“Nectar of the gods,” Damien says as he presses the Styrofoam cup into my eager hand. I sip it, make a face, and take another long swallow.

“The gods aren’t too picky this morning,” I say.

He brushes a kiss across my lips. “I’m sure Edward will be happy to stop for a latte.”

I frown, confused. “Why is Edward here?”

“I’m sending you and Jamie home in the limo.”

“We’re not riding back with you?” I hear the near-whine in my voice and immediately wish I could take it back. Yes, it’s Saturday, but the man has an empire to run, and he’s already been away from it for far too long. “Sorry,” I say. “I know you have to work.”

“There are things I need to take care of,” he says, and something in his tone catches my attention. “I’m going to San Diego,” he adds, obviously noticing my frown.

“Oh.” His father lives in San Diego, and I realize that he is going to confront the man about the photos sent to the court. I do not envy him the trip. My mother may have failed Parenting 101, but Jeremiah Stark never even took the class. “Hurry back,” I say, even though what I want to do is throw my arms around him and keep him safe. I do not want to see his heart wounded any more than it already is. And yet at the same time, I’m silently cheering inside. He could have so easily told me that he had business meetings, but instead he let me in. “I love you,” I say.

He cups my chin and tugs me in for a kiss. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”

I nod, desperately hoping that he is right about that.

Since the cogs of the medical establishment do not turn quickly, it’s a full two hours before Jamie and I are finally settled in the limo. “If I have a mimosa, are you going to lecture me?” Jamie asks.

“I haven’t lectured you at all,” I reply indignantly. “I’ve been extremely non-lecturey. And it’s not like you have a drinking problem, James.”

“You’re right,” she says as she pours two and passes me one. I’m not really in the mood, but I take it anyway. Best friend solidarity and all that. “I don’t have a drinking problem; I have a fucking problem.”

I happen to agree, so I wisely say nothing and just take a sip from my mimosa. Since Jamie is a reasonably observant person who happens to know me well, my silence isn’t lost on her. She shrugs. “I know,” she says. “Nothing you haven’t been telling me for years.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” I say. “You were lucky, James. But this could have been bad.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes. I’m not surprised. Jamie has moments of self-awareness, but long contemplation is not her strong suit. But at least the wheels are turning.

“I called Ollie,” she says. I blink, confused by the transition. “I’m elaborating on my fucking problem,” she says, by way of explanation. “I called him after Raine got me fired from the commercial.”

“Oh, Jamie,” I say. “You promised me. For that matter, he promised me. He told me there wasn’t anything going on with you two anymore.”

“Wait. You talked to him? When?”

“He was in Germany,” I say. “The firm sent him over to help with the trial. You didn’t know?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him. Not since . . . well, not since he came over that night.”

“You called him.” It’s not just a statement. It’s an accusation. Hell, it’s a reprobation.

“I needed someone to talk to, and he’s the dude who had the golden ticket.”

“And you slept with him?” I’m pissed. I’m seriously pissed. As much because they did it as because Ollie lied.

“We didn’t! I swear!” She holds up her fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “But there was a tug, you know?”

I’m relieved. But it’s a cold kind of comfort. “He’s engaged, Jamie. And he’s a mess.”

“As to the first, I know. As to the second, so am I. Maybe we’re soul mates.”

“Friends, yes. Lovers, no.” Just the idea makes me shudder. I can picture the movie of their relationship in my head, and it is definitely not one of Evelyn’s romcoms.

“I know,” she says. “I really do. You’d be proud of me. Nothing happened.”

“Proud of you?” I repeat, hearing what she’s carefully not telling me. That had it just been up to Ollie, something would have happened. That part he left out.

“You’re missing the point,” she says. “I didn’t sleep with Ollie. And I really wanted to because of the commercial and I felt lower than dirt, and, well, you know. But I didn’t—and I thought maybe that meant I was getting my act together.” She sucks in a breath. “And then I go and fuck an asshole and wreck Damien’s Ferrari.”

I may have used a blade against my own flesh to cope, but Jamie uses men. From a distance, it looks like my method is the more dangerous, but sometimes I’m not so sure. For years, I’ve seen the way Jamie’s casual fucks rip her up. Now, I’m afraid I’m seeing a different kind of danger. “The bottom line is that I worry about you.”

“I know you do,” she says simply. “I do, too.”

For a few moments, we’re both silent, and I think that we’re done. Then Jamie draws her knees up and hugs herself. “I’m thinking about going back to Texas.”

My mouth hangs open and I am literally speechless. Of all the things she might have said to me, this was not even on my radar.

“I can’t afford to keep the condo, though. So you’ll have to find another roommate. Unless you move in with Damien. If you do that, I might sell. The market’s gotten better. I might even make enough to buy a place in Dallas and have some cash leftover to pay Damien for at least part of the mess I made of his car. I figure my condo should cover about a hubcap, don’t you think?”

“Wait, back up. What are you talking about? You hate Dallas. You’ve always hated Dallas.”

“Look at me, Nik. I’m a mess. I go from fucking movie stars to screwing strangers. But all I’m really doing is screwing myself.”

“I don’t disagree,” I say baldly. “But moving to Dallas doesn’t change anything but geography.”

“Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe there’s too much noise here. Too much temptation.”

I want to tell her she’s wrong, but I’m not entirely sure that she is. All I know is that I don’t want her to move fifteen hundred miles away. But what I want and what Jamie needs are two entirely different things. “Just think about it before you do anything rash,” I finally say.

Her eyes meet mine and we both laugh at the irony of my words. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, and we laugh even harder.

We leave the serious shit behind and spend the rest of the ride cranking up the tunes, singing along with Taylor Swift, and downing mimosas. Because, after all, you can never have too much vitamin C.

“Did you see that we’re finally famous?” Jamie asks, about the time we see the skyline of downtown LA.

“What?”