Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(44)

“Amazing, isn’t it?” she asks.

“It’s exactly what I would expect a Hollywood party to be,” I say dryly. Beside me, Ollie barks out a laugh, and Jamie scowls at us both.

“Don’t be cynical,” she says. “From what Raine tells me, this is one of the parties of the summer, and it’s incredibly exclusive.” She gestures vaguely in the direction she came from. “Steve said he’s been finagling to get an invite for months.”

“Steve’s here?” I rise up on my toes and search the crowd. “What about Anderson?” Steve is the first person Jamie met after she skipped out on me during our college years and moved to Los Angeles to find fame, fortune, and near starvation as an actress. I met him during my many pre-graduation visits, but I haven’t seen him since I actually moved here.

“He’s here, too. I told them we’re by the pods,” Jamie says, referring to the odd, red waterbed pods near where we’re standing. “They’re making the circuit.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Steve is a working screenwriter despite the fact that he’s never seen one of his movies produced. According to Jamie this is not an unusual thing in Hollywood. His husband, Anderson, sells real estate. I adore Steve, but unless he takes pity on me and talks classic movies, my eyes glaze over ten minutes into the conversation. But I can always find something interesting to say about houses.

“This really is ostentatious as hell,” Ollie says, “but it’s also pretty damn cool. I mean, look at this place.”

I have to agree that the venue is amazing. It’s a clear night, and we seem to be floating among the skyscrapers. I can see the mountains in the distance, looming black dotted with pinpoints of light against a pencil-gray sky. From a booth on the other side of the roof, a DJ is providing danceable music, and many of the guests are taking advantage of the huge dance floor. Drinks are provided by the roaming angels, but can also be had at the pool-side bar. And, lest we forget this is a Hollywood party, a series of clips from various films—presumably starring Garreth Todd—are being projected onto a two-story tall screen.

“Okay,” I say. “Y’all win. It’s pretty cool.” I take a long drink and finish off my champagne, because I am here tonight to have fun with my friends. “So where is your guy?” I ask, which prompts Jamie to crane her neck and look around.

“Unless he fell off the roof, he’s here somewhere. Let’s wait here for Steve and Anderson, then we can go make the circle and find him.”

“So are you getting serious about this guy?” Ollie asks her. “I mean, after a guy like me, it’s hard to imagine you could want anyone else.”

He is clearly teasing, but underneath I think I hear a hint of wounded pride. I hope that I’m imagining it. For his sake, for Jamie’s sake, and mostly for Courtney’s.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, a slow smile blooming. “Emphasis on the ‘getting.’ We’re not there yet. But, well, yeah.”

“Good,” Ollie says curtly.

I frown, trying to think of something pithy and cutting to say, but nothing comes to mind.

“Now, if you want to talk serious …” Jamie trails off, her eyes on me, her eyebrows waggling mischievously.

I smile innocently. “A lady never tells.”

“It’s too damn soon,” Ollie says shortly. “And—” He cuts himself off.

“What?” I snap.

“The whole thing just worries me. Stark worries me.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Jamie blurts out. “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

I’m grateful for Jamie’s interference. I’d thought that the Ollie-Damien war would be off the table tonight after my talk with Ollie earlier, but apparently two glasses of green champagne have loosened his tongue.

“That’s why I love her,” Ollie says, hooking an arm around Jamie. “She tells it like it is and doesn’t take my shit.”

“And what?” I ask. “Courtney doesn’t tell you when you’re being a prick?” It is bad form for me to play the Courtney card right now, and I know it. But I’m pissed. Besides, I’m supposed to be Ollie’s best man at his upcoming wedding, and although I’ve never actually been a best man before, I’m pretty sure that one of the jobs is smacking down the groom when he crosses the line into being an *.

“No,” Ollie says seriously. “She doesn’t.” He bends down and sits on the edge of the water-filled mattress inside the pod. His body shifts and rolls, and he reaches out and grabs the red molded plastic that forms part of the pod’s arching roof. “She just waits until all the shit has built up and then she breaks up with me.”

I sit down next to him, ignoring the way our seat sloshes beneath us. “I thought you weren’t going to let any more shit build up.” Ollie and Courtney have been on-again, off-again for years. This is the first time they’ve made it all the way to an official engagement. I really like Courtney, and I hope it works out. But the more time that goes by, the more I’m afraid that Ollie’s going to f*ck it up yet again. Or, to be more accurate, that he already has f*cked it up.

“I’m like Pigpen,” Ollie says. “Shit just follows me around. Not all of us lead the charmed life of a certain billionaire we know.”