Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

“Just one more bite, and then I need to run,” Jamie says an hour later, her fork sliding into the cheesecake she talked me into sharing. Because, as she pointed out, calories consumed with a friend only count by half. “I have to get all the way to Redlands.”

I snap my attention to her, ignoring my own forkful of dessert. “I haven’t been to Redlands since the time Damien treated you and me to that overnighter at The Desert Ranch Spa.” Jamie had stayed two full nights, but I’d left with Damien after only one. “It’s an adorable town. We stopped there for dinner during the drive back,” I explain.

“Just dinner?” Jamie says with a tease in her voice.

“It was a very good restaurant,” I assure her. “With a damn nice alley behind it, too,” I add with a cat-and-the-canary smile.

“Naughty girl,” she says, then uses two fingers to pluck my cheesecake off my fork.

“Hey!”

“Don’t even. I totally deserve this cheesecake. You get a sexy encounter in a dark alley, and I get to cover a high school student film festival.” As if in punctuation, she pops the cheesecake in her mouth.

I laugh, conceding the point. “But you’ll have a great time.”

“Yeah,” she admits. “I will. I covered it last year, too, and it was such fun watching the kids’ films. They’re not jaded at all. Yet. That’ll come in a few years when they graduate and actually move the sixty miles to LaLa Land.”

Since she’s probably right about that, I refrain from commenting.

“What about you?” she asks. “Back to work?”

“Eventually. But errands first. I’ve got to run by the space to meet with the contractor. We’re moving in on Wednesday. But first I’m going to check on the cake for the girls’ birthday party. It’s coming up fast.” A week from tomorrow, actually, and there’s still so much to do.

Technically, the party doesn’t fall on either of the girls’ birthdays. Anne turns two the following Wednesday, and Lara’s assigned birthday is the day before the party. She’ll be four this year, and it’s hard to believe that not that long ago, she was found in a wooden wagon near the gate of a Chinese orphanage. Since there was no easy way to tell exactly when she was born, the orphanage assigned her Finding Day as her birthday, and neither Damien nor I see any reason to change that.

“Speaking of,” Jamie says. “I finally figured out what to get them, but you’ll have to wait until Saturday to see. Kids are not easy to shop for,” she adds, in the kind of tone that suggests I personally erected a barrier between her and all appropriate present ideas.

“I’m sure they’ll love whatever you bring. You’re Aunt Jamie. You can’t possibly go wrong.” I mean what I say, but that’s because Jamie’s calmed down a lot in the last few years. There was a time when I’d have been slightly terrified at the idea of her picking out a present for anyone under the age of twenty-one. Fortunately, she has Ryan now, and I know he won’t let her go too crazy.

Then I think about the parties at Masque, and I have to wonder if maybe Ryan isn’t as calming an influence as I’d thought.

Those thoughts naturally lead to Damien. Which makes my skin tingle and my blood heat.

I take a sip of my wine and try to banish the thoughts as Jamie lifts a brow. “Did I lose you?”

“Sorry,” I say. “You got me thinking about everything I need to get done today.”

“Go,” she says, waving vaguely inland. “I can deal with the check.”

“You’re sure?”

She gives me a look that is so Jamie it makes me laugh, and I stand up. “Love you, James.”

“Back at you. Oh! Wait. I talked to Ollie this morning. He said he’ll be in town for the girls’ party.”

“Seriously?” I pause with my hand on the back of my chair. “That’s fabulous.” Ollie is the third leg of our BFF trifecta, although it’s not been as stable since Damien entered my life. They’ve warmed to each other—hell, they even respect each other—but they’re never going to be tight.

Ollie’s a lawyer, and for a couple of years now, he’s been spending more time in New York than he has in LA, where he’s technically based. Some big corporate litigation. But now Jamie says that things are slowing down and he’s coming back to the LA office for good.

“That’s so great. I feel like the girls barely know him.”

“True that,” she says, but hurries on so quickly that it’s obvious that Ollie’s relationship with my daughters is way down her priority list. “But do me a favor and don’t ask him about his house, okay?”

I frown, cocking my head a bit as if that will make the words more cogent. It doesn’t work. “Huh?”

“He’s selling it.”

“What? Are you serious? He hasn’t even started the renovations.” He’d bought a dilapidated two bedroom, one bath in the hills with a huge lot, a stunning view of Universal Studios, and tons of renovation potential. But then the firm shipped him back to New York, so he postponed the renovation and turned it into a rental. Not terribly snazzy, but livable. “What happened to all his plans? I thought he was going to ask Jackson to help with the remodel.” Sylvia’s husband is a world-renowned architect. He’s also Damien’s half-brother and a genuinely nice guy. And he’d offered to do the work for Ollie at a discounted rate.

I pull my chair back and start to sit down again, but Jamie waves her hand dismissively.

“Go do your thing,” she says. “Because now you know all that I do. And maybe I misunderstood. But I don’t think so. Honestly, I think he’s having money problems.”

A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realize how much I’ve lost touch with one of my best friends. He’d told me he was looking to buy an investment property, and at the time I’d offered him dinner and the chance to interrogate Damien, who’s a whiz at all things financial. Ollie had brushed it off, though, telling me that one of his clients was advising him, and that he knew what he was doing. And since I was exhausted with a baby and a toddler, I didn’t press the point.

Now, I’m wishing I’d insisted. Not that Damien’s advice would have necessarily saved him, but at least then I’d know I did everything I could to help my friend.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jamie says, her dark eyes studying me. “He’s a big boy.”

True, but half an hour later, as I aim my cherry-red Mini Cooper toward Beverly Hills and my party related errands, I’m still thinking about Ollie.

Ollie and Damien. Because my friend’s financial situation has underscored how lucky I am. God knows I’d love Damien even if he were a pauper, but there’s no denying that his wealth is a blessing.

There are downsides, of course. Mary Lee underscored that pretty damn well this morning.

And, yes, we’ve suffered through more than our fair share of scandal and drama, stalkers and paparazzi. Incidents ranging from so mundane they’re almost laughable to so deeply disturbing and horrific that absent Damien, I’m certain I couldn’t have coped without the sharp edge of a blade to release the pressure.

With Damien, I’m strong. Even when I’m not in his arms, like earlier at the bungalow, his love flows in my blood, anchoring me to him.

And right now, I’m counting the minutes until tonight, when I can fold myself in his arms and let the rest of this day fade away.

I don’t forget about Ollie and Mary Lee immediately, but as I navigate traffic, I forcibly push all that drama aside in order to focus on more important things. Like colorful candy sprinkles, plastic tablecloths, and toddler friendly games that will satisfy a houseful of little kids.

Fortunately, both Bree and Gregory—Damien’s valet/butler/general-house-guy—are helping out with planning and prep for the party. Even with their help, though, I’m overwhelmed, a not unfamiliar state these days. Damien keeps telling me I need to hire a personal assistant to help me with whatever comes up either in business or at home, since Bree’s duties really

don’t extend beyond the kids.

I’ve told him I’ll think about it, but so far, I’ve avoided the issue. I know that Damien has a slew of personal assistants, all overseen by Rachel, but I can’t wrap my head around having someone similar for me. After all, there’s already staff for the house. On top of Bree and Gregory, we have a housekeeper who comes in daily, a groundskeeper and his staff, a rotating team of security guards, and a part-time chef. Not to mention the drivers who technically work for the company, but are at Damien’s beck and call.

As much as having a helper at my elbow might be useful, I don’t think I need to add to the crowd. I’ve been managing fine so far. Busy, but fine.

The bottom line is that I’m not Damien. My company is relatively small, my responsibilities much less vast. I don’t need a full staff to keep my daily life running smoothly.

And that’s one hundred percent okay with me.

Besides, if I had an assistant, odds are good she’d be the one visiting Love Bites instead of me. Which means she’d get to taste the cake samples and talk about decorations. And that would be a damn shame, I think, as I pull up in front of a valet stand. I slip out of the car, hand the valet my keys, and start walking the few blocks up Rodeo Drive and then over to Beverly Boulevard.

A shiver runs through me as I head to the corner. Like someone walking over my grave. My grandfather’s voice fills my head, flooding my memory with his Southern sayings and superstitions.

Or maybe not superstitions…

I turn quickly, expecting to see someone staring at me from across the street. But when I look around, I see nothing out of the ordinary. Just tourists and shoppers, laughing and smiling and enjoying the gorgeous day.

I cross the street, then pause again, but the sensation of being watched has faded, and I chalk it up to heightened paranoia because of the day I’ve had. By the time I reach Love Bites, I’ve pushed it firmly from my mind.

“Nikki!” Sally Love spreads her arms as I push through the glass door and breathe in the rich, enticing aroma of freshly baked cakes and cookies. Her smile blooms bright and her cheeks flush pink as she hurries toward me and envelops me in a hug. A celebrity chef, Sally hosted her own cooking show for years before leaving television to focus on a countrywide chain of high-end bakeries, Love Bites, with the shop in Beverly Hills being her flagship location.