I don’t exhale until the doors close behind him, then I sag with relief and watch as Rachel does the same.
“I take it back,” she says. “That was one hell of a good performance. You might just manage this after all.”
“Are you kidding?” Jamie says. “You’re never going to pull that off. Rachel’s insane. And frankly, I’m a little concerned about your mental health, too.”
“Very funny,” I say, as Lady Meow-Meow, Jamie’s fluffy white cat, kneads my skirt with her claws and purrs as loud as a lawn mower. “Yes,” I say, running my hand over her head, “I miss you, too.”
We’re in Jamie’s condo, which hasn’t changed that much since I used to live here with her. It’s still decorated in Early American Garage Sale, but she’s added more movie posters to the wall.
My old bedroom is now an office, although when I was in there earlier, I noticed that she’s stopped using the closet as a giant filing cabinet. Now, it holds a full wardrobe of men’s clothes.
“So where’s Ryan?” I ask, referring to Jamie’s boyfriend, Ryan Hunter, who also happens to be the Security Chief for Stark International.
“Oh, he’s at his place today.”
I frown. “His place? I saw the closet and assumed he moved in with you.”
She lifts a shoulder, then pulls her legs up under her, yoga-style. She’s in the rattiest clothes she owns, isn’t wearing a bit of make-up, and still manages to look glamorous enough she could be mistaken for an A-list star. “Well, he’s here most of the time,” she says, “but it’s not a one-hundred percent thing. I mean, a girl needs her space, right?”
I shift on the sofa so that I can see her better, and in the process disturb Lady Meow-Meow, who nips the back of my hand, then hisses lazily before jumping down to the carpet. “Is something going on with you two? I mean, you’re okay, right?”
“Of course we’re okay. In case you missed the memo, I’m head over heels, one-hundred percent in love with Ryan.”
“Actually, I got that memo.” My best friend—who used to approach sex as if it was a hobby—is now devoted to just one man. Or, I’d been assuming she was. Now, though, I’m getting a weird vibe.
“James,” I say, calling her by the familiar nickname. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Really.”
I cross my arms. “Tell.”
She sighs heavily. “Honestly, Nicholas, it’s no big deal. He just started up with the wedding talk and. . .” She trails off with a shrug.
“Really?” I couldn’t be happier. “I’ve been wondering when I could go shopping for a matron of honor dress.”
Jamie shakes her head violently. “No, no, no. That conversation is way off limits. I can love him without marrying him.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No,” she says adamantly. “Conversation over. Done. Fini. End of story.”
“Fine.” I hold up my hands, because I know better than to push. Despite the fact that her parents are amazing and have been happily, blissfully married for decades, Jamie reviles the institution of marriage. “Not yours,” she once told me. “You and Damien were absolutely right to get married. It fits you perfectly. But me? Not so much.”
I don’t know why she feels that way, but I do know that I’m afraid for her and Ryan. She adores him, and he’s mad for her. But if he pushes too hard, he may end up pushing her away.
And since I don’t want to accidentally contribute to that possible rift, I back quickly and firmly away from the topic. “Just as well, because you and Ryan are so not my problem. I need to figure out where to have the party and how to keep it a secret.”
“Like I already said, the secret’s gonna take a miracle,” Jamie says. “As for the location, I figured you were having it at your Malibu house. But you could have it at the apartment. He wouldn’t expect a party in Stark Tower.”
She has a point, but neither of the ideas thrill me. “I want something different. Something unexpected.”
“The island?”
“We go to the resort all the time,” I say, referring to The Resort at Cortez, a Stark Vacation project that’s also all in the family considering Sylvia was the project manager and Jackson the architect.
“Not that island. I’m talking about the one out in the Caribbean. The island he bought you after your honeymoon.”
“Oh!” I consider that. We’d been hounded by paparazzi on our honeymoon, and in order to get truly, completely, one-hundred percent away, Damien had bought a small island. As one does. If one happens to have billions of dollars tucked away, anyway.
“That would be great,” I say, “except there’s just a tiny house with only one bathroom. Somehow I don’t think that’s the kind of destination party our friends would appreciate.”
“Are you saying we’re all too prissy?”
“Pretty much.”
“You got that right.” She stretches her legs out so that they rest on the coffee table, then pats her lap, trying to urge the cat back up. No luck. “Sophistication and class, then. Okay. So, um, what about Starfire?”
It’s not a bad suggestion—the Starfire Resort & Casino in Vegas—also a Stark property—is one of the most opulent hotels west of the Mississippi. But it’s not really what I had in mind.
“Well, why not?” Jamie asks, when I tell her as much.
“One, it’s Vegas. And Vegas just doesn’t scream classy to me, even if the hotel itself is amazing. Two, we were there not that long ago. Three, I was thinking it would be a relaxing weekend with friends. Vegas is a loud, all-night kind of place.”
“For some of us, loud and all-night is relaxing.”
“Yes, but the only one of us that applies to is you.”
Jamie pouts. “Are you saying Damien’s birthday isn’t all about me?”
I whack her with the pillow, and Lady Meow-Meow—who’d been considering leaping back up to the couch after all—lifts her tail straight up, turns around, and heads for the kitchen.
“Think,” I order as I reach for my phone, which has just pinged with an incoming text.
I grab it, assuming it’s Marge, the receptionist at my office suite.
It’s not. It’s Damien.
Miss you already. Dinner under the stars when I get home? I’ll keep cocktails with Noah short. If I tell him you’re waiting for me, I’m sure he’ll understand.
I bite my lower lip, fighting an almost painfully broad smile.
When have I ever said no?
His response is almost immediate.
And I do so like that about you.
I laugh out loud, and Jamie, who’s been watching me, shakes her head with mock disapproval.
“Get a room, you two.”
I lift a brow as I type out another response. “That’s kind of what I’m planning.”
Looking forward to tomorrow night. And to the stars.
There’s a brief pause, and then one final text.
Me, too. Until then, imagine me, touching you.
I sigh and look up at Jamie.
“Don’t get all gooey on me. You’re supposed to be focusing.”
“I have a date,” I say. “Dinner under the stars tomorrow night. I presume he means at home, but if he’s going to take me out, all the better.” Or not, I think. Because at home provides another level entirely of sensual possibilities.
“Where can you eat on the roof, anyway?” Jamie asks.
“Le Caquelon,” I say, referring to our friend Alaine’s restaurant. “Although we always eat in one of the private booths on the inside. When we first got together, Damien took me to the Pearl Hotel. We ate outside on the terrace.”
That had been a magical day. At the time, I barely knew him, and I’d stormed to his office to chew him out about a work fiasco. He’d calmed me down and invited me to lunch. I’d expected a restaurant downtown. Instead, he’d flown me to Santa Barbara.
“Actually, what about that?” I say, my mind suddenly whirring.
“What about what?”
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“Damien owns the Santa Barbara Pearl Hotel. And we could use the jet to ferry anyone there who doesn’t want to drive.”