The Lion's Den(35)

Oh. Perhaps I objected too soon.

They looked nothing, and yet everything, alike. Dylan’s hair and eyes were dark where Eric’s were light, and he was a little taller and more muscular, but they both had the same square jaw, the same aquiline nose and glint in their eyes. As I took Dylan’s hand, I felt as though I’d been struck twice by lightning in the same evening. “Nice to meet you, Belle,” he said.

“My brother’s only in town for the night,” Eric expounded. “And don’t be fooled; it’s a coincidence he’s here for my show.”

“Luck,” Dylan corrected.

“Where are you in from?” I inquired, ignoring Eric.

“I was in China, but I’m headed back to London tomorrow.”

“China, wow. What were you doing over there?”

“Trading his soul for gold,” Eric answered.

“That about sums it up,” Dylan agreed gamely.

Eric eyed Dylan’s dark-gray suit with a smirk. “Nice suit.”

“I just had a meeting with the LA arm of the Chinese company we’re working with. They’re into decorum,” Dylan explained.

“That what you’re wearing tonight?” Eric prodded.

“I don’t have much of a choice. All my stuff’s across town at Dad’s.”

“Let’s not call him that,” Eric snapped.

“What would you like me to call him, Eric?”

“That Asshole, Monster, Satan…I can think of lots of things.” Eric snatched his brother’s glass of champagne and knocked it back as Dylan looked on, bemused. “Let’s get outa here.”

“But it’s your party.” Summer cast a glance about the room, her gaze landing on a group of girls whispering together, eyeing her and Eric. Pleased, she slid her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. I bit my lip to contain a smile; the girl relished nothing more than a healthy dose of envy directed her way, but Eric was noncompliant.

“I’ve stayed long enough. My dealer can handle it from here.” He dismissed the party with a wave of his hand and strode out the door, Summer trailing behind.

Outside, the wind had kicked up and the sky was losing color. Summer leaned into Eric as we waited for the car. “I’m glad I finally got to see your work,” she murmured. “I love the way you play with opposites. It’s like yin and yang.”

“Thanks,” he said. I pretended not to see the look he cast in my direction. “That’s exactly it, the play of opposites. Most people don’t get it.”

I wondered how many girls he’d used that line on. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for it—almost fallen for him. Summer could have him. He was exactly what I had initially assumed: a total player, obviously. At least my instincts hadn’t failed me. Next time I would listen to my gut. I just hoped he wouldn’t say anything about our encounter to Summer.

A black Suburban pulled up to the curb, and the driver opened the door.

“A cab would have been fine,” Eric commented as we climbed into the car.

“There are four of us,” Dylan replied evenly. “And it’s free.”

“Nothing in life is free, bro,” Eric returned.

Their manner was easygoing, but the barbs were sharp. I was glad Summer was the one who’d get to deal with the dark cloud that had settled over Eric.

In the car, Dylan shed his jacket and tie, loosened his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. “Better?” he asked me with a sly smile.

“Truth be told, I kinda love a man in a suit,” I confided.

His laugh was easy, as was our conversation as the Suburban raced down the 10, only to stall on the 405.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“A party in Bel Air,” Dylan replied. “It’s hosted by a guy I grew up with—well, I grew up with his little brother, but he would buy us booze and nudie mags when we were in junior high. Now he’s some studio bigwig and throws these crazy midsummer’s eve parties every year. I’ve never been able to go, so I wanted to check it out.”

“Did you know him, too?” Summer asked Eric.

“No,” Eric said. “We didn’t exactly grow up together.”

“Different moms, same dad,” Dylan explained.

“There’s that word again,” Eric said.

“Who’s older?” Summer asked.

Dylan raised his hand.

“By four months.” Eric snorted. “Our sperm donor was a stellar guy.”

The Suburban rolled through the gates of Bel Air and up the winding streets, coming to a stop in front of an estate hidden by a conflation of trees, shrubbery, and walls. A line of exotic cars waiting for valet service snaked down the long driveway and spilled into the street.

“Probably easier to walk from here if you girls don’t mind,” Dylan recommended.

“That’s fine,” I agreed, glad my heels were short. I glanced down at Summer’s glitter-covered four-inch stilettos, sparkling in the dark. She wouldn’t be happy, but she wouldn’t complain, either.

I could hear the music thumping the moment we stepped out of the car. Dylan offered his arm, and I took it as we made our way up the driveway in the glow of the purple lights that illuminated the trees. Around a bend, the house came into view—though “house” was the wrong word. It was a Spanish hacienda the size of a hotel, perched on a hill with a view of all of Los Angeles.