“I hope you’re having fun,” he says, moving even closer. I take a step back, and find myself bumping against Ollie. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and that simple touch makes me want to cry. That’s the way it used to be—Ollie reaching out to steady me whenever I felt I might shatter.

“We were going for a celestial theme,” Todd says. “Get it?”

“It’s very colorful,” I say.

“It doesn’t even come close to sparkling the way you do,” he says. He’s only inches from me, and I’m sandwiched between him and Ollie. It occurs to me that if Damien said those words to me, I would probably melt. From Garreth, however, they only irritate.

I hope that Jamie will intervene, but she is lost in her Raine storm, and will not be rescuing me anytime soon. I’m on my own, and I know only one surefire way of regaining my personal space. “You have me at a disadvantage, sugar,” I say, with my brightest smile and my thickest Texas drawl. “You know my name, but I don’t have even a teensy, tiny clue as to yours.”

“Oh.” He takes a step back, presumably allowing his hyperventilating ego to get some air. “I’m Garreth Todd.”

“Very nice to meet you. And what is it you do?”

Behind me, Ollie shifts, and I can tell that he is going to explode with laughter. Jamie, thank goodness, isn’t paying attention. “I thought we were going to dance,” Ollie says, curling his fingers around mine.

“Of course,” I say, as he tugs me away. “So nice chatting with you, Mr. Todd.”

“You just dissed a movie star,” Ollie says as he pulls me onto the dance floor.

“Oh?” I say innocently, then bat my eyes for effect. “Was he a movie star?”

Ollie ignores my silliness. “Jamie is going to kill you.”

“I know,” I say. As far as Jamie is concerned, anyone who can help her climb the ladder must be treated with the utmost deference. “You have to admit he deserved it.”

“I admit nothing,” Ollie says, but he’s smiling. “So we’re here. Are we going to dance?”

It’s either that or head home, and right then I’m basking in the detente between Ollie and me. “Sure,” I say, then follow him onto the floor and let the music take over. It’s loud and heavy on the bass and just what I need to get my mind off everything. Still, I can’t help but wish that the song was slow and it was Damien on the floor with me instead of Ollie.

The wish is so fervent, in fact, that my imagination conjures the man. His tall form, cutting through the crowd. His mouth a hard line, his face expressionless, his eyes like a storm at sea. It is only when all eyes turn toward him, drawn in by the pull of Damien Stark, that I realize this is the real Damien striding through the wash of colored lights—and heading straight toward Ollie and me.

10

“Go,” Damien says to Ollie, his voice colder and more commanding than I have ever heard it.

I see my friend open his mouth as if to argue, but I catch his eye and nod. He frowns, then shoots Damien a look so full of disdain it makes my stomach curl. Damien doesn’t notice. He’s paid Ollie only scant attention, and his eyes have never left my face.

“Damien,” I begin.

“No,” he says. He pulls me roughly to him and wraps his arms around me. He practically trembles with anger, and I press my cheek against his chest, thankful to have this brief reprieve before the storm hits.

The music is still loud and fast with such a heavy bass that the roof beneath our feet seems to throb. I imagine we must look ridiculous, holding each other as if in a slow dance, but I don’t care. And soon, to my surprise, the music changes to match our pose. I glance up, curious, and see that a small crowd has gathered around us. Damien Stark is at least as famous as Garreth Todd, and we have stolen Mr. Todd’s spotlight.

I can only presume that the DJ is among the spectators, and has decided to match the music to our mood.

Since we do nothing more than sway in each other’s arms, interest soon wanes. The crowd either drifts away or joins us on the floor, and I begin to feel less like a fish in a bowl. A chastised fish, ready to be scolded.

He holds me through one song and then another, and though I am happy to spend my entire life inside the circle of his arms, I have reached the point where I can no longer stand the suspense. “Say something,” I plead.

He stays silent, and a cold dread curls through me. I am about to beg again when he speaks, so low and so gentle that I have to strain to hear him, and even then I am not sure that I have actually caught his words.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re—what?” I step back so that I can see his face, because I am certain that I have not heard right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. We have stopped swaying and now we stand still on the dance floor.

“Is this some sort of reverse psychology? Because I know you pretty well, Damien Stark, and that wasn’t repentance I saw in your eyes when you crashed through the crowd. More like scary megalomaniac fury. Besides,” I add with a small grimace, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Damien’s expression doesn’t change, but for the tiniest of instants, I think I see a flicker of amusement. “First off,” he says, “I didn’t crash through the crowd. I walked, and quite calmly, too, considering the circumstances.”

I swallow. I knew he was pissed.

“Second,” he continues, “I believe a megalomaniac is someone who suffers from delusions about their own power. Trust me,” he says, and this time I am certain I see mirth dancing in his eyes, “I suffer no delusions about the extent of my power. And finally, you may have reason to be sorry. I, however, have more.”

“I—oh.” I have no idea what to say. This conversation isn’t going at all the way I expected. But he’s right; I do have reason to be sorry. “I should have told you that Jamie and I were going out with Ollie.”

“So you knew at the time?”

“No. Raine called later and told Jamie about the party. Then Ollie called and ended up coming along. I actually picked up the phone to call you. But then I didn’t,” I finish with a shrug.

“Because you knew I’d be pissed.”

I nod. “And that’s why I’m sorry.”

“Then we have that in common.”

I watch his face silently, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t want to be the asshole who keeps you away from your friends,” he says. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me in order to see them. And I’m sorry because you obviously felt exactly that way.”

Polite Nikki starts to protest, but what he’s saying is the truth. Slowly, I nod.

“I won’t keep you from your friends, Nikki. But dammit, I don’t like the son of a bitch.”

This is not exactly breaking news, but I still take a moment to consider how to respond. “I get that,” I say. “He hasn’t exactly earned your trust. But I’ve known him forever, and he’s one of my closest friends.”

“He’s seen you naked, Nikki. He’s touched your scars.”

I blink at him. Surely he’s not—“Are you jealous?” The possibility shocks me. I’ve already told Damien that Ollie and I never slept together. It was never like that between us.