Claim Me

  "So how about it?" he asks. "Let's go get a drink. Hang out. Make up dialogue for the people at the next table."

  I smile despite myself. When I was in college and Ollie was in law school, that was our favorite form of cheap amusement. We'd go to Magnolia Cafe or Z'Tejas in Austin and watch people at the other tables. How they moved, how they interacted. And then we'd write their dialogue, turning friends into lovers, crafting arguments, and professing profound love. We never sat close enough to find out what the people were really saying. This was all about the make-believe.

  "Tonight's kind of hard," I say, glancing at Jamie. "But hold on a second."

  I hit the mute button on the phone and look at Jamie. "What do you think? Want to make tonight a threesome?"

  "I'm not really into that kind of kink."

  I roll my eyes. "Seriously, Ollie wants to go out for drinks."

  "With both of us?" I can hear the disbelief in her voice.

  "He only invited me, but if you two can't play nice together then you shouldn't have jumped into bed in the first place. Seriously, James. You need to get past this."

  She tosses her hands up in surrender. "Hey, fair enough. But I'm not the only one being weird. You haven't been in the pro-Ollie camp lately, either."

  "So maybe we all three need to have an intervention. Go out. Have fun. Pretend like things are back the way they used to be."

  I think she hesitates, but it may only be my imagination. "So Courtney's not coming?" she asks, referring to Ollie's fiancee.

  "He didn't say. I'm guessing not. She's probably traveling this week. So what do you think?"

  "Yeah, sure," she says. "But not drinks."

  "Jamie, if you don't want--"

  "No, no," she interrupts. "I do. And tonight's fine. I just mean that you and I already have plans later, anyway. Ollie can tag along."

  "What plans?" This is totally news to me.

  "Raine invited us to a party at The Rooftop and Garreth Todd is going to be there."

  "Who's Garreth Todd?" I ask.

  "He, my clueless friend, is the hottest thing in Hollywood right now. And we're going to meet him."

  "Alan Rickman or Sean Connery, I'd be excited. Garreth Todd, not so much."

  "Well, you're going anyway. This is our night to have fun, remember?"

  I glance at the television. I was totally looking forward to the airplane version of Die Hard next, but I have to admit it does sound like fun. I've never been to a Hollywood party, and just because I haven't got a clue who the latest stars are doesn't mean that the glitz and glam won't be a hoot. Then again, stars mean paparazzi, and that sounds decidedly less fun.

  "Won't the press be there? I'm really not in the mood to deal with them."

  "Nah, Raine explained how it works. They'll be hanging around the entrance probably, but since they don't expect you, just wear a hat and keep your head down. Ollie and I can flank you. It's totally no big. And once we're at the party, the only photographers are part of Garreth's PR corp. So it'll be a vulture-free night. Swear to God."

  My phone rings, and I realize it's Ollie, who apparently decided he'd been on hold for long enough and hung up. "Sorry," I say, then explain the whole Garreth Todd-Hollywood party thing. Unlike me, he doesn't live in a cultural bubble, and he knows exactly who Garreth is, and he's keen to do the party thing. As it turns out, I'm right about Courtney, but wrong about the reason. I'd assumed she was away on business, but Ollie tells me that she's flown to San Francisco to look at wedding dresses with her mother.

  He says he'll be over in less than an hour, and we'll all go together. And even though I'm a little nervous about the three of us hanging together for the first time since Jamie and Ollie screwed around, I'm also looking forward to it. These two are my best friends, after all. And, yeah, I miss them.

  I pick up my phone to call Damien and tell him I've had a change of plans. If he's not deep into work stuff already, maybe he can even join us. But my finger hesitates over his name. Damien doesn't want to spend time with Ollie. For that matter, while he was fine with me hanging with Jamie, I have a feeling he'd be less than thrilled if Ollie had been part of that mix. And besides, nothing of what I told him has changed--I am still with Jamie. We've just added another person, too.

  I drop my phone back onto the bed, then get up and head to my room to find an outfit for tonight. The glow I was feeling earlier, however, has faded a bit, and that frustrates me.

  I'm not doing anything wrong. So why do I feel so guilty?

  A woman wearing nothing but a bikini and down-covered wings brushes by me carrying a tray of rainbow-colored champagne. As far as I can tell, the champagne has been dyed to match the pool, which is changing color every thirty seconds as the lights rotate through the spectrum.

  If I had been held at gunpoint and forced to come up with the most ostentatious Hollywood party imaginable, I do not think I could have conjured anything even close to what now surrounds me. The waiters and waitresses wear tiny gold bathing suits that leave nothing to the imagination and decorative wings that make it difficult to maneuver through the crowd. We are on the roof of one of downtown Los Angeles's tallest buildings, and I can only presume the unstated message is that we, the guests, hold such a prominent spot in heaven that the angels themselves must serve us.

  Jamie bounces up to me and presses a glass of bright red champagne into my hand. She's wearing an extremely short red skirt paired with a black lace blouse over a red bra. As always, she looks amazing. I'm wearing a black sarong skirt and matching black tank, the only color provided by a pink scarf that I have draped around my neck. Considering the outfits that I see walking past us, on the whole Jamie is dressed at least as conservatively as I am.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" she asks.

  "It's exactly what I would expect a Hollywood party to be," I say dryly. Beside me, Ollie barks out a laugh, and Jamie scowls at us both.

  "Don't be cynical," she says. "From what Raine tells me, this is one of the parties of the summer, and it's incredibly exclusive." She gestures vaguely in the direction she came from. "Steve said he's been finagling to get an invite for months."

  "Steve's here?" I rise up on my toes and search the crowd. "What about Anderson?" Steve is the first person Jamie met after she skipped out on me during our college years and moved to Los Angeles to find fame, fortune, and near starvation as an actress. I met him during my many pre-graduation visits, but I haven't seen him since I actually moved here.

  "He's here, too. I told them we're by the pods," Jamie says, referring to the odd, red waterbed pods near where we're standing. "They're making the circuit."

  This doesn't surprise me. Steve is a working screenwriter despite the fact that he's never seen one of his movies produced. According to Jamie this is not an unusual thing in Hollywood. His husband, Anderson, sells real estate. I adore Steve, but unless he takes pity on me and talks classic movies, my eyes glaze over ten minutes into the conversation. But I can always find something interesting to say about houses.

  "This really is ostentatious as hell," Ollie says, "but it's also pretty damn cool. I mean, look at this place."

  I have to agree that the venue is amazing. It's a clear night, and we seem to be floating among the skyscrapers. I can see the mountains in the distance, looming black dotted with pinpoints of light against a pencil-gray sky. From a booth on the other side of the roof, a DJ is providing danceable music, and many of the guests are taking advantage of the huge dance floor. Drinks are provided by the roaming angels, but can also be had at the pool-side bar. And, lest we forget this is a Hollywood party, a series of clips from various films--presumably starring Garreth Todd--are being projected onto a two-story tall screen.

  "Okay," I say. "Y'all win. It's pretty cool." I take a long drink and finish off my champagne, because I am here tonight to have fun with my friends. "So where is your guy?" I ask, which prompts Jamie to crane her neck and look around.

  "Unless he fell off the roof, he's here somewhe
re. Let's wait here for Steve and Anderson, then we can go make the circle and find him."

  "So are you getting serious about this guy?" Ollie asks her. "I mean, after a guy like me, it's hard to imagine you could want anyone else."

  He is clearly teasing, but underneath I think I hear a hint of wounded pride. I hope that I'm imagining it. For his sake, for Jamie's sake, and mostly for Courtney's.

  "Yeah," Jamie says, a slow smile blooming. "Emphasis on the 'getting.' We're not there yet. But, well, yeah."

  "Good," Ollie says curtly.

  I frown, trying to think of something pithy and cutting to say, but nothing comes to mind.

  "Now, if you want to talk serious ..." Jamie trails off, her eyes on me, her eyebrows waggling mischievously.

  I smile innocently. "A lady never tells."

  "It's too damn soon," Ollie says shortly. "And--" He cuts himself off.

  "What?" I snap.

  "The whole thing just worries me. Stark worries me."

  "Jesus H. Christ," Jamie blurts out. "Don't you ever give it a rest?"

  I'm grateful for Jamie's interference. I'd thought that the Ollie-Damien war would be off the table tonight after my talk with Ollie earlier, but apparently two glasses of green champagne have loosened his tongue.

  "That's why I love her," Ollie says, hooking an arm around Jamie. "She tells it like it is and doesn't take my shit."

  "And what?" I ask. "Courtney doesn't tell you when you're being a prick?" It is bad form for me to play the Courtney card right now, and I know it. But I'm pissed. Besides, I'm supposed to be Ollie's best man at his upcoming wedding, and although I've never actually been a best man before, I'm pretty sure that one of the jobs is smacking down the groom when he crosses the line into being an asshole.

  "No," Ollie says seriously. "She doesn't." He bends down and sits on the edge of the water-filled mattress inside the pod. His body shifts and rolls, and he reaches out and grabs the red molded plastic that forms part of the pod's arching roof. "She just waits until all the shit has built up and then she breaks up with me."

  I sit down next to him, ignoring the way our seat sloshes beneath us. "I thought you weren't going to let any more shit build up." Ollie and Courtney have been on-again, off-again for years. This is the first time they've made it all the way to an official engagement. I really like Courtney, and I hope it works out. But the more time that goes by, the more I'm afraid that Ollie's going to fuck it up yet again. Or, to be more accurate, that he already has fucked it up.

  "I'm like Pigpen," Ollie says. "Shit just follows me around. Not all of us lead the charmed life of a certain billionaire we know."

  "Dammit, Ollie!"

  He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, I'm a total prick."

  "Yes," I agree. "You are." I suck in a breath. "Look, I'm sorry you have a problem with Damien, but he's important to me. And if I'm important to you, then you need to figure out a way to deal with that."

  "That's the point," Ollie says. "You are important to me. And I can deal with Stark. I can even ignore all the shit on him I could dig up in just one hour in the Bender, Twain file room," he adds, referring to the law firm where he works. "It's not the man that's the problem--well, not the big problem. It's what's around him."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Come on, Nikki, you practically disguised yourself to come here tonight," he says, referring to the hat that I'd worn, just as Jamie suggested. "Do you want that life? Hell, can you handle it?" he adds, then brushes his hand lightly across my thigh before twining his fingers in mine. "I just worry about you is all."

  My throat is thick, and I look down, not quite willing to meet his eyes. I know his concern for me is genuine--Ollie has seen my scars, and he has seen me break, too. More important, he's helped put the pieces of me back together.

  "Damien's worried about the same thing," I admit quietly. "But I can stand it," I add, looking up so that I can see his eyes. "I am standing it, and I want to, because Damien is worth it."

  His shoulders droop. "Who would have thought I'd have something in common with Damien Stark?"

  I laugh out loud, and Ollie grins.

  "Seriously," he says. "I may have my issues with Stark, but I also know he cares about you."

  "He does," I say. I'm about to add that I know that Ollie cares for me, too, but my words are stalled by the arrival of Steve and Anderson accompanied by two absolutely gorgeous men.

  "Thank God," Jamie says. "You guys have perfect timing."

  Since I am desperate for a change in subject, I agree wholeheartedly, and allow myself to be hugged and air-kissed and complimented by Steve and Anderson while Ollie shakes their hands and otherwise looks grim. I recognize the guy who has swooped Jamie into his arms as Bryan Raine, and it doesn't take a huge mental stretch to identify the final member of my rescue party as Garreth Todd. After all, his face has been splashed on the movie screen all evening.

  "Well, hello," he says, stepping into my personal space. "I don't think we've met."

  "Nikki," I say, my mask firmly back in place. I am no longer in a party mood, and right then all I want is to run through the social niceties and get the hell out of here.

  "I hope you're having fun," he says, moving even closer. I take a step back, and find myself bumping against Ollie. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and that simple touch makes me want to cry. That's the way it used to be--Ollie reaching out to steady me whenever I felt I might shatter.

  "We were going for a celestial theme," Todd says. "Get it?"

  "It's very colorful," I say.

  "It doesn't even come close to sparkling the way you do," he says. He's only inches from me, and I'm sandwiched between him and Ollie. It occurs to me that if Damien said those words to me, I would probably melt. From Garreth, however, they only irritate.

  I hope that Jamie will intervene, but she is lost in her Raine storm, and will not be rescuing me anytime soon. I'm on my own, and I know only one surefire way of regaining my personal space. "You have me at a disadvantage, sugar," I say, with my brightest smile and my thickest Texas drawl. "You know my name, but I don't have even a teensy, tiny clue as to yours."

  "Oh." He takes a step back, presumably allowing his hyperventilating ego to get some air. "I'm Garreth Todd."

  "Very nice to meet you. And what is it you do?"

  Behind me, Ollie shifts, and I can tell that he is going to explode with laughter. Jamie, thank goodness, isn't paying attention. "I thought we were going to dance," Ollie says, curling his fingers around mine.

  "Of course," I say, as he tugs me away. "So nice chatting with you, Mr. Todd."

  "You just dissed a movie star," Ollie says as he pulls me onto the dance floor.

  "Oh?" I say innocently, then bat my eyes for effect. "Was he a movie star?"

  Ollie ignores my silliness. "Jamie is going to kill you."

  "I know," I say. As far as Jamie is concerned, anyone who can help her climb the ladder must be treated with the utmost deference. "You have to admit he deserved it."

  "I admit nothing," Ollie says, but he's smiling. "So we're here. Are we going to dance?"

  It's either that or head home, and right then I'm basking in the detente between Ollie and me. "Sure," I say, then follow him onto the floor and let the music take over. It's loud and heavy on the bass and just what I need to get my mind off everything. Still, I can't help but wish that the song was slow and it was Damien on the floor with me instead of Ollie.

  The wish is so fervent, in fact, that my imagination conjures the man. His tall form, cutting through the crowd. His mouth a hard line, his face expressionless, his eyes like a storm at sea. It is only when all eyes turn toward him, drawn in by the pull of Damien Stark, that I realize this is the real Damien striding through the wash of colored lights--and heading straight toward Ollie and me.

  10

  "Go," Damien says to Ollie, his voice colder and more commanding than I have ever heard it.

  I see m
y friend open his mouth as if to argue, but I catch his eye and nod. He frowns, then shoots Damien a look so full of disdain it makes my stomach curl. Damien doesn't notice. He's paid Ollie only scant attention, and his eyes have never left my face.

  "Damien," I begin.

  "No," he says. He pulls me roughly to him and wraps his arms around me. He practically trembles with anger, and I press my cheek against his chest, thankful to have this brief reprieve before the storm hits.

  The music is still loud and fast with such a heavy bass that the roof beneath our feet seems to throb. I imagine we must look ridiculous, holding each other as if in a slow dance, but I don't care. And soon, to my surprise, the music changes to match our pose. I glance up, curious, and see that a small crowd has gathered around us. Damien Stark is at least as famous as Garreth Todd, and we have stolen Mr. Todd's spotlight.

  I can only presume that the DJ is among the spectators, and has decided to match the music to our mood.

  Since we do nothing more than sway in each other's arms, interest soon wanes. The crowd either drifts away or joins us on the floor, and I begin to feel less like a fish in a bowl. A chastised fish, ready to be scolded.

  He holds me through one song and then another, and though I am happy to spend my entire life inside the circle of his arms, I have reached the point where I can no longer stand the suspense. "Say something," I plead.

  He stays silent, and a cold dread curls through me. I am about to beg again when he speaks, so low and so gentle that I have to strain to hear him, and even then I am not sure that I have actually caught his words.

  "I'm sorry."

  "You're--what?" I step back so that I can see his face, because I am certain that I have not heard right.

  "I'm sorry," he repeats. We have stopped swaying and now we stand still on the dance floor.

  "Is this some sort of reverse psychology? Because I know you pretty well, Damien Stark, and that wasn't repentance I saw in your eyes when you crashed through the crowd. More like scary megalomaniac fury. Besides," I add with a small grimace, "I'm the one who's sorry."

  Damien's expression doesn't change, but for the tiniest of instants, I think I see a flicker of amusement. "First off," he says, "I didn't crash through the crowd. I walked, and quite calmly, too, considering the circumstances."