Enchant Me Page 10

  “Oh, lucky me.”

  Sylvia laughs, then changes the pitch of her voice to say, “Ronnie, sweetie, can you put a little more sunscreen on Bradley’s shoulders?” She grimaces, then turns to me. “Sorry, that’s your job.”

  “Hey, I’m fine with community parenting. And preventing sunburn. All good.” I shift my attention back to Cass. “So why are you single? You’re amazing.”

  “Right?” Cass says, making us all laugh. “I really am.” She shakes her head, as if shaking off the question. “Seriously, I don’t know. I’ve had a few relationships since Siobhan, but no one I’ve clicked with in the same way. Not even Emma, who was a hell of a lot of fun. I think my superpower is falling for women who end up falling for men.”

  “Definitely not a great track record,” Jamie says. “But you’ll find someone.”

  “I’ve decided to stop looking,” Cass says. “Although I did bump into Emma at Blacklist last week,” she adds, mentioning a popular Venice Beach bar. “We had a couple of drinks, and it was cool. Straight life agrees with her.”

  “Well, Tony does, at any rate,” Sylvia says, referring to Antonio Santos, who, like Emma, is an operative at Stark Security.

  “Should I say sorry?” I ask. She does have my sympathy, even though I think Tony and Emma are perfect for each other. Of course, Tony saved me from an attacker in Paris, so I have a bit of a soft spot for him.

  “Sorry?” Cass repeats, then shakes her head. “No, no. There was never an HEA vibe with Emma, you know? She was more of the FWB variety.”

  I mentally translate that to friends-with-benefits, but not a happily ever after girlfriend.

  “But Siobhan?” Jamie asks.

  “Wow, you guys really meant it when you said we had to talk about me.”

  “It’s a heavy burden,” Jamie said, “but you’ll struggle through.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll consider it therapy. But,” she adds after polishing off the last of her mimosa. “I need a refill.”

  “Ask, and ye shall receive.” Jamie tops her off, then does the same for the rest of us.

  “Siobhan is … well, hell. She’s the reason I regret sleeping with straight girls who think they’re bi. No, that’s not fair. She really is bi, she just….” She trails off with a shake of her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s over, and it’s been over for a long time.”

  “I really am sorry,” I tell her. I can remember the two of them together and they were a great couple, going so far as to actually get engaged. I can’t even imagine a world where everything I thought I had with Damien just fell apart. It seriously breaks my heart.

  “Have you seen her since she moved away?” I ask.

  “Once. I saw her. She didn’t see me. And I chickened out.” She shrugged. “Like I said, old news.”

  I’m about to offer more sympathy, but Ronnie races up to our blanket, her dark curls bouncing. “Aunt Cassidy,” she says, her voice stern and her hands on her hips. “You promised to hang out with us!”

  “And duty calls,” Cass says, rising.

  As she goes off to hang with the kids, Jamie catches my eye. “Too bad Cass isn’t bi. We could set her up with Eli Jones,” she says, referring to the movie star who lives next door. Or so I’ve been told. In all this time, I’ve only seen him a dozen or so times, and spoken to him fewer than three. The man is a mystery, but he’s also a great neighbor just by virtue of being so absent.

  “If we’re hooking Cass up, it should be with Ollie,” I say.

  “Good point,” Jamie concedes. “Besides, from what I hear around town, Eli is doing fine on his own.”

  “I can’t believe Ollie’s still single,” Sylvia says.

  Jamie and I exchange glances. “We’re beginning to think he will be forever.”

  “No one can top Nikki,” Jamie adds.

  I roll my eyes as Sylvia adds, “No woman, anyway.”

  I frown, looking at her over the top of my sunglasses. “What?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing. I just thought Ollie was gay the first time I met him. The picture’s stuck.”

  That one knocks me back. I’d never gotten that vibe from Ollie, and I’ve known him almost my entire life.

  “Or bi,” Sylvia continues. “I mean, there’s no denying he was gone on you. It irritated the crap out of Damien,” she adds with a small shake of her head.

  Sylvia used to work Damien’s desk. Back then she was as discreet as could be, and I never realized just how much she knew from that vantage point. Now I know differently. Which, considering some remarkably delicious moments between Damien and me in his office, would embarrass the shit out of me if we weren’t such good friends.

  “Like I said, it’s just a vibe.”

  Jamie and I meet each other’s eyes. “It’s an interesting theory,” I admit. “But why wouldn’t he tell us?”

  “Just because Syl knows doesn’t mean Ollie does,” Jamie says, and I have to concede the point. “I’m pretty sure his roommate at Quantico was gay,” she adds. “Maybe they had a wild affair.”

  “Jamie…”

  “Just speculating. I mean, they seemed to get along great.”

  “You met him?” I ask.

  “Remember? Ryan had lunch with one of his FBI buddies on our last trip to New York. Ollie was in town, too, so he joined us, and the ex-roomie came, too. He works in Jersey and they’re still friends. Damn, I can’t remember his name.”

  “Just friends?” Sylvia asks.

  “Well, they didn’t go at it on the lunch table if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it,” I say. “Restaurants frown on that kind of thing. And as much as I want Ollie hooked up and happy, his love life is the last thing I want to talk about on a Sunday at the beach. We can analyze the shit out of him the next time we go out for dinner. Or, better yet, for drinks.”

  “Speaking of, are we doing a bachelorette party?” Sylvia asks.

  “Hell to the yes!”

  “James, I’m already married.”

  She shrugs. “So? We go to a strip club, Damien gets all hot and bothered knowing some guy is grinding in your face, and you get fucked like never before that night.”

  Because she’s Jamie, I know she’s trying to make me blush, but I just smile sweetly. “Except I can get that without some random guy grinding in my face. Believe me when I say that Damien —”

  “Lalalalala.” Sylvia sticks her fingers in her ears. “Hello, people. Brother-in-law and boss. I do not need to hear that.”

  “Come on, Syl,” Jamie presses. “You’d be there, too. And I bet Jackson’s just as wild in bed. And I know Ryan is.” She leans back, clearly pleased with herself. “Sounds like a seriously great night all around to me.”

  “Does she have an off button?”

  I shake my head. “Sadly, I’ve never found one.”

  “It’s my quality,” Jamie says.

  Sylvia peers at her. “Your what?”

  “That je ne sais quoi that makes me so lovable.”

  “Being an obnoxious bitch is your quality?”

  Jamie glares at me, though she’s obviously holding back a laugh. “Girls! Come bury your mommy in the sand.”

  My two and Ronnie squeal, then start heading my way, kicking up sand. I climb to my feet and race the other direction, then get tumbled down by a pack of wild girls, laughing my ass off and thankful that after so many years, I love my friends even more now than I did when we were all single.

  10

  The smell of bacon frying pulls me from the sweetest dream in which Damien kissed me all the way down my body, then traced words all over my body with his fingertip.

  I stretch, wanting to stay in place and enjoy the aroma and the memory, but even though I’m on vacation, there are things to do, so I sit up, toss the sheets aside, and then laugh out loud, when I see the little heart right over my sex— a heart with an arrow and N&D inside.

  I take a picture, then text it to my husband.

  I like what I
woke up to. Can’t wait to properly thank the artist.

  I’m in a meeting. This text is the highlight.

  Hopefully only to you.

  Always only mine.

  I send him a kiss emoji, then close my phone. Awake and happy, I head to the kitchen to greet the rest of the family, then find the kids and Bree in the kitchen. Gregory’s there, too, which surprises me as most mornings he’s invisible as he goes about overseeing the gardeners, repairmen, and cleaning staff.

  “Good morning, everyone. Is this a special day?”

  “We decided to do up breakfast,” Gregory says. “Bacon, eggs, and…” he adds with a look to Anne.

  “Choca pipcakes!” she squeals. She’s old enough now to say it properly, of course, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be having choca pipcakes in bed on her honeymoon.

  “Thanks, Gregory,” I say, taking the plate of eggs and bacon he passes to me. I settle at the table between Anne and Bradley and across from Bree, who’s frowning at her phone. “Something wrong?”

  “Another rejection. I’m not sure if I’m querying the wrong agents or if my writing sucks.”

  “I read it, remember? It’s a long way from sucking. Damien and I both loved it. So did Jamie. Hell, she said she could see it as a movie.”

  “I just want to see it as a book.”

  “It’s not an easy career to break into.”

  “I know.” She takes a deep breath, then repeats, “I know,” and this time, she sounds less defeated. “I knew it would be a long haul—everyone said so. I guess I just hoped I’d be the exception.”

  “Everyone hopes that. Unfortunately, not everyone can be. That would defeat the whole exception thing.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, but I can also tell she’s fighting a laugh. “Maybe you should ask Evelyn,” I suggest. “I don’t think she represents authors, but surely she knows agents who do.”

  “I thought about it,” Bree says. “But it seemed weird. Like crossing a line.”

  “I promise it would be fine,” I assure her. “But I get that you feel that way.” I take the piece of bacon Bradley offers me. “How many have you heard back from?”

  “I’m sending queries out in batches of four. So far, I’ve heard back from seven. So only one is still outstanding. All the rest were no thank yous.”

  “All you need is one.”

  “So they say.”

  “You’ll get there,” I say, feeling a bit of déjà vu from the way I kept encouraging Lara when she was learning how to do a cartwheel. “Just keep working on the next book and then one after that. That’s what I did when I was hustling phone apps,” I add. Bree knows that I now have a thriving business developing customized software for a variety of companies, from the very large to the mom-and-pop variety.

  Of course, thinking about that reminds me that I owe my partner a call, plus I have an appointment at the SCF this morning, and need to get dressed.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask as I push back from the table, then give my kids kisses.

  “Just feeling sorry for myself. But I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll buy your book,” Anne says. “I’ve got money in my piggybank.”

  “Not enough,” Lara says. “But I still have the twenty dollars from my birthday money. We can buy it together.”

  “You two are the best,” Bree says, then blows them both kisses. “But how about you both just put wishes for me under your pillows?”

  “Okay, Miss Bree,” they both say, and Bree shoots me a quick glance, her hand going over her heart and her face taking on a swoon expression.

  I know, I mouth, then wave goodbye to my family before changing and heading out.

  Once I’m on the Coast Highway in Coop, my adorable, cherry red MINI Cooper, I call my partner Abby, who answers on the first ring. “I was just about to call you,” she says.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately going tense. This is the longest I’ve been away from work in ages, and while I trust Abby, I still can’t completely chill with her at the helm. “Something with the Greystone-Branch updates?”

  Besides Stark International, Greystone-Branch is by far our largest client. And the first major client that I’d landed years ago.

  “No, no. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear about the wedding. Sorry Renly and I couldn’t make it.”

  “It was beautiful,” I assure her.

  “That’s excellent. It means yours will be, too. I can’t wait.”

  “Apparently we’re having an un-bachelorette party. Jamie will be in touch.”

  “She already has been,” Abby assures me, and I realize I’m not surprised. “I’ll see you on Friday. Are you nervous?”

  “About the ceremony?”

  She laughs. “Hardly. About the bachelorette party.”

  “With Jamie throwing it? Hell, yeah, I’m nervous.”

  We both laugh, and before we end the call I remind her that even though I’m technically on vacation, she can buzz me if she needs anything at all. “You won’t be breaking some sort of partner code, and you won’t be bothering me,” I assure her.

  “Shit,” she says, and my stomach immediately curdles. That’s not a work-based curse. It’s something else, and my mind leaps immediately to the note on the portrait.

  “Abby? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, God, Nikki, I probably already broke a code.” She clears her throat. “You got a letter delivered this morning. An envelope. Marge opened it because, well, that’s her job, and she gave it to me. Nik, it’s creepy.”

  My mouth has gone so dry it’s an effort to get out words. “Can you send me a picture?”

  “No way. Not while you’re driving. Are you at the SCF yet?” she asks, referring the Stark Children’s Foundation where I volunteer in a variety of capacities, and where she knows I have a meeting this morning. “But I’m still in Malibu. Hang on, and I’ll pull over.”

  I turn into Upper Crust, my favorite local bakery, and get in the line to grab a coffee for the road and a muffin for later. “Okay,” I tell her. “Send it. I promise I won’t drive off a cliff.”

  “I hate this,” she says, but a moment later my phone pings, and I open to see the image she’s sent. It’s a note, and I wince at the familiar handwriting as I read the horrible words:

  Do you not know how vile he is? Or do you just like being his slut? Do you really believe you’re the only one?

  “You have the original?” My voice sounds raw.

  “I gave it to Renly to look into,” she says, referring to her husband, a former movie and television consultant who now works for Stark Security. “I told him not to say anything to Damien yet. I figured you’d want to be the one to do that. Nikki, God, I’m really sorry. I was going to call you after you left the SCF. I knew you had meetings. I didn’t want to ruin your morning. Do you know who could have sent it?”

  “No,” I tell her. “But it’s not the first.”

  “What?” I hear the shock in her voice and hurry to explain.

  “It’s not the first, and to be honest, I don’t really want to talk about it. But call Renly. Ryan will fill him in, and you can get the scoop that way. And just in case, tell Marge to keep the office doors locked. It’s not like we get walk-ins, anyway.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I will. Nikki, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “Damien and I have weathered worse.” But even as I say the words, I’m not sure if it’s true. Because as far as I know, these creepy notes are just the beginning. “Call me later if you want,” I tell her.

  “If I want? You’re the one getting creepy messages.”

  The words and her tone make me smile. “True,” I say. “But you’re worrying.”

  “Good point. I’ll call you later.”

  We end the call, and once I’m back on the road and sufficiently calm, I call Damien’s cell, because this is something I want to talk about, not just drop into his text messages. But the call is forwarded to his desk, and hi
s assistant, Troy Reed, answers. “Tell him to call me when he’s got a free moment. I’m heading to the SCF, so if it rolls to voicemail, just have him try me the next time he’s free.”

  Troy laughs. “You should know he’s never free. Except for you, Mrs. Stark. Do you want me to buzz you through?”

  “It’s Nikki, remember? And no.” If he’s in an important meeting, I don’t want to throw off his game. “But let him know I want to talk when he can carve out a few minutes.”

  “You got it, Nikki. I’ll let him know.”

  It takes me almost an hour to get to the Stark Children’s Foundation in Beverly Hills, but when I do, I’m a bit calmer. The situation sucks, true. And it sucks more than it did when we were getting harassed about the painting or the Richter murder trial, but that’s because this time it’s not just us. It’s our home and our family that are in the hot seat.

  I wish I could figure out why. It seems like whoever is sending the texts is jealous of me and even of Sofia. So maybe we’re dealing with an old girlfriend? And while a crazy, stalkerish ex doesn’t sound like a picnic, it’s something I can deal with.

  And you know what? No matter who’s behind this or what they want, Damien and I can handle it. After all, we’ve handled everything else the universe has thrown at us. What’s one more crisis?

  That, at least, is what I tell myself. But it’s a big fat lie.

  This time, the darkness has seeped into our home. The Malibu house has always been our fortress, a place to lock out the world. But Saturday night, the world got in. And though I don’t want it to, that scares me.

  I’m not afraid of an attack—not really. Someone found a weakness and took advantage, and with the work Ryan’s team did yesterday and has on the agenda for today, I know that the house will be tighter than Fort Knox by the time I get home.

  Mostly, I’m scared of what that note on my portrait represents. That we’re vulnerable. That despite everything Damien does to keep us safe—despite the incredible force of his will—it’s just not possible to wrap us all safe and sound in bubble wrap.

  I know that, and I hate it. But I can live with it. Hopefully, Damien can, too, I think as my phone rings, signaling his incoming call.