Lost With Me

by J. Kenner

  “I could go for a private training,” Jamie admits. “But don’t you work out with Damien?”

  I laugh at the prospect. “He’s way too intense for me.” A former professional tennis player, Damien takes his workouts seriously.

  “I get that. But I figured you shared gym time. After all, you have that sweet set-up.”

  “Yeah, well, you know…” The gym on our first floor is about as good as it gets. But the times we’ve worked out together have ended up with us hot and sweaty on the mat in a much different way. Not that I object to that kind of workout, but it’s really not the kind of cardio I’m looking for.

  “Naughty girl,” Jamie says, clearly wearing her psychic best friend hat. “Then again, that kind of workout burns calories, too.”

  I’m saved from having to retort by the arrival of the waiter with the ceviche Jamie ordered before I arrived. We order salads for lunch, and as we dig into the appetizer, Jamie tells me about her time in London with Ryan, who also happens to be the Security Chief at Stark International and Damien’s best friend.

  “We rode the London Eye,” she says, referring to the giant Ferris wheel that overlooks the city and sits on the River Thames. “Can I just say that I fully approve of incredibly big Ferris wheels that move very, very slowly.”

  “I hope y’all weren’t sharing a cabin.”

  “Nope. Ryan bought the thing out. Privacy, privacy, privacy.” She leans back as the waiter refills our water glasses. “I would have brought you some pictures of the view, but I was too distracted to take any.”

  “Oh, really.” I stab a chunk of tuna with my fork. “Maybe Damien and I need to go visit the London office, too.”

  “Oh, definitely. I mean, surely you need to tweak some of the coding. They drive on the wrong side of the road over there, you know. Their information superhighway must be a mess.”

  I laugh, almost spitting the ceviche I’ve just put in my mouth. “Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be the winning argument.”

  “I never claimed to understand tech.”

  “I’m glad you had fun. You two haven’t taken a vacation together in a while.”

  “We definitely made up for lost time.” A wicked grin dances over her lips. “Then again, we still are,” she adds, her cheeks blooming pink. Since I’ve never known Jamie to blush at anything, my interest is immediately piqued.

  “Spill,” I demand, and when she leans eagerly forward, I know that was just the invitation she was waiting for.

  “Have you ever heard of a private club called Masque?”

  I shake my head slowly as I sift back through my memory. “I don’t think so. Maybe? I’m not sure.”

  “Well, that’s incredibly vague.”

  “Best I can do. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Then again, maybe I heard about its scandalous nature in some gossip column.”

  “You don’t read gossip columns,” she reminds me. “And what makes you think it’s scandalous.”

  Sadly, she’s wrong about the gossip. I used to be completely ignorant of any and all gossip surrounding the rich and famous. Then I met Damien, and my circle of friends expanded to include those the paparazzi keeps in their sights. I wouldn’t say that I actually follow the various gossip sites now, but I do check in regularly. I like to think of it as self-preservation for myself, my family, and my friends.

  As for scandalous, I can only laugh. “James, anything that can make you blush has to be off the charts.”

  “True story,” she says, without a bit of shame.

  “I’m guessing it’s a sex club?” After all, I doubt she’s blushing about her utter inability to do math in her head.

  “It is,” she says, “and it’s incredibly decadent. Everything is top of the line. The venue. The alcohol. The hors d’oeuvres.”

  “You’ve been to those kinds of clubs before. Why is this one such a rush?” Because obviously it is. She’s as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. And the flush of pink has returned, only this time it’s creeping up her neck, too.

  “It’s different,” she says. “For one thing, everyone wears a mask. Completely anonymous. It’s formal, too. Or at least it starts out that way. I’m not sure naked can be formal. But after going there a few times, I’m one-hundred-percent certain that bras and garter belts can be.”

  “James!”

  “Just telling it like it is.” Her lips twitch with amusement. “And it was pretty spectacular.”

  “Okay, fine.” I lean forward, unable to pretend I’m not interested. “Spill. Every. Single. Thing.”

  “Well, it’s a party. A very elegant, well-hosted party. With sex. Lots of sex. Right in front of everybody.”

  I feel my eyes go wide. “Jamie! You didn’t!”

  She nods, her lips pressed tight together. “It was so freaking hot. And honestly, I’m not sure I would have done anything if it wasn’t anonymous, but it really is. I mean, there were a few people there I might guess at, but for the most part…”

  “And Ryan was okay with this?” I couldn’t believe that Ryan—who patiently fought the good fight to win Jamie’s hand—would be okay with watching his wife sleep with another man, anonymous or not.

  “No, no!” Jamie hurries to correct. “This was me and Ryan. I mean, some folks come as singles and some swap partners. But you don’t have to. It’s just—I don’t know. There’s a rush being out in the open like that. In watching and being watched, but knowing that no one knows it’s you. Not really, anyway.”

  “But haven’t you and Ryan already…” I trail off, feeling my own cheeks heat. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve never been to a sex club.” I know Jamie and Ryan have gone to BDSM clubs a couple of times. According to Jamie, they’re not in the lifestyle, but they occasionally slide into pretty serious play. And from what I know about those kind of clubs, stuff happens in the open.

  “We have,” she says, her tone completely nonchalant. “But we’ve only mingled in the public areas. Anything more, and we go into a private room. Masque was an entirely new experience. And a much more glam vibe, too. Nothing dungeon-y, you know?”

  “Wow,” I say, trying to figure out how I feel about this peek into my best friend’s sex life. And trying more to figure why the thought of going someplace like Masque with Damien makes my skin heat and tingle in all sorts of exciting—an unexpected—ways.

  Jamie tilts her head to the side, and from the way the corner of her mouth twitches, I know she’s seen what I’d rather hide. “You should go.”

  I shake my head, but don’t answer as the waiter steps up to deliver our entrees. He lays our plates and clears the ceviche, and all the while I’m trying to stop the X-rated Technicolor movie that is playing in my head.

  “I’m serious,” she says. “You and Damien should check it out. I swear it’ll light a fire in your sex life.”

  I raise a brow. “I’m not sure ours could get much hotter.”

  Jamie waves a hand, dismissing my words. “I’m talking inside of the sun hot. Big Bang hot.”

  I grin. “So am I.”

  Jamie rolls her eyes. “Show off.”

  “Besides, it sounds like more of a y’all thing than an us thing.” True enough. There are very few parameters on my sex life with Damien, but I know perfectly well that public sex isn’t his thing. Which is fine, since it’s not mine either.

  At least, I don’t think it is.

  “You’re intrigued.” Jamie’s brows rise, as if underscoring the statement.

  “I’m intrigued by skydiving, but I’m never going to do it.”

  Jamie jabs her fork into her salad, then points a speared slice of avocado at me.

  “Give it a rest,” I order, before she has a chance to speak. “Keep bugging me about it, and I’ll just lie and tell you we went. If it’s anonymous, you’ll never know the difference.”

  She scowls, then pops the avocado into her mouth. “Fine. Subject dropped. All I’ll say is that you have no idea what you’re missing out on
.”

  “That’s okay, because I don’t want to.” My words are firm. Definitive. Strong.

  And I can’t help but fear that they’re also a big, fat lie.

  6

  “Just one more bite, and then I need to run,” Jamie says an hour later, her fork sliding into the cheesecake she talked me into sharing. Because, as she pointed out, calories consumed with a friend only count by half. “I have to get all the way to Redlands.”

  I snap my attention to her, ignoring my own forkful of dessert. “I haven’t been to Redlands since the time Damien treated you and me to that overnighter at The Desert Ranch Spa.” Jamie had stayed two full nights, but I’d left with Damien after only one. “It’s an adorable town. We stopped there for dinner during the drive back,” I explain.

  “Just dinner?” Jamie says with a tease in her voice.

  “It was a very good restaurant,” I assure her. “With a damn nice alley behind it, too,” I add with a cat-and-the-canary smile.

  “Naughty girl,” she says, then uses two fingers to pluck my cheesecake off my fork.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t even. I totally deserve this cheesecake. You get a sexy encounter in a dark alley, and I get to cover a high school student film festival.” As if in punctuation, she pops the cheesecake in her mouth.

  I laugh, conceding the point. “But you’ll have a great time.”

  “Yeah,” she admits. “I will. I covered it last year, too, and it was such fun watching the kids’ films. They’re not jaded at all. Yet. That’ll come in a few years when they graduate and actually move the sixty miles to LaLa Land.”

  Since she’s probably right about that, I refrain from commenting.

  “What about you?” she asks. “Back to work?”

  “Eventually. But errands first. I’ve got to run by the space to meet with the contractor. We’re moving in on Wednesday. But first I’m going to check on the cake for the girls’ birthday party. It’s coming up fast.” A week from tomorrow, actually, and there’s still so much to do.

  Technically, the party doesn’t fall on either of the girls’ birthdays. Anne turns two the following Wednesday, and Lara’s assigned birthday is the day before the party. She’ll be four this year, and it’s hard to believe that not that long ago, she was found in a wooden wagon near the gate of a Chinese orphanage. Since there was no easy way to tell exactly when she was born, the orphanage assigned her Finding Day as her birthday, and neither Damien nor I see any reason to change that.

  “Speaking of,” Jamie says. “I finally figured out what to get them, but you’ll have to wait until Saturday to see. Kids are not easy to shop for,” she adds, in the kind of tone that suggests I personally erected a barrier between her and all appropriate present ideas.

  “I’m sure they’ll love whatever you bring. You’re Aunt Jamie. You can’t possibly go wrong.” I mean what I say, but that’s because Jamie’s calmed down a lot in the last few years. There was a time when I’d have been slightly terrified at the idea of her picking out a present for anyone under the age of twenty-one. Fortunately, she has Ryan now, and I know he won’t let her go too crazy.

  Then I think about the parties at Masque, and I have to wonder if maybe Ryan isn’t as calming an influence as I’d thought.

  Those thoughts naturally lead to Damien. Which makes my skin tingle and my blood heat.

  I take a sip of my wine and try to banish the thoughts as Jamie lifts a brow. “Did I lose you?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “You got me thinking about everything I need to get done today.”

  “Go,” she says, waving vaguely inland. “I can deal with the check.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She gives me a look that is so Jamie it makes me laugh, and I stand up. “Love you, James.”

  “Back at you. Oh! Wait. I talked to Ollie this morning. He said he’ll be in town for the girls’ party.”

  “Seriously?” I pause with my hand on the back of my chair. “That’s fabulous.” Ollie is the third leg of our BFF trifecta, although it’s not been as stable since Damien entered my life. They’ve warmed to each other—hell, they even respect each other—but they’re never going to be tight.

  Ollie’s a lawyer, and for a couple of years now, he’s been spending more time in New York than he has in LA, where he’s technically based. Some big corporate litigation. But now Jamie says that things are slowing down and he’s coming back to the LA office for good.

  “That’s so great. I feel like the girls barely know him.”

  “True that,” she says, but hurries on so quickly that it’s obvious that Ollie’s relationship with my daughters is way down her priority list. “But do me a favor and don’t ask him about his house, okay?”

  I frown, cocking my head a bit as if that will make the words more cogent. It doesn’t work. “Huh?”

  “He’s selling it.”

  “What? Are you serious? He hasn’t even started the renovations.” He’d bought a dilapidated two bedroom, one bath in the hills with a huge lot, a stunning view of Universal Studios, and tons of renovation potential. But then the firm shipped him back to New York, so he postponed the renovation and turned it into a rental. Not terribly snazzy, but livable. “What happened to all his plans? I thought he was going to ask Jackson to help with the remodel.” Sylvia’s husband is a world-renowned architect. He’s also Damien’s half-brother and a genuinely nice guy. And he’d offered to do the work for Ollie at a discounted rate.

  I pull my chair back and start to sit down again, but Jamie waves her hand dismissively.

  “Go do your thing,” she says. “Because now you know all that I do. And maybe I misunderstood. But I don’t think so. Honestly, I think he’s having money problems.”

  A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realize how much I’ve lost touch with one of my best friends. He’d told me he was looking to buy an investment property, and at the time I’d offered him dinner and the chance to interrogate Damien, who’s a whiz at all things financial. Ollie had brushed it off, though, telling me that one of his clients was advising him, and that he knew what he was doing. And since I was exhausted with a baby and a toddler, I didn’t press the point.

  Now, I’m wishing I’d insisted. Not that Damien’s advice would have necessarily saved him, but at least then I’d know I did everything I could to help my friend.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jamie says, her dark eyes studying me. “He’s a big boy.”

  True, but half an hour later, as I aim my cherry-red Mini Cooper toward Beverly Hills and my party related errands, I’m still thinking about Ollie.

  Ollie and Damien. Because my friend’s financial situation has underscored how lucky I am. God knows I’d love Damien even if he were a pauper, but there’s no denying that his wealth is a blessing.

  There are downsides, of course. Mary Lee underscored that pretty damn well this morning.

  And, yes, we’ve suffered through more than our fair share of scandal and drama, stalkers and paparazzi. Incidents ranging from so mundane they’re almost laughable to so deeply disturbing and horrific that absent Damien, I’m certain I couldn’t have coped without the sharp edge of a blade to release the pressure.

  With Damien, I’m strong. Even when I’m not in his arms, like earlier at the bungalow, his love flows in my blood, anchoring me to him.

  And right now, I’m counting the minutes until tonight, when I can fold myself in his arms and let the rest of this day fade away.

  I don’t forget about Ollie and Mary Lee immediately, but as I navigate traffic, I forcibly push all that drama aside in order to focus on more important things. Like colorful candy sprinkles, plastic tablecloths, and toddler friendly games that will satisfy a houseful of little kids.

  Fortunately, both Bree and Gregory—Damien’s valet/butler/general-house-guy—are helping out with planning and prep for the party. Even with their help, though, I’m overwhelmed, a not unfamiliar state these days. Damien keeps telling me I need to h
ire a personal assistant to help me with whatever comes up either in business or at home, since Bree’s duties really don’t extend beyond the kids.

  I’ve told him I’ll think about it, but so far, I’ve avoided the issue. I know that Damien has a slew of personal assistants, all overseen by Rachel, but I can’t wrap my head around having someone similar for me. After all, there’s already staff for the house. On top of Bree and Gregory, we have a housekeeper who comes in daily, a groundskeeper and his staff, a rotating team of security guards, and a part-time chef. Not to mention the drivers who technically work for the company, but are at Damien’s beck and call.

  As much as having a helper at my elbow might be useful, I don’t think I need to add to the crowd. I’ve been managing fine so far. Busy, but fine.

  The bottom line is that I’m not Damien. My company is relatively small, my responsibilities much less vast. I don’t need a full staff to keep my daily life running smoothly.

  And that’s one hundred percent okay with me.

  Besides, if I had an assistant, odds are good she’d be the one visiting Love Bites instead of me. Which means she’d get to taste the cake samples and talk about decorations. And that would be a damn shame, I think, as I pull up in front of a valet stand. I slip out of the car, hand the valet my keys, and start walking the few blocks up Rodeo Drive and then over to Beverly Boulevard.

  A shiver runs through me as I head to the corner. Like someone walking over my grave. My grandfather’s voice fills my head, flooding my memory with his Southern sayings and superstitions.

  Or maybe not superstitions…

  I turn quickly, expecting to see someone staring at me from across the street. But when I look around, I see nothing out of the ordinary. Just tourists and shoppers, laughing and smiling and enjoying the gorgeous day.