Complete Me (Stark Trilogy 3)

“I don’t,” I say emphatically. “But, Damien, all the noise outside of us. I don’t want to feel like we’re living in a fantasy bubble, but sometimes I think that we are, and that reality keeps trying to break through. The trial. Stalker mail and texts. The press. And now your old girlfriends.”

“Fuck them,” he says.

“Damien, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says, his expression as intense as I have ever seen it. “At the end of the day, it’s just you and me. We make our own reality, Nikki. And no one can take it from us.”

Chapter Nine

As we head down in the elevator the next morning with the bellman and a cart full of luggage, I keep glancing back, unable to shake the feeling that I’ve forgotten something.

“I keep that room on a permanent lease,” Damien says. “If you left something behind, the hotel will ship it to us.”

“You own the room?” I don’t know why I’m surprised; after all, he owns much of the known universe. And I was already aware that he keeps a permanent suite at the Century Plaza hotel for clients who travel to Los Angeles.

“Enough clients visit the Stark International office here to justify the expense.” He speaks casually, as if it’s no big deal that he leases one of the most expensive rooms at one of the most expensive hotels in Europe for three hundred sixty-five days out of the year. “If the maids find anything, the concierge will call our corporate liaison. Don’t worry.”

I nod, hoping there is no call—and then do a mental head-thwap as I realize what I’ve forgotten. “My phone,” I say. “We do need to go back.” I try to picture where I left it, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe it’s charging on the bar?

“I still have it,” Damien says, then pulls it from the leather messenger bag that is doubling for a briefcase.

“Oh.” My stomach churns unpleasantly. I’d completely forgotten about my stalker text from last night, and I’m not overly thrilled with the reminder. “Were you able to learn anything?”

“Not yet. I forwarded it to my team. Hopefully they’ll have news by the time we arrive back in the States. In the meantime, don’t delete it.”

“Okay,” I say, although I’m not really keen on seeing that number pop up every time I open my text messages.

Since Damien had powered the phone down, I hit the button to wake it back up so that I can check my texts, emails, and voice messages. I don’t expect there to be much—Ollie is here and knows I’m traveling—but Jamie or Evelyn or Blaine might have buzzed me, especially once they heard the news that Damien’s case was dismissed.

Sure enough, I have an emoticon-filled text from Jamie consisting of balloons, confetti, and about a dozen smiley faces followed by CWTSY and another round of balloons. I roll my eyes at her goofiness, but the truth is that I’m smiling. I text back that I can’t wait to see her, either.

Evelyn and Blaine left an actual voice message telling me how much they’re looking forward to our return, and that I should give Damien a hug from each of them. “And feel free to plant a kiss on him from me,” Evelyn adds.

I also have two emails. The first is from my mother, and just seeing it makes me cringe. I have finally reached a point in my life where I don’t feel the constant pressure of being under her thumb, and I know that I should simply delete the email and declare a victory for sanity. That, however, is one baby step too far. Instead, I move it unread to an archived folder. Someday I’ll either delete it or read it; the only victory I can claim today is simply that I dealt with it.

The second email is much more pleasant. It’s from Lisa, a woman I recently met, but who I’m hoping is going to land firmly on the “friend” side of the equation. I skim the message, and can’t help but smile.

“Good news?” Damien asks.

“Maybe. It’s from Lisa.” I’m about to continue, but we’ve reached the lobby, and as we step out of the car into the open area, I see Ollie leaning against a wall, deep in an animated conversation with a lithe brunette. I tense, immediately wary. Ollie is finally engaged to his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Courtney, but he’s not the most devoted fiancé, as evidenced by his recent romp between the sheets with Jamie.

I relax a little when the girl shifts and I see her face; she’s one of the associates at Bender, Twain & McGuire, and I crossed paths with her a few times during the whole trial prep period. I tell myself that she and Ollie are just friendly colleagues, then let out a barely audible, “Well, shit,” when she reaches out and rubs his arm intimately before turning away from Ollie and heading toward the elevator bank.

“Talk with him later,” Damien says, and I realize he’s been watching me watching Ollie. “You’ll want to cool down first.”

I start to tell him that I don’t want to cool down at all. What I want to do is chew out my horndog of a friend. But I know Damien is right; now is not the time, and I continue at Damien’s side, following in the wake of the bellman and our luggage.

It’s Ollie who changes the plan. Ollie, who must not realize what I saw when he hurries up to us. “Nikki,” he says and pulls me into a hug. “You heading out today?”

“We are,” I say. My voice is tight, and I know damn well that Ollie will pick up on that. He knows me too well.

“Right.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “So I’ll see you on the flip side?”

“Sure,” I say. “We’ll do drinks.”

“Hell, yeah, we will.”

Silence hangs between us, awkward and full of ghosts from the past. I can’t help but remember a time not too long ago when we couldn’t stop talking once we got together. And God forbid we should go out for drinks. Invariably we’d lose track of the time and end up getting kicked out when the staff needed to shut the place down.

But those memories are shrouded and soft. Nothing like the sharp, dangerous reality that now fills the space between us.

I reach for Damien, and he squeezes my hand, giving me strength even before I have to ask for it.

I see something that might be regret flicker in Ollie’s eyes before he turns his attention to Damien. “Congrats again, man. I’m really happy it worked out for you.”

“I appreciate it,” Damien says. “And thank you for all your hard work.” There’s tension in his voice, but sincerity, too, and for that I am glad. I don’t expect miracles, but I also know that if Damien and Ollie can’t find a way to coexist, then my friendship with Ollie will have no chance to heal.