Memories of You: A Stark Security Novella Page 7

  Something real, not the bullshit of a Hollywood set, the fake stories that were interesting but provided no real fascination for him, and the equally fake women, who seemed to want nothing more than to be on his arm or in his bed.

  Presumably he was more interesting than the celebrities they were used to. Too bad he didn’t find them equally as interesting.

  No, the only woman he’d found remotely interesting recently was Abby. And wasn’t that a kicker, considering she was the one woman he really couldn’t have?

  He pushed back from the desk and stood, taking it slowly to make sure the world didn’t tilt beneath him again. He glanced sideways at Ryan’s office, knowing he should go have a talk with his boss. He waited, working up the nerve. Then he grabbed up the folder, turned around, and headed for the exit to summon a ride share because, dammit, right now was no time for him to get on the damn bike.

  Hell, if he was smart he’d sell the thing before it killed him.

  But he wasn’t smart. He wasn’t even honest. Not with himself, and not with anybody else.

  He wanted to talk to Abby, but the thought of her seeing the weakness in him made his gut twist into knots. So instead he typed a different address into the app.

  * * * *

  “So where does a guy go to get a drink around here?” Renly said, striding into the distillery’s tasting area.

  Behind the counter, Red looked up, then grinned wide. His hair was a more vibrant color than Renly’s, and he’d recently begun growing a beard, but other than that they looked similar enough that people used to confuse them as kids, thinking they were identical.

  Abby never did, though. She always knew exactly who was who, and it had been Renly she’d bonded with, something he’d never taken for granted.

  “Did we have lunch planned today?” Red asked as Renly slid onto a stool.

  “Can’t a guy just drop by to see his brother?”

  “A guy can. I don’t know what the hell you are.” He poured a shot of Cooper’s Slow Burn Rye, the distillery’s most popular label, and passed it to Renly.

  “Funny man. How’s it going in here?”

  “Business is good,” Red said. “We’ve got a dozen new commercial contracts for local restaurants, and we’re running a new ad campaign. Quirky and fun. I think it’s really going to drive the brand up.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I think Dad’s pretty proud. You know how he is about his bars and liquor.”

  Renly shrugged. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s very proud.”

  “Listen, you know you—” Red shook his head. “Never mind. It’s your thing with Dad. I’ll leave it between the two of you.”

  “Finally. My brother sees reason.”

  “I’m only leaving you alone because I know you’re an ass.”

  “If I am, I guess you are, too. Twins, after all.”

  “But not identical. Thank God for small favors.”

  Renly laughed, then leaned back in his seat. “It really is good to see you, bro.”

  “Likewise.”

  “So where’s Mel?” he asked, referring to Mel Swift, Red’s partner in the distillery.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. He’s been dealing with personal shit lately. I’m cutting him a lot of slack, but pretty soon he and I are gonna have to have a talk about pulling his weight.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

  Red waved the words away. “It’ll work out. You know Mel. He got sidetracked by something, but he’ll be back and focused soon. Same old, same old.”

  “That guy never changes,” Renly said, remembering the crazy hijinks their friend from Houston regularly got in during high school. “Don’t imagine he ever will.”

  “True that,” Red said, then grinned. “Nice to have you here, bro. But you know, I think we talked more when you were working overseas in uniform. So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well, I’m about to go overseas again,” Renly said. “Although this time I won’t be in uniform.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep. I’m leaving on Wednesday. Heading to Dubai.”

  “So I guess you’re liking working for Stark? I have to say, the guy impressed the hell out of me in New York.”

  “Those were some unusual circumstances,” Renly said. His brother had told him all about the crazy heist and the hostages that had been held in their father’s bar. “I like working for him just fine,” Renly said. “But he’s not there full-time. Off running the world, I suppose. Ryan Hunter’s my immediate boss. He knows his shit.”

  “Does he?” Red leaned forward, a rag in his hand as he polished the bar, not meeting Renly’s eyes. Renly drew a breath. And here we go...

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He was a twin, after all, and he knew exactly what his brother was about to say.

  To Red’s credit, he waited a full ten seconds before speaking, long enough that Renly started to think he was wrong.

  But, of course, he wasn’t.

  “They’re okay with you going?” Red asked, his voice casual. “I mean, with your condition?”

  Renly shrugged, then took a sip of his whiskey, just as casual as you please.

  Red stopped polishing the oak bar. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Renly. “Jesus Christ. You haven’t told them.”

  Renly closed his eyes. “Sometimes it sucks to be a twin.”

  “Yeah? Well, think how much worse it would be if we were identical.”

  “If we both looked like you? Yeah, that would be bad.”

  Red didn’t even flinch. “You’re really not going to tell them?”

  “I’ll tell them. But first I’m going on this mission. First I’m doing this job. Before I start throwing obstacles in my path, I want them to know that I’m qualified. I don’t want anyone looking at me like I’m a goddamn invalid. They know I can do the work, they’ll overlook the hitch.”

  Red started to speak, but Renly held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

  Now Red held up two hands as if pushing Renly away. “Fine, fine. It’s your life. Yours to mess up, anyway.”

  “That it is. And I’m not messing up.”

  For a moment they were both quiet. Then, out of the blue, Renly said, “Did you know Abby was in town?” He wasn’t quite sure why he brought it up. She didn’t have anything to do with the trip. Except for the fact that she was the one reason he was hesitating about going. He’d just reconnected with her, and he was about to leave again for what could be a two-month mission. Maybe more.

  He shook his head, realizing he’d missed his brother’s reply. “Say again?”

  “I said I had no idea she was here.”

  “Yeah, turns out she’s Nikki’s partner. In a tech firm.”

  “Well, what do you know, little Abigail Jones all grown up. I imagine she grew up pretty fine. She always was adorable.”

  “Yeah, she still is.” He felt the smile tug at his lips and tried not to show it, absolutely certain that his brother would know what he was thinking, a thought that was confirmed when Red said, “Oh, fuck no.”

  “What?” Renly said, though he knew perfectly well what his brother was talking about.

  “You didn’t. Did you?”

  “I am not even going to answer that.”

  Red dragged his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe it. All through school you’re infatuated with that girl and you sleep with her now? Now when you’re about to go away?”

  “I wasn’t infatuated with her.”

  “The hell you weren’t. I was always afraid you were going to screw it up, and I think freshman year you did. You avoided that girl like the plague. And why?”

  Considering they were twins, Red and Renly were far too different. His brother just didn’t understand.

  But Renly had known that if they got too close, they would end up breaking apart. That’s exactly what happened to his parents. His dad said it was because of his mother’s dea
fness—that he couldn’t deal—and maybe that was part of it, but not all. Renly had watched them for years, and they’d been drifting apart and drifting apart and drifting apart.

  The bottom line was that people didn’t stay together once they got close. They were like magnets. Get too close and all they did was repel each other.

  He hated the thought that he could get too complacent with Abby. That she’d never again leap into his arms with the same enthusiasm she had yesterday.

  So back in high school he did the repelling first. Not that he’d understood then what he was doing. And not that he ever expected it to last.

  All he knew was that he had to keep some distance if they were to keep their friendship. But then suddenly he was thrust off to a different state.

  Everything had gotten so fucked up back then. And now…

  Well, now he hoped it didn’t get fucked up all over again.

  A group of customers entered, laughing and talking, so Renly considered that his cue to leave. He waved to his brother, then pulled open the door with a sigh. He stepped outside to wait for his Uber so he could go back and get his bike. He felt steady now. Safe. But he knew it wouldn’t last. The episodes were coming more regularly, and the meds weren’t helping.

  And wasn’t that a fucked-up reality?

  He was cursing his bad luck when his phone rang, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID and took the call. “Hey, guy,” Renly said. “How’s life in LaLa Land?”

  “Chugging along,” Carson said. “Am I going to see you tonight at the wrap party?”

  Carson Donnelly was the most talked-about director in Hollywood, and Renly had worked on his most recent film, Juggernaut, staring Francesca Muratti, who, though not exactly Renly’s ex, had definitely been in his bed.

  “Gotta be honest,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Come on, man,” Carson said. “I miss working with you, and so do a lot of other folks. Come for a while, make the circuit, then we can slink away and catch up.”

  “For you, I may drop by. At Matthew’s?” Matthew Holt was a big-shot Hollywood producer and major player in all things entertainment. He owned what Renly called a party house. A place that sometimes hosted tame parties, and sometimes hosted gatherings that were significantly racier and required a special invitation to get in. On those days, the house served as the headquarters for a sex club called Masque.

  Whatever type of party was in the house, the back room was always the Masque annex, though oftentimes people in the front room didn’t know the sensual option even existed. Renly wouldn’t have if Francesca hadn’t taken him there once. If he did go to the party tonight, that wasn’t going to be a room he visited.

  “Seriously,” Carson said. “The crew misses you. Don’t abandon us to the exotic world of international intelligence and security. Come by and share your stories.”

  “Fine,” Renly said. He really did enjoy the people. Even Frannie had her good points, at least when she dialed down bitch mode. “I’ll swing by for a few hours.”

  “Excellent,” Carson said. “And you might want to bring a date. Frannie’s already broken up with Micah—”

  “That was fast.”

  “—and you know as well as I do that she’ll latch on to you if you don’t have a buffer.”

  “You’re making me think I shouldn’t come at all.”

  “Come on, buddy. It’ll be fun.”

  He didn’t protest again, because Carson was right. Especially if he could get Abby to go, too. She might not be a celebrity hound, but he doubted she’d been to many Hollywood parties. A few, maybe, considering she was Nikki’s partner, but surely going to one of Carson Donnelly’s wrap parties would be something she got a kick out of.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll be there. And I’ll bring a friend.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m both jealous and sad that you’re going to Dubai,” I tell Renly as we step into the party. It’s being held in a stunning house in the Hollywood Hills with a huge entrance hall filled with people in dark suits and colorful gowns. I pause just inside to take it all in, amazed that I’m actually at an A-list Hollywood shindig celebrating the wrap of a film intended to be next year’s summer blockbuster.

  “It’s the kind of assignment I signed on for. But,” he adds, squeezing my hand, “it’s only an assignment. I’ll be back.”

  “You better. I lost my best friend once. I don’t intend to lose him again. Especially since he can get me into such cool parties.”

  I’ve never been one to follow Hollywood gossip, but even I know who Matthew Holt is, the huge entertainment mogul who owns this house. And I’ve heard of Carson Donnelly too, the director who invited Renly and kindly suggested that he bring a date. Bonus for me.

  “Do you miss it?” I ask. “Working in Hollywood, I mean.”

  “I haven’t been gone that long,” he says. “But no. Honestly, I like where I landed. It was fun in Hollywood, and it was exciting in the military. But it’s nice to have the freedom that I have working at Stark Security. I have opportunities and agency here that I wouldn’t have working as a SEAL.”

  That makes sense to me, and I’m about to say as much when my purse vibrates, signaling a text. I pull it out and check the screen, hoping it’s not my stalker.

  It’s not. I frown, because instead it’s work. Specifically, it’s Darrin.

  I make a face as I look up at Renly.

  “Work?” I nod, and he laughs. “Well, welcome to the land of grownups.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Is it urgent?”

  I skim the text. “He talked to his boss and has a few tweaks that he wants to work out. He’s hoping that we can get together tomorrow.” I groan. “I hate going into the office on Sunday.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he says. “Tell him you can carve out an hour, and then we’ll go grab brunch afterwards.”

  “Really?”

  He smiles. “What? You think I don’t like brunch?”

  I laugh and start to type out that answer in the text. As I do, Renly lifts his hand, signaling to someone across the room. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Unless you want to come with me?”

  “Who is it?”

  “The director of photography on the last film I worked on. Nice guy but a little grabby.” He glances at the skimpy dress that I’m wearing, a flowing skirt with a bodice held up by barely-there spaghetti straps. “Actually, why don’t you stay here?”

  I smirk. “Yes, sir.”

  He leaves, and a moment later Darrin responds to my text, agreeing to meet at ten. I’m putting my phone away when I catch a glimpse of dark hair on a medium-build man in a black suit. I do a double-take, thinking it’s Darrin, then push the thought away. If he were here, surely he would have come over.

  I tell myself that I’m just imagining things since Darrin’s on my mind. I turn around, looking for a waiter so I can get a drink, when I find myself mere inches away from a stunning woman, tall and lithe with one of the most famous faces in the country, possibly the world. Francesca Muratti. She towers over me, courtesy of stilettos so high it’s amazing that she can walk without falling. She smiles, as friendly as a neighborhood Girl Scout, and extends her hand to me.

  I take it without thinking.

  “So you’re the flavor of the month,” she says.

  “Pardon me?”

  Her smile widens, showing teeth. “Renly’s newest toy.”

  “I’m not a toy.”

  “Then you clearly don’t know Renly.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I do.”

  She takes a step back. Her head tilts as she studies me. “You definitely have moxie.”

  “What is your problem? You don’t know me. You just decide to come over and rag on me about the man I came to this party with?”

  “Are you dating him?”

  “That is none of your business.” This conversation is beyond surreal.

  She cocks her head. “Just remember—I h
ad him first.”

  “Congratulations?”

  She makes a snorting noise. But I think I see something that looks like respect in her eyes.

  For a moment we simply stare at each other, and it’s starting to get awkward when she says, “Has he taken you to Masque yet?”

  I say a silent thank you to Nikki that I know what Masque even is. We went out drinking one night after work and she told me about how Damien surprised her by taking her to the private, underground sex club.

  That was the night we shifted from being coworkers to outright friends.

  I, of course, have never been to Masque. But the pieces fall into place now. As we walked in, I heard someone mention that they were on their way to the club. But they hadn’t left by the front door. Instead, they’d headed toward the back of the house.

  I’ve heard other rumors, too, bits and pieces at various parties I’ve been to over the years. And from what I understand, sometimes Masque takes up this entire house, but sometimes it’s limited to a section in the back, like an old speakeasy where you have to know the proper password.

  I don’t know the proper password. I don’t, however, intend to admit that to Francesca. I’m sparring with the most famous movie star in the world. I want to win. I don’t care about playing fair.

  Which is why I lift my chin and say, “Of course. In fact, we’re heading back there and going tonight.”

  For a moment, she doesn’t react at all, and I do a series of leaps and backflips in my mind, celebrating my awesome score. Then she takes a step forward, her brow furrowing, and I am absolutely certain that she’s going to ask me for details, and my bullshit is going to be called, and my victory is going to fizzle.

  But then Renly walks up. My knight in shining armor. “Francesca?”

  She smiles at him, that famous smile I’ve seen on so many posters.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “None at all. Your friend was just telling me that you two are going to Masque this evening.”

  Renly looks at me, and I try to look completely nonchalant. Then he slides his hand along my back and, very slowly, says, “Yes. In fact, we’re heading there right now.”