“More champagne?” The bartender holds out a flute. Tempting. Very tempting, but I shake my head. I don’t need to get drunk. I need to get out of here.
More guests arrive, and the room overflows with people. I look for Stark again, but he has disappeared into the crowd. Audrey Hepburn is nowhere in sight, either. I’m sure wherever they are, they’re having a dandy time.
I sandwich myself between a wall and a hallway cordoned off with a velvet rope. Presumably it leads to the rest of Evelyn’s house. Right now, it’s the closest thing to privacy I have.
I take out my phone, hit speed dial, and wait for Jamie to answer.
“You will so not believe this,” she says, skipping all the preliminaries. “I just did the nasty with Douglas.”
“Oh my God, Jamie. Why?” Okay, that came out before I had the chance to think about it, and while this revelation about Douglas is not good news, I’m grateful to be dragged so forcefully into Jamie’s problems. Mine can wait.
Douglas is our next-door neighbor, and his bedroom shares a wall with mine. Even though it’s only been four days, I have a pretty good idea of how often he gets laid. The idea that my best friend is another ticky mark on his bedpost does not thrill me.
Of course, from Jamie’s perspective, he’s a mark on her bedpost.
“We were by the pool drinking wine, and then we got in the hot tub and then …” She trails off, leaving “and then” to my imagination.
“He’s still there? Or are you at his place?”
“God, no. I sent him home an hour ago.”
“Jamie …”
“What? I just needed to burn some energy. Trust me, it’s good. I’m so mellow now you wouldn’t even believe.”
I frown. Like a girl who collects stray puppies, Jamie brings home a lot of men. She doesn’t, however, keep them around. Not even until morning. As her roommate, I find that convenient. There’s nothing quite like meeting an unshaved, unshowered, half-naked man staring into your refrigerator at three in the morning. As her friend, however, I worry.
She, in turn, worries about me for precisely the opposite reason. I’ve never brought a man home, much less kicked him out. As far as Jamie is concerned, that makes me subnormal.
This, however, isn’t the time to get into it with my best friend. But Douglas? She had to go and pick Douglas? “Am I going to have to avert my eyes every time I see him in the complex?”
“He’s cool,” she says. “No big deal.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. The mere thought of being naked like that—emotionally and physically—overwhelms me. Not a big deal? The hell it’s not.
“How about you? Did you actually manage to form words this time?”
I scowl. As my best friend since forever, Jamie knows a few too many of my secrets. I’d told her all about my ambiguous encounter with uber-hottie Damien Stark at the pageant reception. Her reaction had been typical Jamie—if I’d just opened my mouth and formed actual words, he would have ditched Carmela and had his way with me. I’d told her she was insane, but her words had been like tinder to my smoldering fantasy.
“I talked to him,” I admit now.
“Oh, really?” Her voice rises with interest.
“And he’s coming to the presentation.”
“And …?”
I have to laugh. “That’s it, Jamie. That was the point.”
“Oh. Well, okay, then. No, seriously, that’s fabulous, Nik. You totally rocked it.”
When she puts it that way, I have to agree.
“So what’s he like now?”
I consider the question. It’s not an easy one to answer. “He’s … intense.” Hot. Sexy. Surprising. Disturbing. No, it’s not Stark that’s disturbing—it’s my reaction to him.
“Intense?” Jamie parrots. “Like that’s a revelation? I mean, the guy owns half the known universe. I hardly think he’d be all warm and fuzzy. More like dark and dangerous.”
I frown. Somehow, Jamie has summed up Damien Stark perfectly.
“Anything else to report? How are the paintings? I won’t ask if you’ve seen any celebrities. Any celebrity younger than Cary Grant, and you’re clueless. I mean, you could probably trip over Bradley Cooper and not even know it.”
“Actually, Rip and Lyle are here, and they’re being civil to each other despite their feud. It’ll be interesting to see if the show gets picked up for another season.”
The silence at the other end of the line tells me I have scored big with that one, and I make a mental note to thank Evelyn. It’s not easy to surprise my roommate.
“You bitch,” she finally says. “If you don’t come back with Rip Carrington’s autograph, I am so finding a new best friend.”
“I’ll try,” I promise. “Actually, you could come here. I kind of need a ride.”
“Because Carl keeled over and died from surprise when Stark said he’d do the meeting?”
“Sort of. He left to go prep. The meeting’s been bumped to tomorrow.”
“And you’re still at the party, why?”
“Stark wanted me to stay.”
“Oh, did he?”
“It’s not like that. He’s looking to buy a painting. He wanted a female perspective.”
“And since you’re the only female at the party …”
I remember Audrey Hepburn and feel confused. I’m most definitely not the only female at the party. So what is Stark’s game?
“I just need a ride,” I snap, unfairly taking my irritation out on Jamie. “Can you come get me?”
“You’re serious? Carl left you stranded in Malibu? That’s like an hour away. He didn’t even offer to reimburse cab fare?”
I hesitate a fraction of a second too long.
“What?” she demands.
“It’s just that—well, Stark said he’d make sure I got home.”
“And what? His Ferrari’s not good enough for you? You’d rather ride in my ten-year-old Corolla?”
She has a point. It’s Stark’s fault I’m still here. Why should I inconvenience one of my friends—or fork over a buttload of money for cab fare—when he already said he’d get me home? Am I really that nervous about being alone with him?
Yes, actually, I am. Which is ridiculous. Elizabeth Fairchild’s daughter does not get nervous around men. Elizabeth Fairchild’s daughter wraps men around her little finger. I may have spent my whole life trying to escape from under my mother’s thumb, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t manage to drill her lessons in deep.