Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy 1)

“Hardly. You’re fabulous and you know it. And Jackson adores you.”

“And if I were standing right next to her, I might turn an unattractive shade of green. Besides,” I add, “we need alone time. What’s the deal with Zee?”

“I’m not sure. She was irritated you and Jackson met with me and Ollie.”

“Really? Why?”

“Not sure. I told her I would have loved her insight, too. But she wasn’t mad because she wanted to be there. She just didn’t want you guys there.”

“Did you tell her about tonight?”

Cass wrinkles her nose. “No.”

“Cass …”

“Hey, we’ve barely started dating. The rules for evening outings have not kicked in yet.”

She has a point. I forget how fast things have been moving with Jackson. Primarily because it feels like I’ve been with him forever. Or at least for five years.

We look at each of the silent auction items, and I even bid on a couple’s weekend at a boutique hotel in Laguna Beach. If I win, I’ll surprise Jackson. And if I don’t win, I may surprise him anyway.

“I expected Evelyn to be here.” We’ve finished the auction review, and now we’re standing near a glass case with pages from the shooting script for The Wizard of Oz. I look out over the crowd, but don’t see her. For that matter, I don’t see Jackson. I do see Irena Kent, though, and take a petty amount of satisfaction from the fact that she is not with my boyfriend.

“Isn’t that her?” Cass asks, pointing to the far side of the room where Robert Reed stands chatting with Evelyn and a few other people I don’t know.

“Good eye,” I say. “Let’s go say hi.”

As we head that direction, I’m struck again by the feeling that I’ve met Reed before. I don’t think too much about it, though. It’s hard to grow up in LA and not run across celebrities here and there, especially now that I work for Stark.

But as we draw closer, I can overhear their conversation. His voice is also familiar, and I press my fingers to my temples, trying to place it. Then he extends a hand to one of the pretty young women. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Robert Cabot Reed. But you can call me Bob.”

I go completely cold.

“Syl?”

“It’s him.” My tongue feels thick, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve spoken.

“Him? I don’t—”

“I need to find Jackson.”

“I—”

“Jackson.”

“Oh god.” I hear understanding and panic in Cass’s voice. “Oh, holy fucking god.”

But I’m not listening. I’m stumbling blind through the house, my hands clenched tight at my sides because I will not, will not, will not lose it.

I manage to keep my shit together all the way to the foyer where Prado is still greeting latecomers.

“Have you seen Jackson?” The urgency in Cass’s voice makes me realize how scared she must be.

“Cassidy? Why, yes. He said he was going out front to take a phone call.” Prado steps toward us. “Are you all right?”

I don’t know what she tells him. All I know is that I am pure motion. That somehow I have gotten through the doors and out into the world, and now I am spinning, looking for him. By the valet stand. In the shadows by the street. Under the streetlight.

There.

I run to him, then stop dead when I see that he is not alone.

“Goddammit,” he says to his companion. “What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay away from me.”

I cannot hear the man’s reply, but Jackson’s retort is crystal clear.

“That’s bullshit,” he says. “Aren’t you the one who always says we can’t be seen together? Goddamn you, Jeremiah.”

“Syl!” Cass’s frantic voice cuts through the night, and both men turn toward me, their faces now lit by the soft golden light of the streetlamp.

Jackson Steele.

And Jeremiah Stark.

I make a sound like a whimper.

“Sylvia!” I hear the urgency in Jackson’s voice, and I see both shock and guilt on his face.

I turn—and I run.

“Sylvia, wait!”

But I don’t, I am running blind, at least until I stumble, then cry out at the sharp pain in my knee.

I’ve broken a heel and fallen on the curb.

I see a red-clad valet hurrying toward me from one direction. Behind me, I see Jackson sprinting toward me in the dark.

I scramble to my knees, because I can’t talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He lied to me. Oh, dear god, he lied to me.