Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(52)

“There’s something I can do,” Damien says.

She shakes her head firmly. “No, you helped me get the job in the first place. That was more than enough. They paid me for the gig anyway—they had to the way the contract was written—so I’m good. I just need to think about how I’m going to get my shit together.”

“You will,” Damien says.

Jamie reaches across the table and takes both our hands. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. “And you know I love you, right?”

“What’s not to love?” Jamie asks with the kind of shit-eating grin that tells me that the morning melancholy has passed.

She tightens her grip on my hand before letting go. “You know people are staring at us, right?”

I glance around and see that she’s right. Not everybody, but there are more than a few people sharing the patio with us who look guiltily away when my gaze sweeps over them. “It comes with the territory,” I say, cocking my head toward Damien.

“Well, it’ll be my first time in the tabloids,” she says. “Guess that means I’ve finally made it despite the stupid commercial.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Damien Stark in a threesome, of course. It’ll be all over the Internet by morning, don’t you think?”

I do a face-palm. “Jesus, Jamie, do you think you could say that a little louder? Or better yet, not at all?”

“I’m joking,” she says, and I know her well enough to know that it’s true. I catch Damien’s eye and see the tiniest shake of his head. I get the message—he’s telling me to keep my mouth shut. Jamie may think that she’s joking, but she hasn’t lived with the paparazzi like Damien has. Or, for that matter, like I have. Depending on who has seen the three of us together, the bullshit story that she just suggested isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

Well, great. I take a deep breath and tell myself not to worry about it.

“I want another coffee,” I say, both because it’s true and because I want to change the subject. “And then I think it’s time to shop.”





Chapter Thirteen

“I like the cyan one,” I tell Jamie, who is debating between a traditional tan leather backpack and one dyed the color of the sky.

“Not too loud?”

“For you? Nothing’s too loud.”

She smirks, but puts back the tan one. “Okay. I shouldn’t, but I’m going for it. I mean, I did just get paid. And I ought to get at least one nice thing out of that damn commercial.”

Since I agree, I don’t try to talk her out of it. I’ve known Jamie a long time, and with her, retail therapy goes a long way.

We’re inside a specialty leather goods store, and although Damien started out by teasing me about all the sensual possibilities inherent in the collection of belts hanging on the men’s side of the store, he has since stepped outside to take a call. I head out to find him, signaling to Jamie who is at the counter waiting her turn to pay.

It takes a minute to spot him, but I finally see him on a bench near a grassy area where some weary parents have settled on the lawn with their kids. He holds up a finger when he sees me, then points to his earpiece. I nod, then sit quietly beside him, enjoying the late summer afternoon.

“No,” Damien’s saying, “you need to understand me. This is my top priority. I want the entire thing gone over with a microscope. Whatever there is to learn, you learn it. You follow every thread, you go down every rabbit hole. Are we clear? Good. Call me in a few hours with an update. Yes, a few hours. Fine. That’s one thing settled then. What about the gate? Can we speed up the timetable on that? Well, that’s good news at least. Get that wrapped up today and make sure everyone has access. All right. Yes. I’ll speak to you later.”

He ends the call and looks at me, his mouth curving into an automatic smile. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d believe that everything was business as usual. But I do know him well, and I can see the hint of worry in his eyes.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Just the ins and outs of running the universe. I’ve been somewhat absent for the last few weeks. A few things have slipped through the cracks.”

“I don’t see how,” I quip. “You had Stark Central set up in the hotel.”

“It’s nothing,” he repeats, but I know better.

“You’re worried,” I say.

I can almost see the denial rise on his lips, and I wonder if I need to remind him of the talk we had on the jet. But then he seems to think better of it. “I am.”

“Then I know it’s not business. You don’t worry about business,” I add in response to his querying look. “You just take charge.”

“I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

“Only to me,” I say. “So what is it, Damien? Is it Sofia? Is it that motion to release the photos? Has something happened?”

He leans back against the bench and tilts his face up to the sky. After a moment, he plucks his sunglasses from where they are hooked on the collar of his T-shirt and puts them on. “There are just a few things I need to follow up on,” he says, turning his head so that he is facing me. “Business about which I’m not worried, but which does require my attention.”