“I hope you’re wrong,” I say.

“So do I, Texas. So do I.”

22

The nice thing about limos is that they have a driver. I take full advantage of that knowledge, and I arrive back at Damien’s apartment more than a little tipsy after downing half of Evelyn’s very excellent bottle of Chardonnay.

I am interested in nothing but sleep, and I make my way to the bed, hesitating only long enough to feel a pang of regret that I am in it alone.

I’ve dropped my phone on the bedside table, and I reach for it, then tap out a text: In your bed. Drunk. Wish you were here.

I have no idea what time it is in London, and have had too much wine to bother with the math to figure it out. So I’m not sure if Damien is even awake. But only a few seconds pass before I get his response. Wish I were, too. At airport. Coming home to you. Tell me you’re naked.

I smile and tap out a reply. Very. And wet. And wanting you. Hurry home. I have been Damienized, and I don’t think I can last long without you. [Damienized, v. To be needful of Damien, especially in the sense of fucking and dirty talk. See, e.g., Nikki Fairchild.]

His answer is almost immediate. I like the new addition to your lexicon. And now I’ll be hard for all of a long flight home. Plane boarding. See you soon. Until then, imagine me, touching you.

I don’t know if he will get the text, but I send one final message. Yes, sir, I type. And then I hug my phone, and drift off to sleep.

When I wake, it’s because my phone is buzzing against my cheek. I roll over, confused, and realize that it’s already past noon, and that I’ve missed a call. I quickly check to see if it’s from Damien, but it’s only a voice mail from Evelyn telling me I forgot my camera. I curse silently and open my email, planning to send her a quick note telling her I’ll get it soon.

That’s when I see that there is an email from Damien waiting.

Nikki, on a quick layover in Amsterdam. Arriving LAX five P.M. Do you mind if we go to a charity fashion show tonight? Starts at nine? Would much rather stay in with you, but Maynard’s firm sponsoring. Swears press access limited. They’ll get the boot if they even think about harassing you. Jamie invited, too. Let me know. Missing you …

I read the message twice, trying to decide why I’m smiling so broadly. It’s only as I start the third read that I realize—he’s asking me, not telling me. I take that knowledge and hold it close to my heart. Then I tap out my reply, though I know he won’t get it until he lands.

Of course, sir. But how you do tease, pretending to ask my consent when of course you know that I will do whatever you want, whenever and however.

I hope you’re spending your time in the plane thinking of interesting “howevers” …

P.S. I have the perfect dress at home. Pick me up at the condo at eight? Will check Jamie’s social calendar …

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.