I follow her because I want to talk more and learn more, but we’re soon sucked into the crowd and the rolling waves of conversation.
When Damien finds me ten minutes later, I’ve lost Evelyn and am discussing Humphrey Bogart movies with a guy who looks to be twelve but who swears he’s the hottest new director of horror films.
Thankfully, Damien leads me away.
“Everything okay with you and Ollie?”
He gives me a sharp look, but nods. Then he traces the pad of his thumb along my lower lip, which has fast become one of my erogenous zones. “I think I need to taste you,” he says, tugging my hair to tilt my head up to him. We’re interrupted, though, by a tall thin man with salt-and-pepper hair.
“Charles,” Damien says coldly. I have a feeling the ice is because of more than the interruption.
“We need to talk,” the man says. He turns to me. “Charles Maynard. I’m terribly sorry to intrude.”
“Oh, no. It’s okay.” Because, really, what else can I say?
Maynard leads Damien away and as soon as he does, Ollie sidles up to me. “Hey. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“I’ve been here all night.” I hear the frost in my voice, but can’t seem to control it.
Ollie either doesn’t hear it or he ignores it. “I know. But I wanted you alone.”
“What is it?” I’m sure I sound exasperated, but I’m not interested in another cryptic comment about how Damien’s not right for me.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened with Jamie, I mean. It was stupid and—”
I hold up my hand. “You guys are both adults. But you’re also my friends. And you’re engaged.” I reach out and take both his hands in mine. “I don’t want you to screw up a good thing. And I really, really don’t want to get caught in the middle.”
“I know. I know,” he says. “It was a one-time thing. Stupid, but it’s over.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but I also don’t want to talk about it. So I just nod and change the subject. “What did Damien want?”
“Oh, that.” He tugs his hands away and shoves them into his pockets. “He thanked me. For, you know. Being there for you. After that stuff with Kurt.”
I feel my cheeks warm. “It meant a lot to me.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Don’t you thank me, too. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
I look around the room and find the back of Damien’s head. “He’s a good guy, Ollie,” I say. “Are you starting to see that?”
“Sure,” he says, but there’s something odd in his voice.
“What?” I demand. “What is it about Damien Stark that bugs you so much? Is it all the shit Sara Padgett’s brother is stirring up?”
He exhales loudly, and I’m certain that I’ve nailed it. “Oh, hell, Nik. Stark’s a celebrity. He’s not up on billboards, but that’s what he is, and there are always shitstorms around celebrities. Eric Padgett’s just the latest guy tossing wads to see what sticks.”
I peer at him. “And that’s it? That’s all that’s bugging you?”
Ollie straightens his tie, a sure tell that he’s hiding something. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Listen, I see a client. I’m going to catch her, okay?”
I grab his wrist. “Wait. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Jesus, Ollie, this is me. What aren’t you saying?”
“I—oh, hell, fine.” He runs his fingers through his hair, then takes my arm and leads me to a quiet corner. “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to say anything to you. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.”
I force myself to stay quiet and wait.
“I mean, he seems like an okay guy.”
“He is. Now tell me.”
Ollie nods. “You need to keep this to yourself, okay? It’s attorney-client stuff. Privileged. I could get fired. Hell, I could lose my license.”
I nod, suddenly nervous. “Okay.”
“Well, I haven’t worked directly for Stark, but I hear things. Whispers. Impressions. You know.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Oh, hell, Nikki. I’ve just heard enough folks talk about the guy that I was worried about you. So when I had the chance, I did some snooping.”
“Snooping? What does that mean?”
“Jamie told me what he said to you at Evelyn’s party. About you turning down MIT and Cal Tech.”
“So?”
“So why would he know that? Those opportunities came in when you were done with college. It’s not like you put that on a fellowship application.”
I frown. He has a point. “Go on.”
“The Stark files are in a locked filing room a few floors up. Access is incredibly tight. But Maynard needed something fast—not for Stark, but for another client with files in the same locked room—and he sent me up to get it. I sort of took advantage of the opportunity.”
“What did you do?”
“The firm administers the fellowship, so the applicant files are there. I found yours and took a peek.”
“And?”
“And there was no mention of MIT or Cal Tech.”
I laugh. “It was incredibly sweet of you to jeopardize your career because you’re worried about me, but I could have told you that. I keep copies of all my fellowship applications.”