Entice Me

by J. Kenner

The truth is, I’m curious, too. Wyatt had recently mentioned to Sylvia at a party that his grandmother is Anika Segel, a Hollywood legend from a powerful Hollywood family. I was surprised, but now I think I should have seen it. I know next to nothing about current Hollywood, but I’m a fan of the classics, and Anika Segel was one of those rare Hollywood beauties.

  In other words, Segel is an important name in this town, and yet Wyatt doesn’t trade on that currency at all.

  So, yeah. I want to hear the story, too.

  Today, however, is not the day.

  She exhales loudly. “Fine. Fine. I’ll be good.” The waitress brings our margaritas on the rocks, and she downs half of hers in one gulp. “I’m just looking to nail a juicy Hollywood story. Do you think Jane could get me on-set to interview Lyle Tarpin?”

  Jane Sykes is a friend who recently had her book adapted into a movie, and Lyle Tarpin is a former sitcom star turned A-lister who’s starring in it. “One, I don’t think there is a set anymore. I’m pretty sure they’re either editing or completely done. The premiere’s just a few months away. And two, what is up with you? You just landed the weekend anchor job. I thought you loved it. What’s with the scramble to get Hollywood interviews?”

  “I do love it,” she says. “But it’s all behind a desk. And it’s local news. Which is fine, but—”

  “You want to do the entertainment stuff,” I finish for her. “I get it. Why not just ask Tarpin directly,” I say with a shrug. “He’s coming to Damien’s party. Dallas and Jane are, too.”

  “Really? You’d be cool with that? And I can ask Wyatt then, too?”

  “Wyatt too, what?” The man himself says as he slips into the booth beside me. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, and since I’m now thinking of his Hollywood heritage, I can’t help but notice that he has the looks that go with the pedigree. A classic, angular face. Wind-swept golden-brown hair. And the kind of build that fills out a suit quite nicely.

  Seriously, the guy could totally have followed in the family footsteps.

  “It’s been too long,” I add. Wyatt gives Sylvia and me photography lessons on occasion. He’s an excellent teacher, but we’ve all been so busy lately that we haven’t done a session in months.

  “It really has,” he says, reaching for his margarita. “So? Wyatt, too, what?” he says again.

  “I’m looking to pump up my cred at work,” Jamie says. “I thought an interview with Anika Segel’s grandson would be just the ticket.”

  “Jamie!”

  “What? He asked. Twice.”

  I glower at her and take a gulp of my drink.

  Wyatt laughs. “You know I adore you, Jamie, but no. That’s not a connection I exploit.”

  “Oh.” She frowns, obviously flummoxed, and I shove a chip into my mouth to hide my amusement. Jamie is rarely flummoxed.

  “But ask me again in a couple of months. I won’t talk about my family, but I may have something else going that you’ll be interested in.”

  “Oh! Cool! What?”

  But he just laughs.

  “You’re a saint,” I tell him. “I would have just kicked her in the shins.”

  “He asked,” she repeats, then turns to Wyatt. “She’s afraid if I bug you then you won’t do a favor for her. But what she forgets,” she says, now looking at me, “is that Nikki’s the kind of girl everyone wants to do favors for.”

  Wyatt laughs, and I considering sliding under the table and biting Jamie’s ankles. “She has you there,” he says to me. “What’s the favor?”

  I take a second, hoping my cheeks will stop burning, then dive in. “First off, I want to invite you to Damien’s surprise party. Second, I don’t suppose you’ve ever done fashion photography?”

  “A bit,” he says. “I worked for a couple of years in Milan. But that was a lifetime ago. Why?”

  “I was hoping you’d want to do it again? Just for old times’ sake. Actually, that’s not quite right. I was hoping you’d pretend to do it. It’s all part of a scheme to stop a blackmailing rat bastard. And I was kind of hoping you had a contact at one of the magazines.”

  For a moment, he looks confused. Then a devious smile plays at the corners of his mouth revealing a set of trademark Segel dimples. “Why the hell not?” he says. “I’m always up for an adventure.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re a card-carrying saint,” Evelyn says. “You know that, right?”

  I’m still feeling the margaritas as I sit with Evelyn Dodge on her back balcony watching the moonlight sparkle on the waves crashing on the beach below. It’s the view that introduced me to Los Angeles. And re-introduced me to Damien, and I can’t help but smile as I remember how that party ended up playing out. Me in the backseat of a limo, and Damien’s voice wreaking havoc with my senses. Not to mention my body.

  Evelyn chuckles. “I know that expression. You’re thinking of your husband, and my words are just floating away into outer space.”

  I flash an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was just remembering that party you threw to show off Blaine’s artwork.”

  “Ah, yes,” she says. “The party that started it all. Well, I can’t fault you for thinking of that night. But I damn sure can’t understand why you want to help that bitch with a stick up her ass.”

  “Carmela? She grows on you,” I say.

  Evelyn snorts. “Like mold.” That’s why I love Evelyn. She hasn’t the faintest idea how to mince words.

  She shifts in her chair, her lips pursed together as if she’s searching for something. “I suppose she’s tolerable, now that I don’t have to see her every goddamn day. That little bitch was quite the prima donna back in the day.” Evelyn was Damien’s sports agent back when he was dating Carmela, so I can only imagine the stories she could tell.

  “Oh, I’m sure she still is,” I say, and Evelyn barks a laugh. “But she and I have come to an understanding. She keeps her hands off Damien and I keep my heel out of her ass.” I flash a smile. “It works for us.”

  Evelyn snorts. “Now you’re talking.”

  “Seriously, though, her manager’s a raging prick. And I want to make sure those pictures of Damien and Jamie don’t ever get released and Bertrand has the fear of god pounded into him. Or at least the fear of Damien and legal and financial demise. Will you help?”

  She turns around, looking at a serving cart that sits on the patio behind us. “Of course I’m in.” She sighs. “Damn the boy, he didn’t leave one goddamn ashtray.”

  She pulls out a cigarette and lets it hang unlit between her lips. “Blaine’s determined that I give up smoking.”

  “I thought you’d already given it up.”

  “Well, yes. But not in my own house when he’s not even in the damn country. What exactly do you need me to do?”

  It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about the Carmela problem and not about smoking. “Honestly, I just need you to come up to Santa Barbara on Friday. With Charles, too, actually,” I add, referring to Damien’s attorney, who’s also one of Evelyn’s good friends.

  Evelyn leans back in her seat. “All right, Texas. Spill. What exactly are you up to? And what the hell do you need me and Charles for?”

  “Actually, where Carmela’s concerned, you’re kind of a diversion. I want you in Santa Barbara for Damien’s surprise party. I just don’t want him to know why you’re really there.” I smile, feeling pleased with myself. “So I’m giving you guys a part to play in the Bertrand smackdown. But it’s all part of a double-blind.”

  “I always knew you were clever, Texas. And this will keep those pictures of Damien out of the tabloids?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Then you know you can count both me and Charlie in.”

  I nod. I know how much she and Charles Maynard did to protect Damien’s reputation back when he was still on the tennis circuit. A hell of a lot more than his father ever did, that’s for sure.

  “And Blaine’s invited to t
he party, too, of course,” I add.

  She grinds her unlit cigarette into the tabletop as if she were stubbing it out. “Well, you can give his slice of birthday cake to someone else. The boy’s in Asia for the rest of the month.”

  “Seriously?”

  “He’s the featured artist at one of Beijing’s premier galleries. After the opening he’s going to Shanghai and then Hong Kong and Tokyo.”

  “That’s really great for him,” I say.

  “He’s kicking ass and taking names, that boy.” She smiles when she says it, but some of the pride I’ve heard before is lacking in her voice. “From what I see, your career’s taking off, too.”

  “I’m trying,” I admit. “I’m finishing a proposal right now for a Texas-based corporation with a global presence. It’s the biggest job I’ve gone after.” I think about the ghost of my mother I saw at the Beverly Center, and feel a quick stab of apprehension—and of anger. Because what should be an exciting opportunity is now tainted with dread simply because of my memories of that woman.

  “I’m proud of you, Texas,” Evelyn says, then reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I don’t know what your competition is like, but I do know they’d be a fool not to take you seriously. I’m proud of you, and if that sounds patronizing, that’s just too damn bad.”

  I laugh, my chest tight with emotions. “It doesn’t sound patronizing at all.” My own mother would probably tell me not to even bother, because I don’t have a shot in hell.

  I suck in a hard breath, trying to ward off weepiness. “I’m going to put the final touches on it, and then get Damien to read it tomorrow. He’s so busy, I almost hate asking him, but—”

  “Nonsense,” she says. “For one thing, that boy would do anything for you. For another, it’s nice to be needed.” She sighs. “I used to be right in the thick of helping Blaine get ready for a show. But he’s so tightly scheduled now and traveling so much, I just never—”

  She cuts herself off with a shrug and a wave. “Doesn’t matter. He’s doing just fine without me.”

  “I—” I stop, afraid I’m crossing a line. But then I start over because I adore Evelyn, and where my friends are concerned, I don’t back off. “Are you and Blaine okay?”

  “Oh, hell, Texas, we’re fine. He’s taking off. It’s what I’ve wanted for him for years. Honestly. I couldn’t be happier.”

  “I’m glad,” I say. But I’m not entirely sure I believe her.

  “I swear to god, I will kill that fucker,” Ryan says, as he paces in front of the huge window in Damien’s office.

  “If that is the plan,” Carmela trills, “I do not object.”

  I’ve just finished summing up everything Carmela told me to Damien and Ryan.

  Damien’s on a couch in the sitting area, and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, his attention solely on me. “Carmela told you all of this yesterday?”

  “We had a chat,” I admit.

  “And you’re just now telling us this?”

  “There wasn’t an immediate threat that the pictures would get out,” I say, looking to Carmela who nods in support. “And we wanted to have a plan.”

  “You didn’t think to come to Ryan and me first? It’s my ass out there—literally—and Ryan does have that handy Security Chief title. Not to mention a vested interest since his girlfriend’s ass is equally exposed.”

  “Carmela and I already had an idea, and you were in Palm Springs with Jackson yesterday afternoon, and. . .” I trail off with a shrug, knowing I sound lame. The truth is that I would have brought Damien in on developing a plan if I wasn’t trying to juggle two plans at once. One of which has to stay secret from him.

  He rubs his temples. “Nikki—” He cuts himself off, looking perplexed. Not surprisingly; he knows me well enough to know this isn’t the kind of thing I’d keep from him. Not without a good reason.

  I really don’t want him to figure out what my good reason is.

  “Do not be cross with your wife, Damie. I begged her to help me come up with an idea to get the pictures from Bertrand and to make sure that he does not bother me—or any of us—again.”

  Damien exhales, then turns to Ryan, who shrugs casually. “Hey, fine by me. If they already have a plan in mind for shutting this guy down, let’s hear it.”

  I smile gratefully at him, and he gives me the slightest nod in return. Jamie’s told him the situation, of course, so he’s playing along. And doing a damn good job, frankly.

  “All right, then,” says Damien. “Lay it out for me.”

  I stand and start organizing my thoughts.

  “The idea is to get him to Santa Barbara thinking that Carmela’s got a shoot for her couture line and that he’s about to have a huge pay day. We have a photographer, an agent, and a magazine all set up already.”

  Damien’s brows lift. “Do you?”

  “Evelyn’s pretty excited about cutting the balls off this asshole.”

  “I’ll bet she is,” he says, but his lips twitch, and I’m grateful he’s amused and not pissed.

  “We have an attorney, too. He’s going to come with contracts that Bertrand supposedly has to review. Everyone goes through his suite, making arrangements and kissing his ass. And everyone we use is someone with serious clout in the industry.”

  “Let me guess,” Damien says. “Evelyn’s pulling Charles in. And Wyatt’s in on the game, too.”

  “That’s why you make the big bucks. You’re so damn smart.”

  He lifts a finger and points it at me, and I know damn well what it means—just wait until we’re alone.

  I glance down at the floor to hide my grin. “Anyway,” I conclude, “once Bertrand realizes it’s all gone south, he’ll also know that some heavy-duty names know who he is and what he’s done. That’s when you and Ryan do your thing. Lay out the ground rules and tell him that he either turns over the photos and leaves Carmela alone or the weight of all these people in your orbit will bear down on him.”

  “No police?” Ryan asks, presumably so that Damien knows we’ve thought this through.

  “Too risky,” I say. “The photos might get released to the press during the investigation.”

  “Agreed.” He takes a seat opposite Damien. “I gotta say, I’m impressed. Maybe I should offer Nikki and Carmela a spot on my security team.”

  “Mmm,” Damien says, in a way that makes me think that he may have already seen through all my maneuvering. I hope not. I want this party to be special. I want it to be a true surprise.

  After a moment, he stands and goes to the window where Ryan had been only moments before. He looks out, then nods. “All right,” he says, turning back to face the room. “We’ll go with your plan. Evelyn is going to make the call to him, I assume?”

  I nod. “She’ll get him to Santa Barbara Friday morning, ostensibly for a sunset shoot. Friday’s the earliest everyone can come together, and if we wait, we may run into more scheduling fiascos.” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry about Vancouver. We’ll have to cancel.”

  He looks at Ryan and then at Carmela. “Not a problem. Anything for my friends. I’m pretty sure Vancouver’s not going anywhere.”

  “Damie, my pet, you are a prince.” Carmela rises and glides across the room to him, then presses soft kisses to both corners of his mouth.

  She pauses in front of me. “Nikki, darling, it is not personal,” she purrs as I fight a laugh. “I am Italian, you know.”

  She heads toward the door with Ryan, and Damien and I follow. He closes the door behind them, then turns to me, his mouth opening to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance. I’m right there, my mouth hard against his. His lips part, possibly in surprise, and I take full advantage, tasting and teasing and feeling the depth of the kiss right down to my toes.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he says when I finally pull away, breathing hard. “I hope that was a reflection of your deep and constant lust for me, and not an indication that you have any lingering jealousy whatsoever about Carmela.”
<
br />   “Not jealous,” I say, rising up on my tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m just glad that we’re helping them. And,” I add with a tiny little smile, “I want to make sure that when you walk out that door, it’s me who’s on your mind.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re always on my mind.”

  Chapter Eight

  I watch—a little nervous, a little excited—as Damien flips through the pages of my proposal, a red pen in his hand. It’s eighty-three pages with the appendix, and Damien is going through it as slowly as a college professor reviewing a student’s dissertation proposal.

  I’m grateful for the attention to detail, but I’m also nervous as hell. Because I’ve poured my heart, my talent, and my experience into those pages, and what if Damien tells me it sucks?

  Granted, he’ll say it more politely, but in the end, crap is crap.

  And—for better or for worse—Damien loves and respect me enough to tell me the truth.

  Which explains why I’m fidgeting.

  Which explains why Damien shoots me a look that very clearly says I should calm down.

  And which also explains why I end up in the kitchen pouring myself a glass of wine even though it’s barely past lunch.

  I putter around the kitchen, contemplating my frozen Milky Way stash and trying to think about anything other than his red pen, for at least half an hour, during which time my wine magically disappears.

  The apartment is an open plan, but kitchen is at an angle such that I can’t see the sofa that Damien is sitting on, so I have no idea how much he’s marked up those pages or if he’s anywhere close to the end.

  I’m seriously considering pouring another glass, when Damien steps into view and I suddenly feel like a schoolgirl about to be evaluated by the teacher.

  He says nothing, and there’s not even a hint of expression on his face. I can read this man so well, and yet in this moment I have no clue whatsoever what he is thinking.

  The breakfast bar is between us, and I stand by the sink, my hands on the counter, and my first thought is that if he comes around to me, then it’s bad news. Because that would mean he’s coming to comfort me.