Say My Name (Stark International Trilogy, #1) (76)

“Just have a good time today.”

“Already done.” I start to return to the party, then pause. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

I hesitate, not sure how to phrase it. Since there doesn’t seem to be any good way, I just dive in. “I was wondering what happened in Atlanta. With the Brighton Consortium.”

“Were you?”

He says nothing else, and I feel myself shrinking a little under his steady gaze.

“It’s just that you said something on Saturday. Before Jackson agreed to the project, I mean.”

“About a few of my successful land deals having the opposite impact on him.”

“Yes.”

“Did Jackson ask you about it?”

I think about our conversation in the car. We discussed it, true. But Jackson never asked. “No,” I say, secure in my literal honesty.

He leans against the island, his hands in his pockets. “It’s complicated,” he says, “but the bottom line is that the consortium was badly run—and that provided me the chance to step in and acquire some prime real estate. A business deal, plain and simple, at least where I was concerned.”

“Where you were concerned?”

“If the deal had gone through, you and a lot of other people would have been embroiled in a huge mess simply because you’d worked closely with one of the major players.”

“Reggie.”

Damien tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“Okay,” I say slowly, thinking it through. “How was it badly run? What kind of mess? Would Jackson have been caught up in it?”

“Yes to the latter. As for how and what kind, I think those are questions for Reggie. Do you still keep in touch?”

“A bit,” I say. “He moved to Houston, but he’s been to LA twice in the last five years. We had lunch.”

“If you’re still curious the next time you have lunch, ask him. Otherwise, just let it go, Sylvia. Let it go, and consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“If Reggie hadn’t decided to pull up stakes, you might still be working for him. You wouldn’t have Cortez. And I would never have hired a truly great assistant.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

“Sometimes crappy things happen for a reason.”

“I guess they do,” I say. “Thanks for telling me.”

“There’s more, but it’s not my story to tell. Call Reggie if you’re curious. But it was a long time ago. My advice is to just let it go.”

“I will,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean that I will call Reggie, or that I’ll drop the issue altogether.

We walk back into the party to find that everyone has gathered on the patio. It’s a gorgeous afternoon, and the deep blue of the Pacific spreads out in the distance.

“There you are.” Wyatt takes my hand to draw me into his conversation with Nikki and Jackson. “I was just telling Nikki we need to reschedule your lesson. How about Tuesday? We can do some sunset shots in Santa Monica. That is if you don’t mind coming to us,” he adds to Nikki.

“Fine by me,” she says. “We can grab a drink after, okay, Syl?”

I glance at Damien, because I know that Nikki will be long gone by happy hour. But he nods almost imperceptibly, and I go with the flow. Her trip is a surprise, after all, and we can always reschedule later. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I’d like to schedule a time for you to come to the island,” Jackson says. “I can take a few shots on my own, but depending on the terrain I may want you to put together a more extensive portfolio for me to use for planning purposes.”

“Just say the word. I love it out there. Can’t wait to go back.”

“Damien was there this morning,” Nikki says.

“Not you?” I ask.

“I took an investor,” Damien explains. “Dallas Sykes. I’ve been looking at acquiring a piece of his operation. And I wanted to smooth over his ruffled feathers after he heard the original gossip about Glau.”

“Damien took Sykes and his latest fling,” Nikki says, her tone making clear that we’ve crossed over into gossip.

The conversation continues along those lines—bouncing from gossip to work to families to friends—until Jackson announces that he and I have plans to scout the island, too, and should probably get going.

We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Jackson and Damien shake hands, looking for all the world like two men who don’t have the slightest problem with each other.

I release a slow breath, realizing at that moment how much I’d been worrying, even after I watched the two interact.

But now it looks like things are really on track, and whatever animosity Jackson might feel for Damien has either been resolved or very deeply buried.

And that, if it’s true, is a damn good thing.





eighteen


“A boat?”

I’m standing on a slip near Fisherman’s Village in Marina del Rey looking at a totally awesome cream-colored boat and wondering what the hell we are doing.

“We’d already be on the island if we’d had Clark or Grayson fly us in the helicopter,” I say, but Jackson only shrugs and continues doing whatever it is he’s doing on his phone. “It took longer to drive back here from Malibu than it would have to fly.”