Claim Me(101)

“Yes,” I say, holding out my hand. “We have a deal, Mr. Stark.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and wicked, and I laugh out loud.

“Oh, dear,” I say.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He gives my hand a tug. “Come on.”


Considering we’d both been MIA from a party that he is hosting in his own home in part to celebrate a portrait of me that now hangs on his wall, I assume that the reason we ascend back up the service elevator is to slide seamlessly back into that party.




The first person we see when we step into the small hallway that leads to the kitchen is Gregory, Damien’s distinguished, gray-templed valet. “Ms. Fairchild and I are going out.” I blink in surprise. Gregory shows no reaction at all.

“Of course, Mr. Stark. I’ll take care of supervising the cleanup and closing out the house.”

“We’re leaving?” I whisper once Gregory has moved away and Damien is propelling me into the main area.

“We are,” he says.

I consider arguing. Emily Post and Miss Manners flow in my blood, not to mention the even stricter social rules of Elizabeth Fairchild. One does not leave one’s own party. There are rules. Proprieties that must be observed and social niceties that must be respected. Whatever Damien has in mind can wait, and I should say as much. I should put my foot down and insist that we stay here, mingling and making polite conversation.

Instead I mentally bitch-slap my mother’s rule book and stay blissfully silent.

We make three additional stops. First at Giselle, who seems baffled, but doesn’t argue. I wear my practiced plastic smile as she and Damien talk. I’m not as put off by her as I was earlier, but neither do I intend to enlist her as my new best friend. Next, we track down Evelyn and Blaine to say both congratulations and goodbye. I’m in the middle of a very proper handshake with Blaine when we both look at each other and laugh. “Come here,” he says, and pulls me into a hug.

The hug I receive from Evelyn is even bolder, and as she holds me close I hear her whisper. “Glad I’m not the only one getting a little tonight.”

“Only a little?” I reply, then smile as she laughs wickedly.

“And there it is, Texas,” she says, releasing me. “That’s why I like you.” She aims a finger at me. “This week,” she says. “Photos and wine and talking trash, and not necessarily in that order.”

“It’s a date,” I say. Then realize my camera’s downstairs in the library.

“Leave it,” Damien says, when I say as much. “I promise you won’t need it.”

“I don’t know,” I counter. “I can’t think of a more beautiful sight than you standing naked in front of a window.”

“Are you under the impression there will be nakedness involved tonight?”

“I’m hopeful, Mr. Stark. I’m very, very hopeful.”

Jamie is the last person we seek out, and we find her at a table on the balcony deep in conversation with a tousle-haired guy in a Hawaiian print shirt.

Oh, no, Jamie, I think. Not another one. Not after going on and on about Raine.

“Hey, you two,” she says, looking up at us. “Louis, this is my roommate, Nikki. I’m guessing you already know Mr. Stark.”

As Damien and Louis do the meet-and-greet, Jamie’s eyes dart to me. Everything okay?

I nod. Everything’s fine. I glance at Louis. Are you—?

She wrinkles her nose and gives the slightest shake of her head. “Louis is a director,” she says breezily. “We were talking television. Great house,” she adds, turning her attention to Damien. “Greater party.”