As it turns out, Raine has told Jamie that he's having a night out with the boys, so she's completely keen to be a third wheel with me and Damien.
I'm not entirely sure what to expect from a fashion show hosted by a law firm, but it turns out that Bender, Twain is just one of many sponsors for a function that is raising money for juvenile diabetes. The event is being held in a restaurant in Beverly Hills, but the place has been so transformed that it's hard to believe that it has ever been anything other than a fashion venue. A long runway bisects a giant room, and that is surrounded by chairs. The perimeter is lined with tables providing research, raffles, and gift bags. Jamie and I both snag a bag and are pleased to find them filled with cosmetics, hair brushes, and even a darling tank top.
"This is great," Jamie says to Damien. "Thanks for bringing me."
"Happy to have you along," he says. His mood has been light since he's returned from London.
"So the trip went well?" I ask once Jamie skips off to do the circuit.
"It did," he says.
"Sofia's okay?"
"She's settled," he says. "For her, that's about as good as it gets. And I heard from Charles. He's been working with my attorneys in Germany, and with any luck, that problem is going to go away as well."
"You mean they won't indict?"
He cocks his head to look at me. "That's my hope."
"That would be great," I say. "And even though I don't have a clue about international business or what kind of regulations the Germans think you mucked up, you know you can talk to me about that kind of thing. I may not get it, but I promise I'll be supportive."
The expression on his face is surprisingly guarded. "Someday when I'm ready, I will." He pulls me in for a quick, chaste kiss. "And yes, I believe that you would understand."
A smile flickers on my lips. I'm pleased, but I can't help but think that we're talking about entirely different things.
I don't have the chance to ask, though, because the show is starting. We take our seats and watch the models parade down the runway in skimpy, sexy outfits, with Damien whispering his opinion as to exactly which outfits he wants to see me in. Reporters and photographers are at the base of the runway, and I realize that Charles has made good on his promise--the press is leaving me and Damien alone. Some weight inside me lifts a little, and I lean back in my chair and enjoy the freedom of knowing that, at least for a moment, I am not a bug under a microscope.
When the show is over, the guests are encouraged to mingle and imbibe from one of the many cash bars while the crew sets up for the charity auction. I look around for Jamie, but she has already disappeared into the crowd, presumably to jump all over that imbibing thing.
Instead, I see Ollie, and I suck in a tight breath. He is talking with a woman who looks somewhat familiar, but I can't place her. Damien hasn't seen him yet, but I know the exact moment when Ollie's glance finds us.
I'm not sure why I'm surprised that he's here. After all, he works with Charles Maynard. The crowd shifts, and I see a pretty, dark-haired woman coming toward him with two drinks in her hands. Courtney. And then Ollie and Courtney and the other woman are all heading our way. I grab Damien's hand and smile my Social Nikki smile. It is the first time I've felt the need to be so armed against Ollie, but I know that I need both the mask and Damien's strength, and that knowledge makes me sad.
"Nikki, Damien, it's good to see you here."
"Ollie," Damien says politely. He glances at the two women.
"Courtney," I say, "it's so good to see you again." I give her a little hug, then formally introduce her to Damien.
"Great to meet you," Courtney says, then turns her attention to me. "I'm planning a destination wedding shower, but I haven't decided where yet." She shifts toward Damien, including him as she speaks to me. "Tell me you two will come? And Jamie and Raine, too."
Automatically, my eyes dart to Ollie's, but his expression is too guarded to read.
"I'm looking forward to hearing all the details," I say diplomatically. The truth is I'm not sure there is going to be a wedding, much less a shower. Courtney, however, doesn't seem the least bit worried.
The other woman with Ollie is introduced as Susan Morris. I keep my polite smile plastered on, but inside, I'm frowning, trying to figure out why her name is familiar.
I'm about to ask, when Ollie continues. "Susan is directing the fashion show."
"I got my training in pageants," Susan says, "although it wasn't formal training. More like an apprenticeship."
"Susan Morris?" I say, finally clueing in. "Alicia Morris's mother?" Susan Morris was almost as much of a stage mother as mine.
"I was hoping you'd remember me," she says. "Ollie said that Damien Stark was here with his girlfriend, and I just had to see you."
"I'm so glad you did," Social Nikki says. The real me isn't at all interested in this relic from my past. I can tell that Damien sees the real Nikki, because he squeezes my hand in support.
"Your mother and I have stayed close. In fact, since I moved to Park Cities, we lunch together at least once a week," she adds, referring to the affluent Dallas neighborhood where I grew up. "I talked to her just this morning, as a matter of fact." Her voice is strangely tight, and I want nothing more than to get away from this woman who reminds me too much of my mother.
"How nice," I say. I flash my wide pageant smile. "I should really go check on my friend Jamie. It was lovely talking to you."
She takes a step sideways and blocks my departure. "Your mother is so mortified she can't even hold her head up in public. And you haven't been any help. You haven't returned her calls or her emails. It's terribly ungrateful, Nichole."
Ungrateful. What the fuck?
Damien steps closer to me. "I believe Nikki has already said that she needs to go check on her friend."
But Susan Morris is not taking the hint. She aims a finger at Damien. "And you! Elizabeth told me how you shipped her home just when Nichole needed her."
My mouth falls open. Needed her? Needed her? All I'd needed was for her to be gone.
"And now you've dragged her into this ... this ... degrading lifestyle!" Susan Morris is speaking machine-gun fast, and with as much damage. "Posing nude. Erotic art. And accepting money like a common whore. It's contemptible." She literally spits the last word, and I see the tiny droplets of moisture fly from her mouth.
I can only gape at her, my Social Nikki facade having shattered under this unexpected onslaught.
Damien is not so frozen. He takes a step forward, his expression like thunder. I think vaguely that he will hurt her, and that I should hold out a hand to stop him. I don't. All I can think about is the nausea and tightness and clammy coldness that has settled over me.
"Get the hell out of here," Damien says, his hands pressed firmly against his sides.
"I will not," she counters. "You think you can buy anything? Even a girl like Nichole in your bed? I know your type, Damien Stark."
"Do you?" He takes another step toward her, and she has the sense to look scared. "In that case I think you would listen when I tell you to get out. And for the record, Nikki is a woman, not a girl. And the choice she made was her own."
Her mouth drops open, but she doesn't reply. Instead she turns back to me. "Your mother expected better things from you."
I can do nothing but stand there. I'm frozen, my body chilled to the bone. And, goddammit, I'm starting to shake. Deep, trembling shudders that I cannot control, and that I do not want Susan Morris to see.
Throughout all of this, Ollie has stood stock-still, Courtney's hand tight on his arm. But now he, too, takes a step forward. "Do what Mr. Stark says and get the hell out of here or I will have you fired from this pageant right here, right now."
"I--" She shuts her mouth, gives each of us a hard look, then leaves.
I do not remember sliding into Damien's embrace, but that is where I am, and it feels warm and safe, and my trembling starts to subside. I don't want him to open his arms, be
cause I don't want to face the world. I want to be home with him. Back in the penthouse where ghosts from my past don't pop up. Where I'm not accused of being a whore. Where my personal life isn't gossiped about by people who don't know me and know even less about the choices I've made.
"Are you okay?" Courtney asks.
"No," I say. "I'm not."
I see Ollie shoot Damien a vitriol-filled look. He may have sided with me against Susan Morris, but it's clear that he's still not on Team Damien.
"I'll take you home," Damien says.
I nod, then hesitate, then shake my head. "No. I want to stay."
"You're sure?"
I hesitate only a moment, then nod. "I just need to go to the bathroom. Then I want to find Jamie. We haven't looked at all the booths yet." I am proud of myself. I sound so steady even though I'm anything but.
Damien's phone buzzes and he glances at the screen, then types out a quick response before sliding it back in his pocket.
"Not important?"
"Charles," he says. "He's at one of the cash bars and wants to have a quick talk. I told him I was with you, and business could wait until morning."
"Can it?"
He looks right into my eyes. "Right now, the only thing I care about is you." He takes my arm. "It looks like the ladies' room is over there."
While Damien waits, I go in--then immediately clutch the counter. I've been working so hard not to let Damien see my cracks. Susan Morris. My mother. The rumors of sex for money, of being a whore. It's all tied up in my head like so much noise and I want to sort it out. I want Damien--but I know he blames himself, and if I can just gather myself a little. If I can just make one tiny inroad on keeping myself collected ...
I look around for something sharp, but there is nothing. Only the granite counter, the mirror, and the ceramic soap dispenser.
I remember the apartment and the glass vase that Damien shattered. I close my eyes, feeling the imaginary shard in my hand. Glass cuts on all sides. It's perfect. It's like a tiny miracle biting into the palm of your hand.
Wildly, I open my eyes and look around for something with which to break the glass. I snatch the soap dispenser, stand back, and start to hurl it.
That is when I see my reflection. Oh, God. What am I doing?
My fingers go slack, and the dispenser crashes to the ground--and in the back of the room, from behind a closed stall door, I hear someone yelp.
I jump--I hadn't realized anyone was in there--then immediately relax when I see it is Jamie. Her face is splotchy and her makeup is smeared, but I must look worse because she takes one glance at me, looks down at the ceramic shards on the floor, and says, "I'm finding Damien."
"Jamie!" I call, trying to get her back, but it's too late. She's out the door, and only moments later, Damien is in the ladies' room.
"I didn't," I say immediately. "I just dropped a soap dish. That's all. Jamie overreacted."
He is looking at me with such intensity that I am certain he can see the lie inside my head. "All right," he says slowly. "Now tell me the rest of it."
I sigh, then drop my gaze. I count to five, and then look back up to him, my composure restored. "I was going to," I say. "But I talked myself out of it. And then, really, I dropped the dispenser. It's slippery."
"You talked yourself out of it." It's a statement, not a question.
"I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was going to break it with that," I say, nodding toward the gooey mess on the floor.
"You were going to break a mirror in a public restaurant instead of talking with me?"
I graze my teeth over my lower lip. I don't answer.
"I see."
"I didn't want to make it worse for you. But I guess I did that, anyway."
"But you're okay now?" He is speaking very carefully.
"Yes. Just a momentary glitch. System completely reset now. It was just that woman. That horrible woman."
"All right," he finally says. He takes my hand; his is warm and reassuring. "Let's go. We'll let the janitors worry about the mess."
I nod and follow him. Already I feel better, just knowing that Damien is at my side. In the restaurant, I search for Jamie, but I don't find her anywhere. "I'm worried about Jamie," I tell him. "She was a mess."
"Do you know why?"
"No, she was just--oh, shit. Is that who I think it is?" I point into the crowd, and Damien's low whisper of "Well, hell" tells me I'm right. Bryan Raine is at the event, too, and he's arm in arm, lips to lips, with a svelte, sexy blonde.
"That's Madeline Aimes," Damien says.
I remember Evelyn's words. "A movie star? On her way up?"
He gives me a quizzical look. "When did you start paying attention to Hollywood?"
"I don't. Lucky guess." I look around the room again, suddenly worried. "Now I really want to find Jamie."
I find Ollie, but he hasn't seen Jamie, either. Whatever detente we'd reached earlier when Susan Morris attacked me seems to have shattered, because he is quiet and distant and keeps shooting Damien angry glances. I, however, am too worried about Jamie to call him on it.
It takes another twenty minutes before we learn that Edward took Jamie home.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark," Edward says when we meet him in the parking area behind the restaurant. "She assured me that she'd cleared it with you."
"Don't worry about it," Damien says. "How was she?"
"I understand there was some trouble with a young man she's been seeing. You might have to restock the limo's supply of Scotch."
Damien grimaces. "Shall we go check on her?" he asks.
I nod. It's already after midnight, and now that Jamie's gone AWOL, I'm ready to go home. I start to move toward the limo, but Ollie's words hold me back. "Raine was just stringing her along."
I turn back to him. "Well, yeah. Obviously."
"Obviously?" He jabs a finger toward Damien. "He's doing the same thing to you."
I grab Damien's hand, as much because I want his touch as to keep him right here beside me. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"He keeps you around, but it's not real." He holds up his hands and flexes his wrists. "It's just kink and fun and when he's tired he'll toss you aside."
"You little shit," Damien says.
"I'm wrong? Really? You know damn well it's just a game to you. That's why you never tell her shit. That's why you haven't even told her that you've been indicted in Germany for murder."
23
Murder!
I look from Ollie to Damien. Ollie looks smug. Damien looks confused.
"There's no indictment," Damien says.
For a moment, Ollie appears scared, then he rallies. "No, apparently they were just stalling. The indictment came in just a few minutes ago. You didn't know?"
"Wait," I say. My head is spinning and I'm having a hard time figuring out exactly what I'm feeling. Anger? Hurt? Fear? Confusion? They are all jostling for position inside me, and at that moment, it feels a bit as though my head is going to explode.
I think about those ceramic shards, and I wish to hell I'd pocketed one.
No. Just breathe. You can do this.
I take a deep breath and turn to Damien. "All this time I've been assuming that the German indictment is some business violation, and it was actually a murder investigation?"
His hesitation seems to last a lifetime, and throughout his silence, his eyes look only at me, as if he's trying to find the answer to the question hidden deep inside me somewhere.
"Yes," he says.
And there it is. The biggest secret of all, and one I gave him about nine billion opportunities to reveal. I think about the times I mentioned German regulations. About the times he let me go on believing that it was just a business thing. Just Stark International dealing with the kind of problem huge corporations deal with.
"I thought your company had broken some regulation about zoning codes or paid too little in taxes or something. This is--"
"Worse," Damien say
s. "Much worse."
I wait for him to say more. To explain. To lie. Something. Anything.
He stays silent.
I suck in air through my teeth, then press my fingers to my temples. I need to think. Mostly, I just need to be alone. "I'm going," I say. "I need to check on Jamie."
"All right," Damien says, his voice a little too calm. "Edward and I will drop you at home."
"I'll get home on my own. Thanks."
"I'll drive you," Ollie says.
"The hell you will," I snap. With Damien, I'm lost in a maelstrom of anger and sadness and confusion and God knows what else. With Ollie, I'm just plain old pissed. "I'll take a taxi."
I turn once as I walk away, and my eyes find Damien's. I hesitate, expecting him to call after me, but he doesn't, and I fight the urge to hug myself to ward off a coming chill. Slowly, I turn my back to Damien and I continue toward the street. I'm hurt and I'm confused, but right now I just need to focus on one thing. I just need to get home.
It's an easy shot over the hill from Beverly Hills to Studio City, and I'm home in no time. I hurry inside, expecting to find Jamie in tears on her bed.
She's not home.
Okay, okay. I just have to think. Where could she be?
I know Jamie well enough to know that she may try to soothe a bruised ego by banging some other guy, and I mentally start running through the single men in our complex that she hasn't already gotten horizontal with. That's one thing about Jamie--she rarely goes in for repeat performances.
As if to underscore the brilliance of my thinking, a series of moans and groans floats in from next door. Douglas, once again getting lucky.
At least I can cross him off my list. Although Douglas has made it clear he'd be up for round two, Jamie has repeatedly said no.
I pace the apartment, wondering where she could be. I call the divey bar on the corner near our condo, but she hasn't been there in days. I call Steve and Anderson, but they haven't talked to her. They give me the names of a few other mutual friends. I call them, but nobody's heard from her tonight.
Shit, shit, shit.
Even though I know it will do no good whatsoever, I call the police. I'm coherent enough to forgo 911 and call the station directly. I speak to the officer in charge, explaining that my roommate came home plastered, but she's not here now and I'm worried that she's dead in a ditch somewhere.
He's nice enough--but he's also not sending anyone to help. Not until she's been gone for a hell of a lot longer than a few hours.