“Never mind,” Jamie says, waving her hand as if wiping the words away. But she turns her attention to me, and I nod slightly. I have understood her perfectly, because this guy is hot. Maybe not Damien Stark hot, I think loyally, but he’s got some serious sizzle going on.
“Evan Black, let me introduce you to my fiancée, Nikki Fairchild, and her best friend, Jamie Archer.”
Evan strides across the room to join us. He shakes my hand, then Jamie’s. I can’t help but notice that she holds on a moment longer than is necessary.
“Congratulations,” Evan says to me. “I knew the first time he talked about you that one day you two would be married. I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking curiously at Damien. He’s never mentioned this man before.
“I’ve known Evan for years,” Damien says. “He lives in Chicago—we had a drink when I flew out there a few months ago,” he adds.
“We met when we were both looking to acquire a failing business,” Evan adds.
“Who got it?” I ask.
“Damien,” Evan says, without regret. “But today it’s my turn.”
That I don’t know what he means must be obvious by my expression. “Evan’s acquiring the galleries,” Damien says, referring to the art galleries that Giselle Reynard recently transferred over to him. “We were in Palm Springs examining the items in storage, and Evan’s going to come to Malibu tomorrow to take a look at the main property.”
“I have a few other things to take care of while I’m here,” Evan says, “but I’m honored to have been invited to the wedding. I’m very happy for both of you.”
“Thank you,” I say, noticing that Jamie is still peering at him with interest. This is something that needs to be nipped in the bud. Not only is Jamie supposed to be backing away from men, but considering Evan is Chicago-bound, he could be nothing more than a fast fuck. And that is so not what my best friend needs.
Jamie pulls out her phone and makes a face, then looks at me. “We need to hurry,” she says. “We’re going to be late.”
“Late? For what?”
She rolls her eyes. “I told you. We’re meeting the girls at Raven,” she says, referring to a male strip club in Hollywood.
“Raven,” Damien says, his brows lifting.
“Um, hello?” Jamie says. “Bachelorette party. Alcohol. Mostly naked gorgeous men.” She looks him up and down. “Not that she doesn’t already have that in her life, but still. This is the night to be naughty.”
“It’s only barely past lunchtime,” I say stupidly.
“I know,” Jamie says. “That’s when there’s less of a crowd. More attention for us.”
Oh my.
I glance toward Damien, but this is one of the few times when I cannot read his expression. My gaze shifts toward Evan. He is easier to read, as he’s not even trying to hide his amusement.
“I told you I didn’t want a bachelorette party,” I say. “And I have stuff to do today. The music. The photographer,” I remind her, then grimace when I see Damien’s brows rise again. Damn. My little lie earlier has been soundly caught out.
“And I need to make sure the flowers are confirmed,” I add, rushing on. “I need—”
“To chill with your friends,” Jamie says. “Come on, Nick. Music or not, pictures or not, come Saturday night you’re going to be married. You’ll never, ever, ever get to go out as a hot single girl again. So we’re doing this. I’m your maid of honor and I’m insisting.” She glances at Damien. “Sorry, dude. It’s in the best friends rule book.”
“I’m certain it is.” He turns to me, his expression implacable. “I need to speak with you alone.”