then disappeared back down the stairs, all without looking up. When he reached the ground floor, he exited through the front door, using a handkerchief on the knob. He’d been less careful with the note and tape. Maybe they’d get lucky and find prints.
“Exterior cams,” Damien said.
“Already on it.” A moment later, Ryan held the phone out again for all to see. Now it was showing the northeast parking area camera. The intruder slipped into a plain black Toyota, pulled out, and headed toward the guard station. “One second,” Ryan said, tapping the screen to switch cameras. A moment later they watched as the car exited through the automatic gate.