Besides, Damien is one of her best clients. I’m undoubtedly going to continue to see her socially.

So, yeah, I answer the call. “Giselle,” I say lightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I was actually hoping I could do something for you.” Her voice is light and airy, as if we are chatting over cocktails.

“Oh. Um, okay?”

She laughs. “Sorry. That was rather vague, wasn’t it. But Evelyn was just at the gallery, and she mentioned that you’re considering getting office space. I thought perhaps I could come take a look. Give you some ideas for sprucing it up. Maybe lend you a few canvases to add color.”

I frown, because I’m really not sure why she’d want to do that. “That’s incredibly nice of you, but I’ll probably just cover the walls with white boards.”

“Oh. I see.”

Across the room, Lisa has finished her call. It’s okay, she mouths. You can redecorate.

“I just wanted to make the offer.” Giselle pauses for a moment. “The truth is I know I can never make it up to you for what happened, but I thought this might be a start.”

Well, shit.

“Listen,” she says, and the airy quality is gone from her voice, replaced by something much more genuine. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. Blaine is a good friend and a client, and he absolutely adores you. It goes without saying that Damien adores you. I feel terrible that my stupidity hurt you.”

“I appreciate that,” I say. And then, because I really should have one wall that isn’t entirely covered with notes and code, “How about this afternoon? Maybe around four?”

She agrees eagerly, and when I hang up, I see Lisa looking at me, her expression somewhere between smug and amused.

“Ah,” I say with a grimace. “It is available right now, isn’t it?”

She laughs. “We never did get that coffee. Come on. There’s a Starbucks on the corner. We can go over paperwork and do the ceremonial latte-based key transfer.”

And just like that, I have an office. I’m not Damien Stark yet, but I’m on my way.

Chapter Sixteen

To the CEO of Stark International—

The CEO of Fairchild Development seeks an appointment this evening to discuss a possible merging of our interests.

As Lisa gets our coffees, I reread my text and press send. Almost instantaneously, I get a reply.

To the CEO of Fairchild Development—

I look forward to whatever merger you have in mind.

P.S. Congratulations on the office space.

I grin, and am about to ask him how he knows that I got it when the door to the Starbucks opens and a skinny guy wearing earbuds bounces in carrying a vase full of daisies and other wildflowers. My heart flutters because I am absolutely, positively certain those are for me. I don’t know how Damien knew that I took the property any more than he knew where to find me. But this is Damien, and as far as I can tell, he has eyes everywhere.

The delivery guy scans the room, his gaze stopping on me. For that matter, everyone’s eyes are now on me. The delivery guy glances down at a piece of paper, then boogies over. “Nikki Fairchild?” he asks, a little too loudly, presumably so he can hear his own voice over whatever he’s jamming to.

“Thank you,” I say as he puts the flowers down and strolls out, shimmying in time to whatever tunes are blaring through his earbuds. Around me, the other customers flash quick smiles, then return to whatever they were doing. One girl, a few years older than me with a pixie face and fabulous auburn curls, mouths nice before turning back to the screenplay that is open on the table in front of her. I totally agree.

“Wow,” Lisa says, sliding back into her seat.

“Damien is all about the wow-factor,” I say with a grin. I pull out the card, then smile even broader when I read it.

Tonight I’ll show you just how much a woman with her own business turns me on. Until then, imagine me, touching you. -D

“So now that I’ve told half the world I have an office,” I say, “I guess we ought to do the paperwork.” She and I spend the next hour going over the lease and also over some basic business information that Lisa shares with her clients. She gives me a few recommendations for attorneys who can advise me about incorporation, but also concedes that I might just want to ask Damien.

“Not to be crude,” she says. “But you’re sleeping with the best business resource around. Take advantage of it.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” I say, with just enough of a leer that we both start laughing. Yeah, I think, Lisa and I are going to be friends.

As if to illustrate the point, she tells me that the restaurant two doors down has an amazing happy hour. “Want to check it out next week? You can tell me all about your first few days among the self-employed. Or, hell, drag along your roommate and we’ll talk about men. I’m engaged, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dish.”

I laugh. “It’s a date.”

“Excellent.” She stands and hooks her briefcase over her arm. “I’ve got to go meet a client. You walking back or hanging out?”

“I’m going to finish my coffee and make some notes while all this is fresh on my mind,” I say, indicating the folio. I don’t tell her that I’m seriously considering a second coffee before I head back to the office. After last night—both the good and the bad—I’m operating on very little sleep.

As soon as she leaves, I scoot my chair over a bit so that the walkway between my table and the next isn’t quite so crowded. As I do, I catch the eye of the auburn-haired woman I noticed earlier. Her finger marks a page in her script, and she is looking my way, her brown eyes fixed unabashedly on me. I shift uncomfortably and turn sideways, trying to focus on the folio that is open in front of me.

A moment later I hear the chair across from me scrape the floor and look up to find the woman taking a seat at my table. “I really don’t mean to be a huge pest,” she says in a voice that is crisp and precise, making me think of the Northeast and prep schools. “But it’s driving me crazy. I know you from somewhere and I can’t figure it out.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t think so.” I don’t bother to tell her that I get this a lot. It comes with the whole Golden Girl of the Tabloids thing.

“Are you sure? You look so familiar. I’m Monica, by the way. Monica Karts.” She eyes me hopefully, then frowns. “Doesn’t ring any bells, huh?”

“Sorry,” I say. I start to gather my things, my Polite Nikki smile on my face. My mother may have tormented me through most of my youth, but she also drilled good manners into my head. “I probably just have one of those faces,” I say with a smile. “But it was lovely to talk to you.”

“Oh, hell,” she says. “My agent is always telling me I come on too strong.” She pushes the chair back and moves to her table. “Sorry if I bugged you. You don’t have to leave. I need to get back to this anyway. Audition’s this afternoon.”

“You didn’t run me off,” I lie. “I just need to get back to my office.” Just saying that gives me a little trill of pleasure. My office. Seriously, how cool is that? “Good luck with your audition,” I add as I gather my things, and am surprised to find that I mean it. She has a bubbly personality that reminds me of Jamie. Besides, I’m in a pretty good mood.