Entice Me (Stark Trilogy #3.11)(16)

Since that’s not a terrible idea, I head that direction. We pass by a display of sexy lingerie, and I pause—because of course Jamie’s put the idea in my head—and then I come to a complete stop, my hand reaching out to grip Jamie’s wrist as ice courses through my veins.

“Jamie.”

“Hey—shit, Nikki, what is it?”

“No,” I whisper even as I whip around to face the reality I saw reflected in the window.

Mother?

But now that I’m turned around, there’s nothing there. But I’d seen her. I’d seen her. Behind me. Near the escalator.

Didn’t I?

“Nikki.” Jamie is yanking on my arm. “What the hell? Are you okay?”

I reach out blindly, my hand going to the glass front of the shop window. I lean against it and breathe in deep.

“Are you sick? Should I call Damien? Shit, he and Jackson are all the way in the desert.”

“I’m okay.” I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. I just—I just thought I saw my mother.”

“Your mom? She’s in town?”

“It wasn’t her. I must have just seen someone who looked like her. It freaked me out. Seriously, James. I’m fine.” But I can’t help but think that maybe I shouldn’t submit the Dallas proposal after all.

Jamie screws up her mouth. “I believe you. I just think if you’re going to freak out over a mirage, it should be something more interesting than your mother.”

“Can’t argue with that.” I suck in a gulp of air, then push away from the wall and run my fingers through my shoulder-length hair. “Let’s get out of here,” I say firmly. “I’m starving.”

El Coyote is one of my favorite divey restaurants in LA, and is about the closest thing to Tex-Mex I’ve been able to find since moving from Dallas. That’s not saying a lot—apparently there is a law that Tex-Mex can really only be found inside Texas—but the food is delicious and the atmosphere easy-going and fun.

As usual, the place is packed. I hand my keys to the valet, and Jamie and I walk through the parking lot toward the entrance together. I hesitate before we go inside. “You’re not going to drive him screaming from the restaurant by asking him about his grandmother, are you?”

“Oh, please. Give me a little credit.”

I just stare her down until she raises her hands in surrender. “No, I won’t harass Wyatt.”

“Good. Because I need him to do this favor, and if he bolts, I can’t run after him in these shoes.”

“Sure you could,” she says, glancing at my feet. “I mean, honestly, Nicholas, if you can’t run in wedges, you have no business living in Los Angeles.”

I snort, then lead the way inside. I’m looking around to see if Wyatt has beat us there when he texts that he’s about five minutes away and to order him a margarita.

“That’s why I like him,” Jamie says. “He gets straight to the heart of the matter.”

The hostess leads us to a booth with a view of the door, we order our drinks, and the bus boy brings chips and salsa. We both dive in, and for a moment we’re both quiet. Then she looks up at me and says, “Not even one little question? I mean, he’s the one who dropped the bombshell about his family. That’s like opening a door.”

“James,” I say sternly. “Forget it.”

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.