Damien’s phone buzzes and he glances at the screen, then types out a quick response before sliding it back in his pocket.
“Not important?”
“Charles,” he says. “He’s at one of the cash bars and wants to have a quick talk. I told him I was with you, and business could wait until morning.”
“Can it?”
He looks right into my eyes. “Right now, the only thing I care about is you.” He takes my arm. “It looks like the ladies’ room is over there.”
While Damien waits, I go in—then immediately clutch the counter. I’ve been working so hard not to let Damien see my cracks. Susan Morris. My mother. The rumors of sex for money, of being a whore. It’s all tied up in my head like so much noise and I want to sort it out. I want Damien—but I know he blames himself, and if I can just gather myself a little. If I can just make one tiny inroad on keeping myself collected …
I look around for something sharp, but there is nothing. Only the granite counter, the mirror, and the ceramic soap dispenser.
I remember the apartment and the glass vase that Damien shattered. I close my eyes, feeling the imaginary shard in my hand. Glass cuts on all sides. It’s perfect. It’s like a tiny miracle biting into the palm of your hand.
Wildly, I open my eyes and look around for something with which to break the glass. I snatch the soap dispenser, stand back, and start to hurl it.
That is when I see my reflection. Oh, God. What am I doing?
My fingers go slack, and the dispenser crashes to the ground—and in the back of the room, from behind a closed stall door, I hear someone yelp.
I jump—I hadn’t realized anyone was in there—then immediately relax when I see it is Jamie. Her face is splotchy and her makeup is smeared, but I must look worse because she takes one glance at me, looks down at the ceramic shards on the floor, and says, “I’m finding Damien.”
“Jamie!” I call, trying to get her back, but it’s too late. She’s out the door, and only moments later, Damien is in the ladies’ room.
“I didn’t,” I say immediately. “I just dropped a soap dish. That’s all. Jamie overreacted.”
He is looking at me with such intensity that I am certain he can see the lie inside my head. “All right,” he says slowly. “Now tell me the rest of it.”
I sigh, then drop my gaze. I count to five, and then look back up to him, my composure restored. “I was going to,” I say. “But I talked myself out of it. And then, really, I dropped the dispenser. It’s slippery.”
“You talked yourself out of it.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was going to break it with that,” I say, nodding toward the gooey mess on the floor.
“You were going to break a mirror in a public restaurant instead of talking with me?”
I graze my teeth over my lower lip. I don’t answer.
“I see.”
“I didn’t want to make it worse for you. But I guess I did that, anyway.”
“But you’re okay now?” He is speaking very carefully.
“Yes. Just a momentary glitch. System completely reset now. It was just that woman. That horrible woman.”
“All right,” he finally says. He takes my hand; his is warm and reassuring. “Let’s go. We’ll let the janitors worry about the mess.”
I nod and follow him. Already I feel better, just knowing that Damien is at my side. In the restaurant, I search for Jamie, but I don’t find her anywhere. “I’m worried about Jamie,” I tell him. “She was a mess.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, she was just—oh, shit. Is that who I think it is?” I point into the crowd, and Damien’s low whisper of “Well, hell” tells me I’m right. Bryan Raine is at the event, too, and he’s arm in arm, lips to lips, with a svelte, sexy blonde.
“That’s Madeline Aimes,” Damien says.
I remember Evelyn’s words. “A movie star? On her way up?”
He gives me a quizzical look. “When did you start paying attention to Hollywood?”
“I don’t. Lucky guess.” I look around the room again, suddenly worried. “Now I really want to find Jamie.”
I find Ollie, but he hasn’t seen Jamie, either. Whatever detente we’d reached earlier when Susan Morris attacked me seems to have shattered, because he is quiet and distant and keeps shooting Damien angry glances. I, however, am too worried about Jamie to call him on it.
It takes another twenty minutes before we learn that Edward took Jamie home.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Edward says when we meet him in the parking area behind the restaurant. “She assured me that she’d cleared it with you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Damien says. “How was she?”
“I understand there was some trouble with a young man she’s been seeing. You might have to restock the limo’s supply of Scotch.”
Damien grimaces. “Shall we go check on her?” he asks.
I nod. It’s already after midnight, and now that Jamie’s gone AWOL, I’m ready to go home. I start to move toward the limo, but Ollie’s words hold me back. “Raine was just stringing her along.”