I’m asleep by the time Damien comes to bed, and he’s gone again when I wake up. I have a vague memory of being wrapped in his warmth at one point during the night, but for the most part, I’m feeling bereft. At least until I find the note in the bathroom promising me something delicious that night—and maybe even dinner, too.
Cooper has magically appeared at the Malibu house, and I can only assume that one of Damien’s elves drove him there while Damien and I were at the hospital with Jamie. However it arrived, I’m grateful, and I slide happily behind the wheel and head out for the long trek to Sherman Oaks. I’m starving, and my usual traveler’s mug of coffee isn’t cutting it this morning. Damien once introduced me to the world’s best croissants from a local Malibu bakery, and since I can arrive at my own office at whatever the hell time I want to, I decide to make a detour.
The Upper Crust actually has a drive-through, but I decide to park and go inside. I think I want a plain croissant, but I’m more than willing to be tempted by something truly decadent like pain au chocolat or a sticky, gooey cinnamon roll that is positively dripping with icing. As it turns out, it’s the apple fritter that seduces me, and as I pay for it and an extra large latte, the little bell on the door jingles and Lisa walks in.
I lift my hand to wave, then immediately drop it. She’s hand in hand with a man I know—Preston Rhodes. The head of acquisitions at Stark Applied Technology.
For a second, I think this must be one of those Big, Amusing Coincidences. But then I see Preston’s smile of recognition—and Lisa’s grimace.
Well, fuck.
“Damien,” I say, my temper rising as each piece of the puzzle falls into place. “You didn’t talk to me that first day in Burbank because I was the new girl at Innovative,” I accuse. “You did it because Damien asked you to.” I’m proud of myself for keeping my voice level, but considering the way Preston looks between us and slinks away, I don’t think I’m quite as calm as I think I am.
“It wasn’t like that,” Lisa says.
I cock my head. “He didn’t ask you to reach out to me?”
“Well, yes,” she admits. “I guess it was like that.” Unlike mine, her voice really is calm. Perfectly level and perfectly reasonable. Which, naturally, pisses me off more.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare her down.
“He told me that you were considering going out on your own. That you already had some smart phone apps on the market that were doing well, and that you were working on developing some web-based apps that he thought would make a serious splash in the market.”
“And?”
“And he told me that you were unsure of yourself as a business owner.”
“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.