Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

“Well, I guess that proves you’re my best friend. You just read my mind.”

“You don’t owe me anything, you loon.”

“I know I don’t. But do you want one? A camera crew, open access? The full-meal deal. It honestly never occurred to me before, but I’m sure Damien would agree. And if we did a normal family theme—”

She bursts out laughing, but I just arch a brow and soldier on.

“—like showing the house and the kids and Damien cooking pancakes, then how bad could that be?”

“No way,” Jamie says. “You know you’d hate it. But if we did, Lacey Dunlop would turn positively green. I mean, talk about a high-profile coup.”

Lacey Dunlop is tall, lithe, eight years younger than Jamie, and the newest on-air reporter for the entertainment network where Jamie works. She’s not nearly as pretty—but she’s blonde, personable, and bubbly. In other words, the camera and viewers love her. She also has family in the business, which gives her access to loads of celebrities. And every time she’s crossed paths with Jamie, she’s been—in Jamie’s words—“as cold as a dead Alaskan salmon.”

“So, let’s do it.”

She tosses her hair. “Hell no. I love you way more than I want to show up Lacey Dunlop, even if she is stealing some of my plum assignments. Seriously, you’re sweet to offer, but no.”

I nod. That’s the thing about me and Jamie—I know she means it. So, I lift my glass in a silent toast and make a mental note to mention the interview to Damien.

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me thoughtfully for so long I start to squirm under the inspection.

“What?”

“What, what? Oh.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “Nothing.”

I raise my brows and stare her down until I see her shoulders sag in defeat.

“Fine. You got me thinking about you and interviews. And that got me thinking about you and reporters. And—well, look. I know I kind of pushed you into it. So, if you want to pull out, I totally get it.”

She’s talking about tomorrow, and the moths in my stomach that had fallen asleep burst back into action.

“It’s fine,” I’d lifted may glass to take a sip of wine, but now I put it back down, untouched. “I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if it wasn’t fine.”

Tomorrow, I’m going to announce that I’m the newest Stark Children’s Foundation Youth Advocate. Right after I give the keynote speech at the bi-annual fundraising brunch.

Damien set up the Children’s Foundation years ago, the purpose of which is to help abused and neglected children in the Los Angeles area. It’s grown over the years, and now has chapters all over the world.

The SCF has always relied on celebrities to help spread the word and act as a face of the organization, but the Youth Advocate role is relatively new. It was created by our friend, Hollywood A-Lister Lyle Tarpin. A hugely successful actor, he served as the celebrity liaison for the foundation until some of his dark secrets were outed during one of his public appearances.

While Damien had Lyle’s back, the board insisted he step down as the celebrity sponsor. He did, but then later came up with the idea for the youth advocate program, wherein celebrities with issues—especially issues they battled in their childhood and teen years—go public so that troubled kids realize that they aren’t alone.

That suggestion was enthusiastically received, and Lyle became a great first Youth Advocate. As a bonus, he’s also gotten his shit together, is happily married, and is a good friend.

Jamie and Ryan are both big supporters of the Foundation. And when the Youth Advocate program was created, Jamie volunteered to be on the committee that invites celebrities into the role.

I may not be an entertainment celebrity, but my marriage to Damien shoved me into the spotlight. And my history of cutting—and all the reasons behind it—makes me a prime candidate for the role of a SYA. I haven’t cut for years, but it’s still what I am, because I know the potential is always there. And when Jamie asked me to consider the position, I decided to do it.

Jamie runs her finger idly over the rim of her wine glass, but doesn’t take a sip. “It’s just that I’d understand if you want to back out. I mean, Damien’s always been a little leery, and now ... I don’t know. I guess I am, too.”

“Because of Mary Lee,” I say, and she shrugs.

I sigh, wishing I could just snap my fingers and erase her worry. Damien’s, too. But I know that I can’t. They understand better than anyone what I’m doing. What I’m revealing. And though they both repeatedly tell me that I’m strong, they also both know that I’m not shatterproof. And, yes, there were some definite cracks showing after my encounter with that bitch today.

So I understand her worry. Hell, I agree with it. Because even with Damien’s love and the strength it’s given me, this speech tomorrow has the potential to break me.

I’m better now, though. I know I am. First, Jamie and Ollie had my back. And then, with Damien in my life, I truly found the strength to fight back that need. That compulsion. Even the therapist I saw before adopting Lara confirmed how far I’ve come.

Most important, I haven’t gotten complacent. I know that the need is still inside me.

And going public—sharing my story with kids who have similar issues—is my way to keep on fighting.

Tomorrow, I guess, I’ll be fighting Mary Lee as much as myself.

It’s scary, sure, but I’m confident. And I guess I’ll know tomorrow if I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m making a horrible decision.

“You know it’s time for me to do this,” I tell Jamie now.

She shrugs. “I don’t, actually. All I can do is trust that you know it. And you know I trust you. Always. I just worry. BFF privilege.”

I nod, tears pricking my eyes. “I love you, James.”

“Back at you, Nicholas.”

Our eyes meet, and we’re both a little sniffily. Then she shakes her head, like a dog ridding itself of fleas. “Moving on to the important stuff,” she says firmly, tapping her menu. “Are we doing appetizers?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I need to go to the gym,” she says with a frown.

I cock a brow, because Jamie looks amazing as always. I love her, true, but it’s not love or loyalty talking when I say that Jamie is drop-dead, camera-ready, Hollywood starlet gorgeous. For a while, she played the role of starving actress with her eye on the Hollywood dream. But she abandoned that dream when on-camera reporting fell into her lap. And when she got an entertainment gig, she found her own personal heaven. Or so she tells everyone.

I know her well enough to be certain that while she loves reporting on Hollywood, a small part of her still wants to be in the game. But Jamie is both a dreamer and a pragmatist. She has a good thing going right now, and she knows it. But even though she hasn’t told me as much, I’m certain that if she was offered a film or television role, she’d snatch it up so fast, the heads of everyone in Southern California would spin round in unison.

“I’m serious,” she says, obviously recognizing my expression. “And don’t give me grief. This business is ridiculously competitive, and I haven’t been working out lately. It’s starting to

show. Especially when I’m standing side-by-side with the Lacey bitch.”

“No way does she get to muscle you off the red carpet,” I say. “You’re much better with talent than she is. Honestly, James, you need your own show.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Right now, I just want to lose five pounds, tighten my ass, and keep my job.”

There’s a lighthearted flair to her voice, but her words give me a chill. Surely, she’s only joking. Surely, she’d tell me if her job was really in jeopardy.

“Work out with me,” I say, forcing myself not to interrogate her. “I’ve been wanting to change up my routine. We could go biking together.” I’ve been enjoying my mid-morning rides in Malibu, despite the bitch of a hill that we live on. “Or we could do a Barre class together. Or hire a trainer?”

Back in my pageant days, my mother forced me to work out—yoga, dance, cardio, weights—anything and everything to keep me thin and lithe and curvy. The trouble was, I hated it. Once I finally escaped the pageant world, I bailed on the exercise and went from ridiculously tiny to a normal size eight. And that was fine by me.

After Anne was born, though, my body and my clothes decided to mutiny. Parts of my body that had once been comfortable and familiar shifted overnight, and nothing quite fit anymore. Damien never seemed to notice, but I did, and the post-baby weight prompted me to dive back into the once-despised routine of regular exercise.

What started as a chore turned into a habit. And now—miracle of miracles—it’s a pleasure. Without my mother breathing down my neck with her tape measure and starvation plan, I’m enjoying putting my body through its paces. There’s exhilaration and empowerment in knowing that I’m making myself stronger. A feeling of control. And God knows, I’ve been chasing control my entire life. And that need for control is part of the reason why I agreed to be a SCF Youth Advocate. Because then I’m owning the thing that I’ve been most ashamed of for years.

“I could go for a private training,” Jamie admits. “But don’t you work out with Damien?”