“I’m big on variety,” I say. “A bed . . . a hot tub . . . so long as I’m not relaxing by myself, I’ll be a very happy girl.”

“I do love the way you think.” He kills the engine on the Jeep and turns in his seat to face me. “That’s not the only reason we’re here,” he says seriously. “I thought about what you said. About reality catching us off guard. And I thought that it might be good for both of us to ease slowly back into the real world.”

“We can go as slow as you want,” I say. “You won’t get any complaints from me.” Then I remember my plans, and grimace. “Except that I have to be back in LA by ten Friday morning. That’s when Lisa is going to show me the sublet.”

“Fair enough. Friday marks our return to reality. A sad, mournful day.”

“Don’t even,” I say. “You’re going to fire up that Bluetooth headset and start cooking up some deal before we even get through that door, and you know it.”

“I won’t,” he says with a familiar gleam in his eye. “I have plans for when we walk through that door.”

“Do you? I bet I can guess what.” And I have to confess that I’m looking forward to it. Where Damien is concerned, I’m always looking forward to it.

We get out of the car and walk over the wide wooden bridge to the massive front door. I hang back as Damien opens it, but the second I step over the threshold, I’m accosted by a very loud, very familiar scream—Jamie.

Behind her, a wide white banner hangs across the entrance hall and dozens of helium-filled balloons float and bump up at the ceiling. My eyes meet Damien’s, and I realize that he is as surprised as I am.

“You didn’t know?” I ask, as Jamie launches herself at me and wraps me up in a tight hug.

“About Jamie, yes,” Damien says as Jamie shifts her hug from me to him. “I couldn’t think of a better way to ease you back into reality than to bring Jamie out here. She’s about as real as it gets.”

I can’t help but laugh in agreement, especially when Jamie sticks her tongue out at him.

“But the decorations? I didn’t have a clue.”

“Oh, please,” Jamie says. “It’s a celebration. Banners, balloons, food, drink.” She turns her focus to me, her eyes as wide as if she’d just stepped into heaven. “This place is so well-stocked you wouldn’t believe.”

I cock my head toward Damien and grin wickedly. “It’s Damien,” I say. “Excess is an art form.”

“Watch it,” he says, then lightly smacks my bottom before hooking an arm around my waist and planting a bone-melting kiss on me right there in front of my best friend. “Fuck reality,” he whispers when he releases me. “I want to stay in our bubble as long as we can.”

Yes, I think as I press my back to his chest and hold on tight to the arms he has wrapped around me. So do I.

“And where exactly are we going?” Damien asks from the Jeep’s passenger seat.

“It’s a surprise,” I say. “Now shut up before I kill us.” I’m not used to driving so big a car, especially on narrow, winding roads, but the surprise Jamie and I cooked up would be much less of a surprise if we told Damien where we are going.

He eyes me suspiciously. “The good kind of surprise where I get to slowly strip you naked? Or a bad kind of surprise?”

“Oh. My. God,” Jamie says from the backseat. “I’m going to just melt back here.”

I bite back a grin and focus on Damien. “Does any surprise that doesn’t end with me naked fall within your definition of bad?”

“Pretty much,” he says, and in the rearview mirror, I see Jamie clamp her hands over her ears.

I laugh. “Then I guess we’re deep in the land of horrible.”

He leans back in the seat at an angle so that he can stretch his legs out and examine me. He twines his fingers behind his head. He looks relaxed as sin and sexy as hell. “All right,” he says slowly. “Tell me.”

“You tell him,” I say to Jamie. “It was your idea.”

“We found a bar in Crestline that has a karaoke night,” she says.

“Did you?” he asks blandly.

Actually, Jamie found it, but I enthusiastically agreed to this night out. After the news he got on the plane, I am operating on the theory that the more fun the better. Or I was. Now, I’m not so sure. Because despite everything I have learned about Damien Stark, I cannot read his expression.

“Are you going to serenade me?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Are you going to serenade Jamie?”

“Double nope.”

“I see,” he says.

My grin falters a bit. Jamie and Ollie and I used to get a huge kick out of karaoke bars, and they were always a cure for a bad week. But Damien is not Jamie or Ollie or me, and considering his current stony expression, it’s more than possible that I misjudged the appeal of this evening’s entertainment.

I meet Jamie’s eyes in the mirror and see her tiny shrug.

I am just about to announce that I was joking and that we are really on our way to a five-star restaurant where we’ll discuss business theory and stock prices, when his mouth twitches and his eyes begin to light with his slowly growing smile. “And here I thought you loved me,” he says.

I force myself not to sag with relief. “I do.”

“And you thought that singing bad seventies songs in public would be a good way to show it?”

I pause at a stop sign, and take the opportunity to glare at him. “Are you mocking me, Mr. Stark?”

“Never,” he says, but his eyes are dancing.

“Mmm. I was actually thinking along the lines of the Rat Pack oeuvre, but I’ll go with bad seventies if that’s what you want. I’m more than willing to compromise.”

His expression is pure sin. “I’m very glad to hear it, Ms. Fairchild.”

“There it is,” Jamie says from the backseat. She is pointing to a brightly lit building just up the block. “That’s it, and thank God. It’s getting just a little too warm in here.”

I bite back a retort. As far as I’m concerned, with Damien, it can never be too hot.

Whatever heat there might be in the Jeep, however, has nothing on the interior of the bar. It’s cramped and smoky and so warm it feels sticky. And, frankly, that’s part of its charm. I can see from Damien’s approving expression as we walk through the wooden double doors and into the dark interior that he agrees.

“It’s definitely got atmosphere,” he says, his hand pressed lightly to my back as he scans the room.

“What about that table?” Jamie asks, and Damien and I follow her across the room to a four top near the stage. “Order me something fun,” Jamie says, then disappears toward the ladies’ room.

Karaoke night is already going strong, and as we get settled, a teddy bear of a man with a lumberjack beard belts out Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” with at least as much energy as Gloria herself ever put into it.

I slump a bit in my chair and press my hand over my mouth in sympathetic embarrassment.

Damien notices and laughs. “Not planning to jump up and burst out into song yourself?”