Westerfield’s is loud and fun with some of the best bartenders and DJs in the city. Ollie and Jamie and I discovered it even before Damien was on my radar, but we’ve been by a few times since, and the bouncer who mans the VIP entrance gives me a little salute as Jamie and I approach. Edward escorts us to the door, but he doesn’t follow us in, returning instead to the limo.
I’m wearing a slinky silver skirt and matching tank top with three inch silver shoes. Jamie is my opposite in all black, the color unusually sophisticated for her. The style, however, adds the kick that Jamie usually finds in color. It is essentially backless, all the way down to the dimples just above her ass. The bodice is held in place by a series of loose black cords that crisscross over her shoulder blades. If someone with a pair of scissors took a snip, the dress would come tumbling down. We both look hot, if I do say so myself.
“Looking good, Ms. Fairchild,” the bouncer says as we strut past him. “Knock ’em dead, Ms. Archer.”
“This is why I love Damien,” Jamie says as we move down the exclusive hallway. “He hires staff that know how to properly suck up.”
I laugh as we reach the door that opens onto the public area of the club. Ryan emerges from the shadows to join us. He nods politely, but I see just the hint of a smile when he nods at Jamie. And, unless the light is playing tricks, I see an answering smile touch her lips.
Worry starts to buzz around me like a persistent gnat, and I tug on one of the black cords crisscrossing Jamie’s back to slow her down.
“What?” she says.
“That’s what I wanted to ask.” I cut a glance toward Ryan, and even in the dim light I see the way her cheeks flush.
I remember that Ryan went out to the house last night to check on security, and have to clamp my mouth shut so that I won’t scream. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with him,” I ask when I’m sure I won’t explode.
“Swear to God,” she says. “We talked. And he’s a total gentleman. I made him eggs.”
“You what?”
She lifts a shoulder. “He came out in a hurry because of that shit with you and the photos. And he hadn’t eaten. So I made him eggs. And he said he really liked them. Next time, I might try to make him a waffle. What?” she demands after a moment, peering hard at my face.
I realize I’ve been staring at her, a little pleased, a little baffled. “Nothing,” I say. “Just—I’m glad he likes your eggs.”
“Hey. What’s not to like?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, just tosses a grin over her shoulder and hurries to catch up to him. I follow, then slow to a stop when I realize my phone is buzzing. I tug it out of my tiny purse and see the text from Giselle. I open it eagerly, hoping for gossip about the canvas Damien has bought for me. Instead, I stare at her words as if she’d written them in hieroglyphics.
I’m so sorry. I truly wanted to make amends. Things got out of hand.
I read it again, but it doesn’t make any more sense the second time than it did the first. I hit the button to call her back, but the call just rolls to voicemail.
“What is it?” Jamie asks when I catch up to her.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you later.” The club is too loud for conversation, and I don’t know enough, anyway.
We’re in the main area, now, just a few yards away from the dance floor. I glance around and finally see Ollie and Courtney waving from across the room. I already know that Lisa’s not coming, after all; she left me a voice mail earlier telling me she had to go to Sacramento on business, but promising she’d take a rain check.
Jamie and Ryan make it to Courtney and Ollie before I do. I take my time approaching, my eyes searching the area for Damien, but I see no sign of him.
“Hey, Courtney!” I’m genuinely happy to see her and pull her into an enthusiastic hug. My greeting to Ollie feels more forced, but we loosen up on the dance floor. Whatever issues we have between us, a danceable beat is sufficient to take the edge off.
“Listen, Nik,” Ollie says a half hour later as we are catching our breath to a somewhat slower song. “Can we talk?”
I stiffen, because I thought we’d tabled our shit for the night.
He doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, though. He leans in so that I am sure to hear him. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About the grief I’ve given you about Stark, I mean.”
I pull back so that I can see his face—and so that he can see my surprise.
He draws in a deep breath. “I know about the photos, Nik. Nobody should have that in his past.”
It’s warm in the club, but I feel suddenly cold. “He doesn’t want your pity.”
“And he doesn’t have it. I’m just—I don’t know. I guess I’m just saying that I know what kind of shit you went through as a kid, and now I know what he has to live with.”
I tense, but I say nothing. I can tell he’s not finished.
“Stark’s not ever going to be on my favorite people list, but I’ve seen the way you two are together, and I really got to see it in Germany. I think you’re good for each other.”
I swallow, the ice in my veins melting into a lump of tears in my throat. “We are.”
His smile is tentative. “So that’s it. That’s my apology. I won’t say that I’ll be asking the guy out for drinks and male bonding, but, well—”
A bubble of relieved laughter bursts from me. “Thanks,” I whisper.
“Wanna go get a drink?”
“No,” I say. “Stay and dance with me some more.”
He grins, and we slide back into the music. I can’t say that we’re completely healed, but we’re better, and I feel lighter around Ollie than I have in a very long time.
After four straight songs, I am ready for a drink, so when Courtney comes by and suggests it, we go eagerly with her. Ollie gets waylaid by someone he knows from work, and it ends up being just Courtney and me who ease up to the bar. I tell the bartender to put our drinks on Damien’s tab, and he agrees so easily that I know that not only has Damien already instructed the staff to cater to us, but they have all visually identified me. I’m being watched. Protected. And although it feels a bit strange to be caught in the spotlight like that, I can’t deny it makes me feel safer.
But I won’t feel truly safe until Damien shows up and I can slide into his arms.
“What happened to the destination bridal shower?” I ask Courtney as we wait for the drinks. I have to practically shout to be heard, and I just know I’ll have no voice at all tomorrow.