Damien is already gone when I wake up on Friday. He’s left word with Grayson that he has some business to attend to before we leave on our honeymoon and that he will either be at the office or looking at various properties with Mr. Black.
I put a waffle in the toaster—which pretty much sums up my culinary skills—and eat it without syrup on the patio while I make some morning phone calls. The first one is to Sylvia, and I explain my plan about the cameras. She thinks it’s brilliant, and swears that she has plenty of time to handle it.
“I’ll make sure they’re delivered by morning. Seriously, Nikki, don’t worry about it. Rest a little today. You deserve it. And you’ll need it for your honeymoon.”
I roll my eyes, but since she’s right, I don’t argue. Instead, I actually do the delegation thing and email her the names of three bands I auditioned, liked, but rejected. It’s not a perfect solution, but it is a low-stress one. She promises to call them, see who’s still available, and to pick the best one.
I thank her and sign off, then try to decide on the appropriate form of pre-wedding relaxation. I actually managed to finish Damien’s scrapbook last night, so that’s out. And while my own work has been stacking up, somehow the idea of getting onto the computer and programming just doesn’t appeal.
About the only thing that does, actually, is a walk along the beach. And since I don’t want to go alone, I head downstairs to the first-floor guest suite, knock, and then head into Jamie’s darkened room.
Normally, I’d let her sleep. But since this is my last day as a single best friend, I figure an exception is in order. I pull the covers back and give her a little shake.
“Mmm, Ryan …”
I lift my brows, because that’s a very interesting development, but Jamie doesn’t indulge me by talking in her sleep again. Instead, she bolts upright, springing awake.
“Holy fuck, Nikki,” she screeches. “What the hell are you doing?”
I shrug. “Wanna take a walk on the beach?”
Fortunately, Jamie is easygoing. She shoots me a couple of dirty looks for good measure, throws in a curse, but gets dressed. We’re down at the beach within fifteen minutes.
“So, do you have anything to tell me?” I ask.
She stares at me like I’m a loon. “The moon isn’t made of green cheese. Masturbation doesn’t make you go blind. Jethro Tull is a band, not a guy. How do those work for you?”
“Not bad,” I say. “I was thinking more along the lines of Ryan.”
She slows her step. “What about him?”
“Ever since Damien had him take you home that time, you’ve had this thing.”
I expect her to deny it. Instead, she shrugs. “So?”
“So there really is a thing?”
“Not as far as he’s concerned,” she says, her tone frustrated. “As far as I can tell, I’m invisible to him.”
I hook my arm through hers. “I can’t imagine you being invisible to anyone.”
“I know, right? I mean, what’s up with that?”
I laugh. “So what are you going to do?”
“About Ryan?”
“About you.”
She slows her pace. “I don’t know. I didn’t get that commercial that Caleb is directing, but it felt nice doing the audition thing again. But I don’t want to get back on the same hamster wheel, you know? And I’m—” She glances at me, then clams up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“James …”
“Fine. Whatever. It’s just that everything changes with you getting married.”
“I’m still your best friend.” I stop walking, and tug her to a stop, too.
“Well, duh,” she says, in a way that sends a shock of relief running through me. “I just mean that I don’t think I’d do that great living by myself. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a tendency to run a little wild. And you’re off the roommate market. I thought about living with Ollie, but that might be weird.”
“Ya think?”