“Other than Alaine and Sofia? Not really.” He spoons the cheese, avocado, and mystery food into the omelette, then expertly folds it onto a plate.

“Tell me about Sofia.”

His smile is sad. “We had a lot in common. Both our fathers were assholes.”

“Are we talking friend or girlfriend?”

“Friend, then girlfriend, then friend again.”

I nod, greedily soaking up these bits of Damien’s past.

“Was she your first?” I ask.

His face darkens. “Yes. But it wasn’t a moment of joy and bliss for either one of us. We were young, and we definitely weren’t ready.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a difficult subject.”

“It’s okay,” he says with a flicker of a smile that takes the edge off the flatness of his words. “Really.” He takes a sip of champagne, adds some bacon to the plate, then slides it in front of me. “Well?”

I take the fork he offers, sample a small bite, and moan with pleasure. “This is amazing. What’s in it?”

“Lobster.”

“You just happen to have lobster in your fridge?”

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “Don’t you?”

“Not hardly. Apparently the cars, hotels, jets, and chocolate factories aren’t the only perks of being filthy rich.”

He laughs and I dig into my breakfast while Damien stands at the stove keeping a close eye on his own meal. I’m surprised when my cell phone rings until I see that Damien has plugged it into a charger and left it on the breakfast bar. I consider letting it roll to voice mail, because I am not interested in having the real world intrude. But it’s Jamie, so I answer.

“Holy fucking crap,” she says, not bothering with the traditional “hello.” “Douglas just came over to tell me that you’re all over the Internet,” she says. “Like I didn’t already know. Douglas!” she adds, as if that is the worst affront of all.

I want to tell Jamie that if she’s so irritated by our one-night stand of a next-door neighbor, then she shouldn’t have slept with Douglas in the first place. But I stay silent. We’ve been over all that before.

“So it’s really everywhere?” I ask. “I haven’t wanted to look.”

“Sorry,” she says, her voice thick with sympathy. “Your mom even called me.”

“You?”

“Lucky me, huh? She said she was too upset to talk with you yet, but that she—oh, fuck, Nikki. What the hell do you care what she thinks?”

“I know what she thinks,” I say. “That I’m a disappointment. That I’ve ruined the family name. That she didn’t raise a whore.”

I can tell from Jamie’s silence that I’m right. Damien is watching me carefully. He doesn’t come to my side, though. I have a feeling he’s afraid I’ll shatter.

I won’t. Just thinking about my mother—about the fact that she cares more about what the tabloid press says than about what really happened—pisses me off and makes me strong. Well, stronger, anyway.

“So it’s all over everywhere?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “They don’t waste any time. The tabloids, social media, even the legitimate news, too. You get a million dollars from a guy like Damien for posing nude and even CNN is going to be reporting it. I mean, talk about the ratings.”

“Jamie.”

“Sorry! Sorry! So, are you okay? I mean, what are you going to do?”

“I’m okay,” I say. My cheeks heat as I glance at Damien and think about exactly how I went from being a complete wreck to feeling relatively normal. “For now, anyway.” I haven’t turned on the television. I haven’t even checked my email. Considering what might be in my inbox from my mother, I’m certain I don’t want to.

I catch Damien’s eye and I know he’s wondering the same thing that I am—will I still be fine once I step back into the world?

“You’re staying in today, right?” she asks.

“I can’t. I have to go to work.”

Damien shakes his head. “Take the day off. Bruce will understand.”

“I heard that,” Jamie says. “Listen to Damien. He’s smart. And you need to call Bruce before you go to the office, anyway. He called here looking for you.”

“I’ll call him, but I’m going in.”

Except, apparently, I’m not. Because when I call Bruce, he tells me that he thinks it would be in the best interest of the company if I took a leave of absence. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but this is more than a few photographers looking for a photo of Damien Stark’s girlfriend. They’re swarming around this story. And I can’t have the press hanging around the building trying to get a shot of you. Not now.”

“Now?” I repeat. “What’s special about now?”

I hear him exhale loudly into the phone. “Giselle and I are getting a divorce. I haven’t wanted to mention it before, but the point is that I need to be squeaky clean, and my lawyer thinks that—”

“I get it,” I say. “I’m fired.”

“Leave of absence,” he says. “Please.”

“It’s shaping up to be a crappy day, Bruce. Can we at least call it what it is?”

There’s a pause, and then, “I really am sorry, Nikki. It’s a lovely portrait and it’s unfair you’re getting this kind of blow-back. And I really could use a talent like yours here at Innovative. But you’re going to land on your feet.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at Damien. “I know.”

“I think I’m going to take the day off today,” Damien says when I put my phone down.

“You don’t need to coddle me.” I point to the back of the apartment where there is a private door to his office suite. “Go. Earn money.”

“I’m in the fortunate position of having made enough excellent investment choices that I don’t have to actually do anything in order to make money.” He cocks his head to the side as if listening. “There. Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“The clink of coins as I just earned a few thousand more.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m serious. If you take the day off, I’ll just feel like a burden.”

“Maybe Switzerland. Or Greece.”

“Damien.”

“Hawaii’s nice, too, and I actually have a house there. We talked about getting sushi the other night. We could go to Japan.”

I’m laughing now. “I think if I want sushi we can just go to that little place on Sunset that we like.”

“Fair enough. But I’m serious about the vacation. Reporters are like sharks. Once the chum is out of the water, they go away. There will be a new scandal by Monday, and you can come back to a much calmer Los Angeles.”

I can’t deny that it’s tempting. But no. I don’t want to be the girl who runs. “I ran from Texas to get away from my mother,” I say. “I ran to LA because this was the place I wanted to start a new life. I picked it. I’m here. I’m staying.” I shrug. “Like you said, it’ll blow over. I’ll keep a low profile.”