Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

"But only if you're cool with having company tonight," he hurries to say. "I'm more than willing to have you all to myself."

"Who?"

"Damien and his wife, Nikki," he says.

"Damien Stark?" I ask, referring to the professional tennis player turned entrepreneur turned multi-billionaire.

"Westerfield's is his club, and he's the one who scored the tickets for me."

I nod, the pieces falling into place. "You invested in that island resort one of his companies recently launched, right?" I try to remember what I read about the high-end retreat just off the coast. "The Resort at Cortez?"

"I did. And the architect and project manager would be joining us, too. Jackson Steele and his wife, Sylvia. But only if you're okay with company. It's your birthday, and that means your wish is my command."

I slide my arms around him and press close. "I like the sound of that," I admit. "But I'll issue my commands after the concert. I'm happy to go with your friends. Honestly, I'd like to hear more about the resort. It sounds amazing."

"We can go tomorrow, if you want. I've got a little bungalow there, actually. An investor perk. What do you say? Concert in public tonight, with both of us on our best behavior? Island getaway tomorrow, alone and being very, very naughty?"

I laugh, remembering the last time we were alone together on an island; frankly, naughty is an understatement. "Actually," I say, "I think that sounds like an absolutely perfect plan."

Tsunami

We arrive at Westerfield's in a Stark International limo and get the full VIP treatment. I walk up the red carpet with Nikki and Sylvia, with whom I've been chatting and drinking during the drive from my house down to West Hollywood. The guys are behind us, talking about the resort and plans for a retail complex that the three of them are considerin

g working on together.

Honestly, it's far too much business talk during my birthday celebration, and when we get to the door, I step back from the girls and tell the men that it's time to be festive. I almost put my arm through Dallas's, but he steps back at the last second, and I shoot him a grateful glance. I've been so comfortable with these four all evening that it's far too easy to let my guard down.

And while I don't get the impression that any of them--Jackson or Damien, Sylvia or Nikki--would judge us harshly, that's not a theory that I'm willing to put to the test.

"My birthday," I point out. "My rules. Fun and dance and drinking from here on out."

"And right next to the stage," Damien says. "Best seats in the house. Except for the fact that it's standing room only. But if you want to sit we can go up to my office and watch through the window."

"Not on your life. I want to dance."

Beside me, Sylvia laughs. "Sounds like your brother got you the perfect present."

I flash Dallas a smile. "He knows me well. I love this band."

"You're lucky," she says. "I adore my brother, but as far as birthday presents go, he has no imagination whatsoever. He usually gets me a Starbucks gift card. Or wine."

"Both good choices," I say as we follow Damien through the crowd toward the stage. "How about you?" I ask Nikki. "Good sibling presents or crappy sibling presents?"

"My sister died when I was a teenager," she says, and I freeze, because it's really hard to walk after putting your foot so firmly in your mouth.

"It's okay," she says, squeezing my hand. "You couldn't know, and the truth is she always gave great presents, but never something I thought I wanted. The best was my camera. It's what got me started with my hobby. I love it."

"And now you have a sister-in-law," Sylvia says, indicating herself. "And I have absolutely no idea what to get you for a present ever." She meets my eyes. "You probably already know this, growing up in the family you did, but it's really hard to buy a gift for people who can afford to buy themselves whatever they want."

"That's Damien," Nikki says, laughing. "I'm still getting used to having money in the bank."

They're both talking so casually and openly that I forget about my faux pas and relax again, taking the time to look around the space. We've passed into a roped off area that is apparently only for holders of VIP tickets. According to Damien, there will be more room to move in this area which is good news as that means there will be room to dance. I can already tell that the general admission area is going to be so jammed that the crowd will be doing well simply to sway.

I suggest to Dallas that we go get a drink, but that's handled for us as well. Damien taps something into his phone, and seconds later a jean-clad waitress brings us all a drink. Honestly, it's all pretty awesome, and I break protocol long enough to grab Dallas's hand, then rise up onto my tiptoes so that I can whisper to him. "Thanks," I say. "Even before the band comes on, I can honestly say this is the best birthday ever."

I see Jackson pushing in through the crowd and only then realize that he'd stepped away. I glance at Sylvia, and must look confused, because she leans in to tell me that he'd gone to a quieter area to call their nanny and check on their kids, a four-year-old daughter and a three-month-old son.

"Everything's good," he says, kissing her temple. "I caught them right before Ronnie went down, and she said to tell you she loves you."