“Enough clients visit the Stark International office here to justify the expense.” He speaks casually, as if it’s no big deal that he leases one of the most expensive rooms at one of the most expensive hotels in Europe for three hundred sixty-five days out of the year. “If the maids find anything, the concierge will call our corporate liaison. Don’t worry.”

I nod, hoping there is no call—and then do a mental head-thwap as I realize what I’ve forgotten. “My phone,” I say. “We do need to go back.” I try to picture where I left it, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe it’s charging on the bar?

“I still have it,” Damien says, then pulls it from the leather messenger bag that is doubling for a briefcase.

“Oh.” My stomach churns unpleasantly. I’d completely forgotten about my stalker text from last night, and I’m not overly thrilled with the reminder. “Were you able to learn anything?”

“Not yet. I forwarded it to my team. Hopefully they’ll have news by the time we arrive back in the States. In the meantime, don’t delete it.”

“Okay,” I say, although I’m not really keen on seeing that number pop up every time I open my text messages.

Since Damien had powered the phone down, I hit the button to wake it back up so that I can check my texts, emails, and voice messages. I don’t expect there to be much—Ollie is here and knows I’m traveling—but Jamie or Evelyn or Blaine might have buzzed me, especially once they heard the news that Damien’s case was dismissed.

Sure enough, I have an emoticon-filled text from Jamie consisting of balloons, confetti, and about a dozen smiley faces followed by CWTSY and another round of balloons. I roll my eyes at her goofiness, but the truth is that I’m smiling. I text back that I can’t wait to see her, either.

Evelyn and Blaine left an actual voice message telling me how much they’re looking forward to our return, and that I should give Damien a hug from each of them. “And feel free to plant a kiss on him from me,” Evelyn adds.

I also have two emails. The first is from my mother, and just seeing it makes me cringe. I have finally reached a point in my life where I don’t feel the constant pressure of being under her thumb, and I know that I should simply delete the email and declare a victory for sanity. That, however, is one baby step too far. Instead, I move it unread to an archived folder. Someday I’ll either delete it or read it; the only victory I can claim today is simply that I dealt with it.

The second email is much more pleasant. It’s from Lisa, a woman I recently met, but who I’m hoping is going to land firmly on the “friend” side of the equation. I skim the message, and can’t help but smile.

“Good news?” Damien asks.

“Maybe. It’s from Lisa.” I’m about to continue, but we’ve reached the lobby, and as we step out of the car into the open area, I see Ollie leaning against a wall, deep in an animated conversation with a lithe brunette. I tense, immediately wary. Ollie is finally engaged to his on-again-off-again girlfriend, Courtney, but he’s not the most devoted fiancé, as evidenced by his recent romp between the sheets with Jamie.

I relax a little when the girl shifts and I see her face; she’s one of the associates at Bender, Twain & McGuire, and I crossed paths with her a few times during the whole trial prep period. I tell myself that she and Ollie are just friendly colleagues, then let out a barely audible, “Well, shit,” when she reaches out and rubs his arm intimately before turning away from Ollie and heading toward the elevator bank.

“Talk with him later,” Damien says, and I realize he’s been watching me watching Ollie. “You’ll want to cool down first.”

I start to tell him that I don’t want to cool down at all. What I want to do is chew out my horndog of a friend. But I know Damien is right; now is not the time, and I continue at Damien’s side, following in the wake of the bellman and our luggage.

It’s Ollie who changes the plan. Ollie, who must not realize what I saw when he hurries up to us. “Nikki,” he says and pulls me into a hug. “You heading out today?”

“We are,” I say. My voice is tight, and I know damn well that Ollie will pick up on that. He knows me too well.

“Right.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “So I’ll see you on the flip side?”

“Sure,” I say. “We’ll do drinks.”

“Hell, yeah, we will.”

Silence hangs between us, awkward and full of ghosts from the past. I can’t help but remember a time not too long ago when we couldn’t stop talking once we got together. And God forbid we should go out for drinks. Invariably we’d lose track of the time and end up getting kicked out when the staff needed to shut the place down.

But those memories are shrouded and soft. Nothing like the sharp, dangerous reality that now fills the space between us.

I reach for Damien, and he squeezes my hand, giving me strength even before I have to ask for it.

I see something that might be regret flicker in Ollie’s eyes before he turns his attention to Damien. “Congrats again, man. I’m really happy it worked out for you.”

“I appreciate it,” Damien says. “And thank you for all your hard work.” There’s tension in his voice, but sincerity, too, and for that I am glad. I don’t expect miracles, but I also know that if Damien and Ollie can’t find a way to coexist, then my friendship with Ollie will have no chance to heal.

We say our goodbyes and continue outside to the valet stand. “Maybe I was imagining it?” I say to Damien once we’re safe outside. I’m talking about the girl, of course, and it’s obvious that Damien has followed my thinking. I want to believe that it was all innocent, but there was a definite flirt vibe going on, and I have a feeling that if I’d gone to meet Ollie for a drink in his room one night, the odds were good I wouldn’t have found him alone.

“You weren’t,” Damien says, “and it’s going to bite him in the ass. Maybe not because of this girl, but because he’s living in a fantasy world, and eventually reality is going to catch up to him.”

“I know,” I say. “Ollie’s always been a master of denial.”

The limo arrives and the valet holds the door open while the bellman moves to the end of the car to load the trunk with our luggage. Damien lingers to tip the staff, but I go ahead and get in, my mind still on what he said about reality. Because he’s right. Eventually reality catches up with everyone. The only question is, can you survive when it does?

The moment Damien gets into the limo, I can tell that he knows what I’m thinking. His expression softens, and he settles in next to me, silently taking my hand. He doesn’t say anything until we are off of the city streets and on the A9 heading toward the airport. The gap in the conversation doesn’t matter, though. I understand exactly what he’s talking about when he turns to me and says simply, “Different realities, Nikki. You and I are together, and we can withstand whatever the world throws at us.”

I draw in a deep breath, forcing myself not to ask the question that seems lodged in my throat, begging for release: Are you sure? Can we survive? Can we really make it after the bubble bursts?

Damien goes on, either unaware of or ignoring my unspoken words that seem to me like such an elephant in the room. “Ollie has the chance to have what we have. To be part of something special. But he’s scared and now he’s sabotaging his own happiness.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture so sweet I am certain that I will cry. “I’m not scared,” he says. “Not about that. And neither are you.”