“What?” I demand. “What is it about Damien Stark that bugs you so much? Is it all the shit Sara Padgett’s brother is stirring up?”
He exhales loudly, and I’m certain that I’ve nailed it. “Oh, hell, Nik. Stark’s a celebrity. He’s not up on billboards, but that’s what he is, and there are always shitstorms around celebrities. Eric Padgett’s just the latest guy tossing wads to see what sticks.”
I peer at him. “And that’s it? That’s all that’s bugging you?”
Ollie straightens his tie, a sure tell that he’s hiding something. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Listen, I see a client. I’m going to catch her, okay?”
I grab his wrist. “Wait. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.”
“Jesus, Ollie, this is me. What aren’t you saying?”
“I—oh, hell, fine.” He runs his fingers through his hair, then takes my arm and leads me to a quiet corner. “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to say anything to you. I mean, maybe it’s nothing.”
I force myself to stay quiet and wait.
“I mean, he seems like an okay guy.”
“He is. Now tell me.”
Ollie nods. “You need to keep this to yourself, okay? It’s attorney-client stuff. Privileged. I could get fired. Hell, I could lose my license.”
I nod, suddenly nervous. “Okay.”
“Well, I haven’t worked directly for Stark, but I hear things. Whispers. Impressions. You know.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Oh, hell, Nikki. I’ve just heard enough folks talk about the guy that I was worried about you. So when I had the chance, I did some snooping.”
“Snooping? What does that mean?”
“Jamie told me what he said to you at Evelyn’s party. About you turning down MIT and Cal Tech.”
“So?”
“So why would he know that? Those opportunities came in when you were done with college. It’s not like you put that on a fellowship application.”
I frown. He has a point. “Go on.”
“The Stark files are in a locked filing room a few floors up. Access is incredibly tight. But Maynard needed something fast—not for Stark, but for another client with files in the same locked room—and he sent me up to get it. I sort of took advantage of the opportunity.”
“What did you do?”
“The firm administers the fellowship, so the applicant files are there. I found yours and took a peek.”
“And?”
“And there was no mention of MIT or Cal Tech.”
I laugh. “It was incredibly sweet of you to jeopardize your career because you’re worried about me, but I could have told you that. I keep copies of all my fellowship applications.”
“But you wouldn’t know that your file was flagged.”
“Flagged?”
He nods. “The only one. I checked them all.”
“What does that mean?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But for some reason you were singled out.”
I cock my head. “Oh, come on, Ollie. I’m sorry you don’t like Damien, but you can’t be serious. So there’s a flag on my file. Big deal. Maybe it’s because I’m allergic to penicillin. Or because I’m the most photogenic fellowship recipient and they were going to do some sort of publicity thing. Or because I’m the only one who moved to LA and I got added to some local mailing list. Hell, you don’t even know that it was Stark who flagged my file. Maybe it was your boss. Or some legal assistant who has a thing for the former Miss DFW.”
His expression turns defensive. “I know, I know. I told you I wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning. But don’t you think it’s weird? Your file is not only flagged, but he knows all sorts of personal shit about you?”
I shake my head. “Personal shit? Like where I was accepted to grad school is a state secret? Come on, Ollie. Get a grip.” Even as I speak, though, I can’t help but remember how Damien knew my address and phone number, not to mention my makeup preferences. But each of those had a simple explanation.