Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(98)

I cross my arms over my chest. “In London.”

“Why?”

“Business.”

“Yeah?” He digs in his briefcase for his iPad, then pulls up a page from Hello! “Here,” he says, shoving the tablet at me.

It’s a picture of Damien with his arm around a woman. Her head is down, she’s wearing sunglasses, and a hat shields most of her face. I don’t know who she is, but I can guess. Apparently Hello! can’t even do that, because the caption reads


Did Damien Ditch the Delicious Darling? Is it the end for Damien Stark and Texas Beauty Queen Nikki Fairchild? Our sources say Stark looked quite cosy with this unidentified woman as they strolled the Hampstead Heath earlier today. Stark arrived in London without the woman whose portrait he paid a cool million dollars for. Buyer’s remorse, perhaps?



I hand the tablet back to him, feeling smug. “She’s a friend.”

“I thought he went on business.”

“He’s not allowed to see a friend while he’s doing business?”

There’s a loud bang on the wall Jamie and I share with Douglas, followed by a very loud, very satisfied groan.

Ollie and I meet each other’s eyes and, as if on cue, we both laugh.

For those few seconds, we are Ollie and Nikki again. But the seconds pass all too quickly.

“I don’t want to screw us up,” Ollie finally says.

“You already have,” I say. “All you can do now is try to fix it.”

For a moment I think he’s going to snap something back at me. Then he nods. “Yeah. I guess so.” He glances toward the door. “Should probably fix things with my fiancée first. That’s all I do, lately. Piss people off and then try to patch it up.”

“Ollie …” Sadness envelops me as he leaves. I think about what Damien says—that Ollie is in love with me. But I don’t think it’s true. I think that he’s grieving. Through our lives, I’ve always been the more damaged, and Ollie has been my rock. But I’m healing, and I have found a new rock in Damien, and I think Ollie wonders how our lives will fit together.

It’s not a question that I can answer for him. Not now. Not when he attacks Damien every time we come together. But I hope there is an answer, because I don’t want to lose him. And I know that if I am forced to make a choice, I will go with my heart. I will go with Damien.

I realize that Edward’s probably halfway through The Count of Monte Cristo by now, and so I hurry to my bedroom and get my laptop and the files I need. I pause at the door, then return to my closet for my old Nikon, since the fabulous digital Leica Damien gave me is still in Malibu. And as much as I love the Leica, the Nikon was a gift from Ashley, and I refuse to give up using it entirely.

“Back to the apartment?” Edward asks as he opens the limo door for me.

I close my hand tight around the camera. “Actually,” I say, “there’s one more place I want to go.”


“How you holding up, Texas?”

“Okay, I guess.” We’re on Evelyn’s balcony, looking out over the beach. Blaine is out with friends, and Evelyn had been enthusiastic when I’d called from the limo to invite myself over.

I’ve only been here once—the night that Damien and I met in Malibu—but it feels like home. I attribute that more to the woman than the location. “When I’m inside and away from it all, I do great. But when I see a paper or am accosted by a reporter, I feel like I’m going to crumble. Honestly, I don’t know how celebrities do it.”

“They have the fame gene,” she says. “You don’t.”

“There’s no such thing as bad PR?” I say dryly.

“For some people, it’s a truism. Have you watched reality television?”

I have to laugh. I don’t watch it regularly, but I’ve caught enough episodes with Jamie to understand what she’s saying. Some people don’t mind being the train wreck that other folks watch. Me, I mind.

“Pretty soon you’ll be last week’s news. Until then, hold your head up and smile.”

I flash a brilliant pageant smile. “That’s one thing I know how to do.”

In front of us, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon. I take out the Nikon and snap shot after shot, hoping that when the prints are developed, I’ll have managed to capture even a fraction of that beauty.

“You’re going to show me the shots you took at the party, I hope,” Evelyn says. “The more snapshots there are of me, the better my odds of finding a picture that’s actually flattering.”

“Do not even try fishing for compliments with me,” I say, laughing. “You’re gorgeous and amazing and you know it.”

“It’s true,” she says, then taps out a cigarette and lights it. “I just hope Blaine keeps remembering it.”

“I think you’ve got him hooked.” Despite their age difference, they really do seem like the perfect couple. After the drama with Ollie, it’s nice to know that some of my friends have relationships that are actually stable.

I’d been spurred to come here after the bullshit with Ollie, but now that I’m here, I find I don’t want to talk about it. Instead, I’m enjoying just hanging and chatting. We’ve already covered the scintillating topics of male models, Botox, and the current summer blockbusters. The conversation was so scattered in fact, that I’d been surprised when she raised the specter of my personal tabloid hell.