“Oh. I’m sorry,” I say, though I am not surprised.
“Yeah, me, too.” He sighs, then checks his watch. “We’re meeting for dinner. Patch things up. At least I hope so.”
“So do I.” I don’t mention that I am dubious. Ollie doesn’t have the best track record, and though he is my friend—at least I think he is still my friend—I can’t help but think that Courtney deserves better.
Ollie runs his fingers through his hair. “Jamie let me crash here. I slept in your room.” He shoots a questioning glance at the bed that fills the space between the dining table and the door. I say nothing, and after a moment, he shrugs and continues. “I didn’t figure you’d mind if I slept in your bed.”
“I do mind,” I say, the words snapping out before I think about it. I see the hurt on his face, but I don’t care. I’m pissed, and it’s all just spilling out of me. “You just grab my bed like everything is like it always was? It’s not. I’ve needed a friend, and you haven’t even called.”
“Maybe I didn’t call because you didn’t tell me about the painting,” he says. “A million dollars. Is it true?”
“It’s true,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Stark’s bad news, Nikki.”
“No,” I say firmly. “He’s not. And did you ever think that that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything about the painting to you?”
“Why the hell are you so fucking obstinate? Are you afraid to learn the truth about him? Or are you afraid I’ll learn the truth about what you do with him?”
He’s spewing words at me, clearly as pissed off as I am. Then, without warning, he grabs my arm and tugs it toward him. He jabs a finger hard on the bruise around my wrist. I jerk my arm back, blushing, and undoubtedly erasing any possible question in Ollie’s mind as to the cause of those marks.
“You’re being an idiot,” he says. He reaches out and tugs a lock of my hair, then looks pointedly toward my thighs. “How long will it be before Stark does something else that makes you take a knife to yourself?”
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I feel the sting of my palm intersecting his cheek. “Get the hell out of my house,” I say.
He stands perfectly still, his mouth hanging open, his breath coming hard. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Oh, shit, oh, shit. Nikki, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” I snap. “You’d be thrilled if Damien and I broke up. I don’t know why you dislike him so much—”
“And I don’t know why you’re so blind.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I see him perfectly clearly.”
“You see what he wants you to see. But you forget where I work. You forget that my boss is his attorney. There is shit raining down on Stark,” Ollie says, “and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He sighs. “I warned you, didn’t I? You’re in the spotlight now, and that’s not where you want to be. It’s not where you should be.”
My blood feels as though it’s moving too fast through my body, and I feel a little sick to my stomach. “Just go.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll get my stuff and get out of here.” He returns to my room, then emerges with his briefcase. He marches for the door, then stops. “No, you know what? I get that things are bad between us now, and I’m sorry. But I can’t just let this slide. Do you even know where he is now?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “In London.”
“Why?”
“Business.”
“Yeah?” He digs in his briefcase for his iPad, then pulls up a page from Hello! “Here,” he says, shoving the tablet at me.
It’s a picture of Damien with his arm around a woman. Her head is down, she’s wearing sunglasses, and a hat shields most of her face. I don’t know who she is, but I can guess. Apparently Hello! can’t even do that, because the caption reads
Did Damien Ditch the Delicious Darling? Is it the end for Damien Stark and Texas Beauty Queen Nikki Fairchild? Our sources say Stark looked quite cosy with this unidentified woman as they strolled the Hampstead Heath earlier today. Stark arrived in London without the woman whose portrait he paid a cool million dollars for. Buyer’s remorse, perhaps?
I hand the tablet back to him, feeling smug. “She’s a friend.”
“I thought he went on business.”
“He’s not allowed to see a friend while he’s doing business?”
There’s a loud bang on the wall Jamie and I share with Douglas, followed by a very loud, very satisfied groan.
Ollie and I meet each other’s eyes and, as if on cue, we both laugh.
For those few seconds, we are Ollie and Nikki again. But the seconds pass all too quickly.
“I don’t want to screw us up,” Ollie finally says.
“You already have,” I say. “All you can do now is try to fix it.”