“Are you kidding?” Syl asks. “It’s incredible.” She reaches over and squeezes Jane’s hand. “I’m so thrilled for you.”
I’ve become pretty good friends with Jane, but Syl knows her much better because Jane’s husband, Dallas, is one of the investors in The Resort at Cortez. Both Jane and Dallas both come from old money, and I think it’s fair to say that they’ve had the most unconventional and controversial relationship I’ve ever heard of. It certainly garnered more press coverage than me, Damien, Jackson, and Sylvia combined.
But as far as I can tell, Jane and Dallas are blissfully happy. So I guess it was worth all the drama.
“I’m bummed Jamie’s not here,” Jane says, glancing in my direction. “And I’m especially sorry that neither Lyle nor I can do an interview with her. The studio paid us both well, but the paycheck comes with a variety of brightly colored leashes.”
“She understands, I promise.”
“But you can make it up to us by giving Nikki and I a mini-interview right now,” Syl says.
“What? About me?”
Sylvia makes a dismissive motion. “Oh, please. What’s there to talk about with you?”
Jane laughs, because, of course, there’s a hell of a lot. And all of it juicy.
“No,” Syl continues. “Tell us about Lyle. He plays everything so close to the vest. Even Nikki hasn’t really gotten to know him.” She glances at me. “And you and Damien have had dinner or drinks with him dozens of times for foundation business, right?”
I nod. Lyle is the current celebrity sponsor for the Stark Children’s Foundation, and Syl is right—I like him a lot. But I don’t really know him.
“Honestly, I doubt I know him much better than you guys do,” Jane says. “I mean, I wasn’t on the set that much. But the times we did hang out, he seemed to live up to his press.”
“You mean the generally accepted belief that he’s the nicest guy in Hollywood?” Syl asks.
“Pretty much,” Jane says, but there’s a reticence to her words.
“But?” I press, even as I think that I’ve been hanging out with Jamie for far too long, because celebrity gossip was never my thing. And yet, here I am, a walking stereotype of a pampered LA woman gossiping in the spa.
“But,” Jane concedes, “there’s something under all that nice. I don’t know what. It’s just—you guys know about my childhood, right?”
I look at Syl, and we both nod. It had come out publicly not long before their wedding that Jane and Dallas were both kidnapped as children. Which means that my childhood drama with my mother is nothing by comparison.
“Yeah, well, the end result is that I’m not big on the whole trust thing,” Jane says. “You never know what’s inside people. What kind of monster might be hiding under their skin.”
“You don’t trust Lyle?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“No, no. Lyle’s great. Really. But I’ve gotten pretty good at looking deeper.”
“And?”
“And there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“So he has secrets,” Syl says.
Jane nods. “Something that haunts him, I think.”
“Something he wants to keep quiet,” Syl adds, then sighs as the technician starts to massage her calves. “I can hardly fault him for that.”
I think of my own secrets. “Amen,” I say.
And then the three of us raise imaginary toasts in honor of Lyle and his secrets. Deep and dark though they might be, they’re his own. And I hope that when his star power climbs after this movie—which everyone is saying will be a box office sensation—that his secrets will still be his own.
An hour later, we’re all primped and ready. Jane’s car has already whisked her away, and Sylvia and I are waiting for our drivers to arrive.
“Well?” she demands.
I blink. “Um?”
“Secrets,” she says, in a tone that I’m sure she uses with Ronnie. “I saw the look on your face when we were talking with Jane. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she counters.
The truth is, I’m actually a pretty good liar. I’ve spent my life putting on and taking off a variety of masks. Social Nikki. Student Nikki. Pageant Nikki. And as a result, I’m adept at hiding my feelings.
Which means that Sylvia is either fishing—or I’m actually craving someone to talk to. In this case, there’s really no question that it’s the latter, and I explain to her my fear that Damien is keeping secrets because he thinks he’s protecting me.
The corners of Syl’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Well, then my advice to you is simple. Deal with it.”
I laugh. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got?”
She shrugs. “Certainly the simplest. Come on, Nik. He’s always going to try to protect you. And now you’re pregnant. That means all that protective male DNA is in overdrive. And you and I both know that Stark men got served an extra dose at birth.”
I laugh because she’s so damn right. “It’s still annoying as hell.”
“Not arguing,” she says. “But it’s sweet, too.”
I have to grudgingly concede the point, although sweet and infuriating are not so often intertwined.
“Just go with it,” she says, obviously reading my expression. “And by the way, you should come over this weekend. The entire spare closet is full of things that Jeffery’s outgrown or doesn’t play with anymore. We can dig through it and see what you want.”
“Perfect,” I say as my car pulls up. “Maybe I’ll follow you back to your house after brunch on Sunday.”
We plan on that, and I settle into the backseat for the ride from Beverly Hills to Malibu, feeling relaxed and pampered and guilty about having spent an entire day not even thinking about work.
At the very least, I can check my emails. I pull out the new phone that I’d found on the bathroom counter this morning, just casually waiting for me, thanks to my wonderful—and as Sylvia said, wonderfully protective—husband.
Now I open the email app and smile again, because not only did he replace my phone at the speed of light, but he also set up my email accounts.
I’ve become pretty good friends with Jane, but Syl knows her much better because Jane’s husband, Dallas, is one of the investors in The Resort at Cortez. Both Jane and Dallas both come from old money, and I think it’s fair to say that they’ve had the most unconventional and controversial relationship I’ve ever heard of. It certainly garnered more press coverage than me, Damien, Jackson, and Sylvia combined.
But as far as I can tell, Jane and Dallas are blissfully happy. So I guess it was worth all the drama.
“I’m bummed Jamie’s not here,” Jane says, glancing in my direction. “And I’m especially sorry that neither Lyle nor I can do an interview with her. The studio paid us both well, but the paycheck comes with a variety of brightly colored leashes.”
“She understands, I promise.”
“But you can make it up to us by giving Nikki and I a mini-interview right now,” Syl says.
“What? About me?”
Sylvia makes a dismissive motion. “Oh, please. What’s there to talk about with you?”
Jane laughs, because, of course, there’s a hell of a lot. And all of it juicy.
“No,” Syl continues. “Tell us about Lyle. He plays everything so close to the vest. Even Nikki hasn’t really gotten to know him.” She glances at me. “And you and Damien have had dinner or drinks with him dozens of times for foundation business, right?”
I nod. Lyle is the current celebrity sponsor for the Stark Children’s Foundation, and Syl is right—I like him a lot. But I don’t really know him.
“Honestly, I doubt I know him much better than you guys do,” Jane says. “I mean, I wasn’t on the set that much. But the times we did hang out, he seemed to live up to his press.”
“You mean the generally accepted belief that he’s the nicest guy in Hollywood?” Syl asks.
“Pretty much,” Jane says, but there’s a reticence to her words.
“But?” I press, even as I think that I’ve been hanging out with Jamie for far too long, because celebrity gossip was never my thing. And yet, here I am, a walking stereotype of a pampered LA woman gossiping in the spa.
“But,” Jane concedes, “there’s something under all that nice. I don’t know what. It’s just—you guys know about my childhood, right?”
I look at Syl, and we both nod. It had come out publicly not long before their wedding that Jane and Dallas were both kidnapped as children. Which means that my childhood drama with my mother is nothing by comparison.
“Yeah, well, the end result is that I’m not big on the whole trust thing,” Jane says. “You never know what’s inside people. What kind of monster might be hiding under their skin.”
“You don’t trust Lyle?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“No, no. Lyle’s great. Really. But I’ve gotten pretty good at looking deeper.”
“And?”
“And there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“So he has secrets,” Syl says.
Jane nods. “Something that haunts him, I think.”
“Something he wants to keep quiet,” Syl adds, then sighs as the technician starts to massage her calves. “I can hardly fault him for that.”
I think of my own secrets. “Amen,” I say.
And then the three of us raise imaginary toasts in honor of Lyle and his secrets. Deep and dark though they might be, they’re his own. And I hope that when his star power climbs after this movie—which everyone is saying will be a box office sensation—that his secrets will still be his own.
An hour later, we’re all primped and ready. Jane’s car has already whisked her away, and Sylvia and I are waiting for our drivers to arrive.
“Well?” she demands.
I blink. “Um?”
“Secrets,” she says, in a tone that I’m sure she uses with Ronnie. “I saw the look on your face when we were talking with Jane. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she counters.
The truth is, I’m actually a pretty good liar. I’ve spent my life putting on and taking off a variety of masks. Social Nikki. Student Nikki. Pageant Nikki. And as a result, I’m adept at hiding my feelings.
Which means that Sylvia is either fishing—or I’m actually craving someone to talk to. In this case, there’s really no question that it’s the latter, and I explain to her my fear that Damien is keeping secrets because he thinks he’s protecting me.
The corners of Syl’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Well, then my advice to you is simple. Deal with it.”
I laugh. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got?”
She shrugs. “Certainly the simplest. Come on, Nik. He’s always going to try to protect you. And now you’re pregnant. That means all that protective male DNA is in overdrive. And you and I both know that Stark men got served an extra dose at birth.”
I laugh because she’s so damn right. “It’s still annoying as hell.”
“Not arguing,” she says. “But it’s sweet, too.”
I have to grudgingly concede the point, although sweet and infuriating are not so often intertwined.
“Just go with it,” she says, obviously reading my expression. “And by the way, you should come over this weekend. The entire spare closet is full of things that Jeffery’s outgrown or doesn’t play with anymore. We can dig through it and see what you want.”
“Perfect,” I say as my car pulls up. “Maybe I’ll follow you back to your house after brunch on Sunday.”
We plan on that, and I settle into the backseat for the ride from Beverly Hills to Malibu, feeling relaxed and pampered and guilty about having spent an entire day not even thinking about work.
At the very least, I can check my emails. I pull out the new phone that I’d found on the bathroom counter this morning, just casually waiting for me, thanks to my wonderful—and as Sylvia said, wonderfully protective—husband.
Now I open the email app and smile again, because not only did he replace my phone at the speed of light, but he also set up my email accounts.
