Complete Me(117)

“So he figured if I wouldn’t listen to him, maybe I’d listen to you?” While I’ve sought out Damien’s advice on the financial end, I’ve hesitated to ask him to step in to help me with the business. At the same time, I’ve been reluctant to launch until I felt like I knew what I was doing. Lisa is the perfect bridge between my insecurities and my needs, once again proving how well Damien knows me—and that he is still keeping secrets and pulling strings.

I remember how he told me that he’d checked Lisa out. Damn the man! He didn’t have to check her out—he knew her. Hell, she’s engaged to one of his top employees.

“I’m so sorry,” Lisa says. “He asked me not to tell you, but the truth is I didn’t even think about it after that first time we met in Burbank.”

I exhale. “Honestly, it’s not you I’m annoyed with.”

She sighs, and the professional veneer slips. I see the core of the woman I’ve come to know—the woman I thought was becoming my friend. “Come on, Nikki, you know how he feels about you. He wasn’t trying to be underhanded—he only wanted to help you.”

“Help drive me crazy,” I say, and Lisa laughs.

“I really am sorry.” Her expression is genuinely contrite. “So are we still on for happy hour sometime?”

“Sure,” I say, because no matter how mad I might be at Damien—and right now, I am very mad—I’m not going to screw up this nascent friendship with Lisa. “Actually, I’m meeting some friends at Westerfield’s tomorrow. Why don’t you guys come, too?”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I say firmly.

“I’d like that,” Lisa says. “Text me the details?”

“Will do,” I promise.

“And don’t kick Damien too hard,” she adds. About that, though, I’m making no promises at all.

It takes all my willpower, but I manage not to call Damien from the road. We are definitely talking about the whole Lisa bullshit, but we’re going to do it in person once I’ve cooled down a bit—and have figured out what I want to say and exactly how I want to say it. Damien is far too adept at distracting me, and I have no intention of being distracted.

Giselle calls while I’m in the car, and we make plans to meet at the office to go over a color palate she’s picked out. As soon as I hit the freeway, though, I can tell that traffic will be a bitch. I have no idea what time Giselle left Malibu, but it’s possible that she’s got a thirty minute head start, so I call my own office and tell the receptionist—whose name I have forgotten—to let Giselle into the space if she gets there first.

As it turns out, traffic isn’t just a bitch, it’s a raging, angry bitch from hell, and it takes me well over an hour to get from the Upper Crust in Malibu to my office in Sherman Oaks. I’ve finished both the coffee and the fritter by the time I arrive, and so I park Coop and walk down to Starbucks to get a refill on caffeine. Monica is at the same table, and she looks up and waves when I come in.

“How’d the audition go?” I ask.

She frowns and makes a thumbs-down motion. I make the appropriate sympathetic noises and get in line for coffee. I get a fresh latte for me and then, because I’m in a bit of a mood, I add an extra black coffee, and have the barista put a container of cream and some sweetener in a bag. Then I deliver the coffee to the security guy who tailed me from Malibu and now sits in his car in the office’s covered parking area. “You must be bored out of your mind,” I say. “But I really do appreciate it.”