Complete Me(55)

I nod, because he’s right. There are still a lot of things that I am afraid of, but being with Damien is not one of them.

“What did Lisa have to say?” Damien asks, and I have to once again marvel at how perceptive this man is. I am not afraid of being with Damien, but I still have sharp bouts of fear with regard to running my own business. And as a business consultant, Lisa is not only a friend, but also a potential colleague.

“She says one of her clients is moving to Boston and wants to sublet a space in Sherman Oaks at a pretty steep discount.”

“That’s excellent news,” Damien says.

“Maybe,” I say. “I’m still not sure I need it.” My start-up business has been a frequent topic of conversation between Damien and me throughout our time in Germany. Not only did I legitimately want his thoughts—after all, who better to take business advice from than a self-made billionaire?—but talking about my entrepreneurial adventures kept the focus off the trial.

Damien is convinced that I should go ahead and set up shop somewhere and hire myself out as an app designer for small businesses while I work on larger projects. I see his point, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.

“At the very least, you should meet with her and talk about the possibility. She’s sharp and has a good reputation and a solid client base. She can help you.”

I make a face, but I know he’s right. I know, because we already had this argument after he told me that he had his office run a background check on Lisa, just to make sure she was legit. I’d aimed a few choice curses in his direction and told him that I’d handle my own goddamned due diligence. He told me to say thank you for taking that burden off my shoulders.

The night had ended in a bath with candles, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been irritated.

The bottom line, though, is that I like Lisa. The times we’ve talked, we’ve hit it off. And I’m new enough to Los Angeles to crave the addition of a few more friends to the small circle I’ve gathered since I’ve moved to LA. Resolved, I email back that I’d love to meet with her. Then I drop my phone in my purse and try not to hyperventilate.

Beside me, Damien laughs. “You did good,” he says. “I’ll even take you out to lunch to celebrate. How do you feel about fish and chips?”

“Fish and chips?”

“I need to make a stop in London.”

“All right. Sofia?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” I don’t know much about Sofia other than that she had a rocky childhood, and that she and Damien and his friend Alaine were tight during his tennis days. I know that she’s been in and out of trouble recently, and that Damien has been frustrated by her inability to get her shit together, as he puts it.

I also know that she was the first woman he slept with, but they’ve been only friends for a long time.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, then runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s missing again.” He looks ripped, but he reaches for my hand, and I squeeze it tight.

“Whatever you need,” I say. “Anytime, anyplace.”

I have never been to London, and I can’t say that I’m seeing much of it on this journey. We went straight from Damien’s jet to his limo to his office. During the course of that ride, I saw traffic and people and buildings that are significantly older than any we have in either Texas or Los Angeles. But I didn’t see the Tower Bridge or Buckingham Palace or even a British pop star. In a way, I’m glad. This is hardly a vacation stop. On the other hand, who knows when I’ll be back this way again?