“That’s conservative,” she says. “But as you can see, I expect you to be very solidly in the black within six months, and any start-up capital that you pull from your savings will be fully recouped.”
I continue to flip pages, a little in awe. “Lisa, this is great. But it must have taken you forever to pull together, and I—”
I hesitate. I want to say that I’m not a client, but it sounds a little harsh.
Lisa must understand what I’m getting at because she laughs. “I’m happy to help a friend,” she says. “Even one I barely know because we got off to such a crazy start.”
I can’t help but grin. She’s right. Objectively, we hardly know each other. But she’s one of those people that seems to fit, and I’m grateful that she started chatting me up back when I worked for Bruce, and that she didn’t get scared away when he fired me and the paparazzi shit hit the fan.
“Not that I’m totally altruistic,” she adds, with a gleam in her eye. “I expect some awesome referrals.” Her phone rings, and she holds up a finger as she looks at the display. “I need to take this,” she says. “Take a look at the rest of that and give me a sec.”
I nod, then take the portfolio over to the single window at the side of the room. It’s large and lets in enough light that the room feels airy and pleasant. I glance down and realize that it overlooks Ventura Boulevard. I lean forward so that my head is almost touching the glass, but from this angle, I can’t see the Galleria. What I do see, however, is the black sedan parked on the street across from the building. It’s familiar, and it only takes me a second to remember where I saw it before—on the street in front of my condo just this morning.
Security guys.
I think about the protective bubble that I so desperately crave, but I know that it has already cracked. Or maybe it was only an illusion to begin with. Either way, Damien and I are living in the real world now. And, honestly, I can’t deny that after last night, I’m happy to have someone watching my back.
The shrill ring of my phone interrupts my melancholy thoughts. I grab it out of my purse, then freeze when I see the caller ID—Giselle Reynard. Oh, joy.
I consider letting it roll to voice mail. Giselle is not on my favorite people list. Not only did I recently discover that she and Damien dated years ago, but I also learned that she told her husband, Bruce—who happened to be my boss—that I was the girl in the erotic portrait that now dominates one wall of Damien’s Malibu house. Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I know she and Bruce are in the throes of a contentious divorce. And I know she feels guilty for revealing my secret. As a gallery owner who deals with nude portraits all the time, it simply didn’t occur to her that the secret was important to me.
Besides, Damien is one of her best clients. I’m undoubtedly going to continue to see her socially.
So, yeah, I answer the call. “Giselle,” I say lightly. “What can I do for you?”
“I was actually hoping I could do something for you.” Her voice is light and airy, as if we are chatting over cocktails.
“Oh. Um, okay?”
She laughs. “Sorry. That was rather vague, wasn’t it. But Evelyn was just at the gallery, and she mentioned that you’re considering getting office space. I thought perhaps I could come take a look. Give you some ideas for sprucing it up. Maybe lend you a few canvases to add color.”
I frown, because I’m really not sure why she’d want to do that. “That’s incredibly nice of you, but I’ll probably just cover the walls with white boards.”
“Oh. I see.”
Across the room, Lisa has finished her call. It’s okay, she mouths. You can redecorate.
“I just wanted to make the offer.” Giselle pauses for a moment. “The truth is I know I can never make it up to you for what happened, but I thought this might be a start.”
Well, shit.
“Listen,” she says, and the airy quality is gone from her voice, replaced by something much more genuine. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. Blaine is a good friend and a client, and he absolutely adores you. It goes without saying that Damien adores you. I feel terrible that my stupidity hurt you.”
“I appreciate that,” I say. And then, because I really should have one wall that isn’t entirely covered with notes and code, “How about this afternoon? Maybe around four?”
She agrees eagerly, and when I hang up, I see Lisa looking at me, her expression somewhere between smug and amused.
“Ah,” I say with a grimace. “It is available right now, isn’t it?”
She laughs. “We never did get that coffee. Come on. There’s a Starbucks on the corner. We can go over paperwork and do the ceremonial latte-based key transfer.”
And just like that, I have an office. I’m not Damien Stark yet, but I’m on my way.
Chapter Sixteen
To the CEO of Stark International—
The CEO of Fairchild Development seeks an appointment this evening to discuss a possible merging of our interests.
As Lisa gets our coffees, I reread my text and press send. Almost instantaneously, I get a reply.
To the CEO of Fairchild Development—
I look forward to whatever merger you have in mind.
P.S. Congratulations on the office space.
I grin, and am about to ask him how he knows that I got it when the door to the Starbucks opens and a skinny guy wearing earbuds bounces in carrying a vase full of daisies and other wildflowers. My heart flutters because I am absolutely, positively certain those are for me. I don’t know how Damien knew that I took the property any more than he knew where to find me. But this is Damien, and as far as I can tell, he has eyes everywhere.