“He’s here, too. I told them we’re by the pods,” Jamie says, referring to the odd, red waterbed pods near where we’re standing. “They’re making the circuit.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Steve is a working screenwriter despite the fact that he’s never seen one of his movies produced. According to Jamie this is not an unusual thing in Hollywood. His husband, Anderson, sells real estate. I adore Steve, but unless he takes pity on me and talks classic movies, my eyes glaze over ten minutes into the conversation. But I can always find something interesting to say about houses.

“This really is ostentatious as hell,” Ollie says, “but it’s also pretty damn cool. I mean, look at this place.”

I have to agree that the venue is amazing. It’s a clear night, and we seem to be floating among the skyscrapers. I can see the mountains in the distance, looming black dotted with pinpoints of light against a pencil-gray sky. From a booth on the other side of the roof, a DJ is providing danceable music, and many of the guests are taking advantage of the huge dance floor. Drinks are provided by the roaming angels, but can also be had at the pool-side bar. And, lest we forget this is a Hollywood party, a series of clips from various films—presumably starring Garreth Todd—are being projected onto a two-story tall screen.

“Okay,” I say. “Y’all win. It’s pretty cool.” I take a long drink and finish off my champagne, because I am here tonight to have fun with my friends. “So where is your guy?” I ask, which prompts Jamie to crane her neck and look around.

“Unless he fell off the roof, he’s here somewhere. Let’s wait here for Steve and Anderson, then we can go make the circle and find him.”

“So are you getting serious about this guy?” Ollie asks her. “I mean, after a guy like me, it’s hard to imagine you could want anyone else.”

He is clearly teasing, but underneath I think I hear a hint of wounded pride. I hope that I’m imagining it. For his sake, for Jamie’s sake, and mostly for Courtney’s.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, a slow smile blooming. “Emphasis on the ‘getting.’ We’re not there yet. But, well, yeah.”

“Good,” Ollie says curtly.

I frown, trying to think of something pithy and cutting to say, but nothing comes to mind.

“Now, if you want to talk serious …” Jamie trails off, her eyes on me, her eyebrows waggling mischievously.

I smile innocently. “A lady never tells.”

“It’s too damn soon,” Ollie says shortly. “And—” He cuts himself off.

“What?” I snap.

“The whole thing just worries me. Stark worries me.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Jamie blurts out. “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

I’m grateful for Jamie’s interference. I’d thought that the Ollie-Damien war would be off the table tonight after my talk with Ollie earlier, but apparently two glasses of green champagne have loosened his tongue.

“That’s why I love her,” Ollie says, hooking an arm around Jamie. “She tells it like it is and doesn’t take my shit.”

“And what?” I ask. “Courtney doesn’t tell you when you’re being a prick?” It is bad form for me to play the Courtney card right now, and I know it. But I’m pissed. Besides, I’m supposed to be Ollie’s best man at his upcoming wedding, and although I’ve never actually been a best man before, I’m pretty sure that one of the jobs is smacking down the groom when he crosses the line into being an asshole.

“No,” Ollie says seriously. “She doesn’t.” He bends down and sits on the edge of the water-filled mattress inside the pod. His body shifts and rolls, and he reaches out and grabs the red molded plastic that forms part of the pod’s arching roof. “She just waits until all the shit has built up and then she breaks up with me.”

I sit down next to him, ignoring the way our seat sloshes beneath us. “I thought you weren’t going to let any more shit build up.” Ollie and Courtney have been on-again, off-again for years. This is the first time they’ve made it all the way to an official engagement. I really like Courtney, and I hope it works out. But the more time that goes by, the more I’m afraid that Ollie’s going to fuck it up yet again. Or, to be more accurate, that he already has fucked it up.

“I’m like Pigpen,” Ollie says. “Shit just follows me around. Not all of us lead the charmed life of a certain billionaire we know.”

“Dammit, Ollie!”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I’m a total prick.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You are.” I suck in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry you have a problem with Damien, but he’s important to me. And if I’m important to you, then you need to figure out a way to deal with that.”

“That’s the point,” Ollie says. “You are important to me. And I can deal with Stark. I can even ignore all the shit on him I could dig up in just one hour in the Bender, Twain file room,” he adds, referring to the law firm where he works. “It’s not the man that’s the problem—well, not the big problem. It’s what’s around him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Nikki, you practically disguised yourself to come here tonight,” he says, referring to the hat that I’d worn, just as Jamie suggested. “Do you want that life? Hell, can you handle it?” he adds, then brushes his hand lightly across my thigh before twining his fingers in mine. “I just worry about you is all.”

My throat is thick, and I look down, not quite willing to meet his eyes. I know his concern for me is genuine—Ollie has seen my scars, and he has seen me break, too. More important, he’s helped put the pieces of me back together.

“Damien’s worried about the same thing,” I admit quietly. “But I can stand it,” I add, looking up so that I can see his eyes. “I am standing it, and I want to, because Damien is worth it.”

His shoulders droop. “Who would have thought I’d have something in common with Damien Stark?”

I laugh out loud, and Ollie grins.

“Seriously,” he says. “I may have my issues with Stark, but I also know he cares about you.”

“He does,” I say. I’m about to add that I know that Ollie cares for me, too, but my words are stalled by the arrival of Steve and Anderson accompanied by two absolutely gorgeous men.

“Thank God,” Jamie says. “You guys have perfect timing.”

Since I am desperate for a change in subject, I agree wholeheartedly, and allow myself to be hugged and air-kissed and complimented by Steve and Anderson while Ollie shakes their hands and otherwise looks grim. I recognize the guy who has swooped Jamie into his arms as Bryan Raine, and it doesn’t take a huge mental stretch to identify the final member of my rescue party as Garreth Todd. After all, his face has been splashed on the movie screen all evening.

“Well, hello,” he says, stepping into my personal space. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Nikki,” I say, my mask firmly back in place. I am no longer in a party mood, and right then all I want is to run through the social niceties and get the hell out of here.