Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

"Okay then," I say, but I'm fighting back a smile. Jackson's serious about this game--and if he saw Edward or a Stark limo, he'd see me. And that would take the fun out of the hunt.

It's silly, but I actually feel a little nervous as Edward maneuvers us from the house to Beverly Hills. I feel a bit like a girl going on her first date. Jittery. Unsure. But certain it's going to be a grand adventure.

The Segel mansion is situated on several prime acres in the hills. It's tucked away down a private drive and accessed only through a guarded gate. It was built during Hollywood's golden age by Anika's father, Arthur Segel, a brilliant movie producer and director who also happened to have co-founded the studio behind most of the movies that brought Anika to fame and glory.

She told Jackson that it was her father who insisted she keep the family name when she got married. "He can offer you a lot, sweetheart," he'd said. "But not a better name." She'd listened, and her fame--and her fortune--had only grown.

I've only met her once, but I found her to be both charming and intimidating. And even now, in her eighties, she's a force of nature.

I'm full of anticipation when Edward brings the limo to a halt and an actual footman opens the door, then offers me a hand to get out. And my eagerness isn't just for Jackson, though that certainly tops the list. But for the party as a whole.

The footman escorts me to the front door, and for a moment I'm afraid he's going to ask for my name and then announce me. But he simply tells me to have a good time, explains about the upcoming silent auction, then nods politely and heads back outside.

By the time I reach the ballroom, I realize there's more in my favor than just the amazing costume Cass put together. This party is a crush. I can barely move, much less find Jackson, and I know his costume won't be as intricate as mine. The odds of him finding me in an hour are seriously skewed in my favor.

Though I'm enjoying the taste of impending victory, I'd rather be enjoying a glass of wine, and so I veer off to my right, skirting the edge of the ballroom as I head to one of the many bars that have been set up. I'm groping in my bag for my drink ticket and not paying attention to where I'm going when I bump hard against someone, then jump as I realize it's Wyatt.

He'd been chatting with a woman dressed like an elven princess, and now he turns to face me, his expression mildly irritated, but then downshifting to polite.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

His bold smile is wide with a hint of invitation as he looks me up and down, and I'm both amused and a little bit mortified as I remember that while Wyatt doesn't have girlfriend, I've heard enough gossip among my friends and co-workers to know that women are eager to be on his arm. And, presumably, in his bed.

He takes a step toward me, and for the first time I study him critically. Honestly, it's enough to make me believe the gossip. He's exceptionally good looking, with an athletic build and the kind of wind-swept, golden-brown hair that always looks like he's just rolled out of bed. He moves with a confident grace, and when he looks at me with his photographer's eye, it's as if he's seeing all my secrets.

That's an illusion, of course. Because at the moment, my biggest secret is my identity. And considering the sensual twist of his mouth as he starts to speak, it's clear that he hasn't recognized me.

"Wyatt," I whisper, jumping in before he says something that will embarrass us both. "It's me. Sylvia."

He stops, and for just an instant, his expression is confused. Then it shifts to understanding before rounding third and heading on home to mortification.

"Syl--" he begins, but I cut him off, tamping down on the air as if to force a lower volume. It works. "I didn't recognize you," he continues, and despite the whisper, I can clearly hear the apology in his voice.

"That's the idea," I say. "Costume ball, remember?" I can't stop the confident grin that spreads over my face. After all, if a man with a photographer's eye doesn't see the real me, then maybe I really do have a shot at fooling Jackson.

I take a step toward him, and this time I actually want to look like we're flirting and not old friends. Because Jackson is somewhere in this room, and he's watching everyone. "Are you working this party?" I frown because I don't see his camera.

"No, it's much more servile than that." The corner of his mouth twitches. "This is a command performance. My grandmother insisted I come."

"Oh." I'm still confused. "Who's your grandmother?"

"Anika Segel."

"Oh." How the hell did I not know this? I want to ask him if he's pulling my chain, but before I can figure out how to phrase it, Jamie Archer bounces up to Wyatt. She's decked out as Marilyn Monroe, and she looks incredible. Jamie is Nikki's best friend, and she's drop-dead, camera-friendly, Hollywood gorgeous. I know she tried making it as an actress, but she seems to have settled in with her job as an on-air celebrity reporter.

"Someone over there is looking for you," she says to Wyatt. "A green-eyed cat. Can't miss her."

"Thanks." He nods to me. "See you later, Syl."

Jamie's brows rise. "Sylvia? Damn, girl, you look amazing."

"That's the idea," I say. "I'm so glad you're here. I didn't realize you were coming."

"Got lucky," she said. "The job has a few perks, that's for sure."

"Speaking of celebrity gossip, did you know that Anika Segel is Wyatt's grandmother?"

"No way!" she says, and I feel a sense of relief that I'm not the only one who is completely clueless.

Jamie's brow furrows. "I think I smell a story."

"Just remember it didn't come from me." I have no idea if I've broken a confidence. Why on earth had Wyatt never mentioned that his family is Hollywood royalty?

It's not a question that bothers me for too long, though, because Evelyn Dodge glides over. Her focus is on Jamie, but she aims a polite smile in my directions. She looks exactly like herself in a flowing evening gown in a violent shade of orange. It's stunning, but it definitely doesn't qualify as a costume.

"Not dressing up?" Jamie asks.

Evelyn chuckles, then lifts a black stick with a mask attached to one end. She puts it over her face and smiles. "All I need," she says. "Why the hell would I want to come to a Hollywood shindig and not be recognized?"

She has a point. One of my favorite people, Evelyn Dodge is practically a Hollywood landmark. She's been in the business for years, has held every job imaginable, and has recently returned to agenting. In fact, she represents Jamie.

A high-end Hollywood charity event is probably her happy hunting ground.

She confirms my thinking when she taps Jamie's shoulder with her mask. "You should mingle. Garreth Todd is over by the pool," she says, naming one of Hollywood's brightest stars. "Play your cards right and you can line up an interview." She frowns, looking Jamie's costume up and down. "But take Ryan with you. Todd's an absolute horn dog. Where is Ryan, anyway?"

"Over there," Jamie says, pointing vaguely across the ballroom. Her long-term boyfriend is Stark International's Chief of Security, and so I know him well. She shifts her attention to me. "By the way, where's Jackson?"

At the question, Evelyn's brows rise. "Sylvia?"

"Shhh," I say. "I'm in disguise."

Her mouth twists, clearly amused. "Are you? Hiding from Jackson?"

"Something like that," I admit. "We came separately. Now he has to find me."

"Really?" Jamie's brows are practically to her hairline. "Why?"

"I'll tell you later," I say, realizing that by talking to these particular women, I've probably made it too easy on him. "I'm going to go mingle."

"Date night," Evelyn says in a tone of absolute surety. "They're doing it up right."

"Not yet," I say with a wink. "But we will be."

Chapter 7

++

The clock continues to tick, yet Jackson doesn't find me. I can't decide if I'm thrilled I'm so close to winning, or disappointed that I won't be Jackson's prize.

Of course, I haven't seen him either, whi

ch surprises me. I didn't expect him to get deep into costume. And with only fifteen minutes to go on the hour, I start scouring every face at the party.

Most people are recognizable, having gone more with the idea of a costume than an all-out disguise. I see a woman with dark hair by the bar and am just thinking she looks familiar when she turns toward me and I recognize Mila. I consider going and talking to her--after all, it seems like such an odd coincidence to see her so soon after Cass mentioned her--but I hold back. For one, I don't particularly like her. For another, I don't want to have to introduce myself in my fantastical costume.

I'm not terribly surprised she's here, though. I'd heard she'd moved on to work in television. I'd assumed reality TV, but now I wonder if she's not working in scripted drama or on features. After all, she's talking to Lyle Tarpin, a popular television and movie actor whose star is about to explode. He recently play the lead in a movie that my friend Jane wrote. It's coming out in the summer, but the advance buzz says it's going to be a game changer for Tarpin's career.

I continue looking around the room, and make a mental note to tell Cass that her favorite actress and crush, Kirstie Ellen Todd, is here.

I'm toying with the idea of being completely gauche and asking Kirstie for an autograph when I feel warm hands cup my waist.