Claim Me(62)

“I’ll get right on that,” he says evenly. “And I’ll see you tomorrow. You can tell me all about your first day then.”

“Okay.”

“Until then,” he whispers, “think of me, touching you.”

“I always do,” I say, before we end the call.

I’m grinning as I toss my phone down beside me on the bed, and when I turn and see Jamie come back from the kitchen with a bag of chips and a bowl of salsa, I can’t help but smile even wider. “How can you even think about eating more? I’m stuffed.”

“Like anyone could be too full for chips.” She crawls back onto the bed and nods at the phone. “Did he want you to come over tonight?”

“He wanted me at the apartment when he got home from the desert,” I say. And, yeah, I’m still smiling. I may not be going, but the thought is still nice.

“Seriously?” Jamie leans over and feels my forehead.

I shrug away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for fever. Are you ill? I thought that all Damien had to do was crook his finger and you’d come.”

“I told him we were hanging out tonight,” I say. And then, because I just can’t resist, I add, “And for the record, you’re right. He crooks his finger, and I most definitely come.”

Jamie rocks with laughter, and after another slug of margarita, I join in. We settle back against the pillows and watch as Alan Rickman joins the party. Soon Bruce is kicking butt and taking names and we’re glued to the screen. Since this is Jamie’s favorite classic action flick, I’ve seen it at least a dozen times, but I still jump when Rickman kills the boss.

Naturally, that’s when my phone rings again.




It’s Ollie.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Are you with Stark?”

It’s an innocent enough question, I suppose, but I stiffen anyway. “No. Why?”

He sighs, and I realize he heard the terseness in my voice. “I just didn’t want to interrupt. Swear to God.”

“Sorry. No, I’m at home.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. So would you be up for getting a drink?”

“Now?” The truth is, there was a time when I wouldn’t have hesitated. So what that I’m supposed to be in the middle of a girls’ night in? Ollie could totally come over and join the movie marathon, or we could all go out and get plastered.

But things have shifted so much between us that instead of being psyched to hang with him, I’m wary. And that saddens me. Lately, every time I see Ollie, bits of my life come crashing down around my ears. And I do not want another piece to get chipped away if I can help it.

Still, this is Ollie talking, and I’m not ready to give up on us. “Do you want to just hang?” I ask. “Or is there something you want to talk about?”

He’s silent for a moment, and I know he’s also aware of the storm clouds between us. We know each other too well. “Both,” he finally admits. “Oh, hell, Nikki. This is bullshit, and you know it, too.”

I do know it, but I’m not inclined to admit it. “What is?” I say.

“Charles mentioned the party at Stark’s tomorrow,” he says, referring to Charles Maynard, his boss and the attorney who’s represented Damien for over a decade. “He just assumed I was invited, too, what with me and you being me and you.” He’s trying to be matter-of-fact, but I hear the hurt in his voice.

“Ollie—”