“The one who wants to make the movie about the Santa Fe house?”
“The very one,” Jackson says. “And because of that, I’m going to go talk to them.”
“Why?” Cass asks. “I mean, if you don’t want them to make the movie.”
“Two reasons. One, I firmly believe in killing with kindness where appropriate. My attorneys can be the bad guys. I’ll be polite and charming and quietly toxic if it comes to that.”
“I like the way he thinks,” Cass says.
“And second,” he continues, “I want information. If they’re moving forward on the project, I want to know. I might learn something my lawyers can use.”
“Your boyfriend has a devious streak,” Cass teases. “I’d keep an eye on that.”
“You’re both welcome to join me. Syl?”
“You go ahead. I think Cass and I are going to go see if there’s any auction item we can actually afford to bid on.”
He meets my eyes before he kisses me, and I think I see understanding there. Cass is not quite as intuitive. “Why aren’t you going with him? He used to date her.”
“And there you have it,” I say. “Her, tall and statuesque and movie-star gorgeous. Me, utterly plain by comparison.”
“Hardly. You’re fabulous and you know it. And Jackson adores you.”
“And if I were standing right next to her, I might turn an unattractive shade of green. Besides,” I add, “we need alone time. What’s the deal with Zee?”
“I’m not sure. She was irritated you and Jackson met with me and Ollie.”
“Really? Why?”
“Not sure. I told her I would have loved her insight, too. But she wasn’t mad because she wanted to be there. She just didn’t want you guys there.”
“Did you tell her about tonight?”
Cass wrinkles her nose. “No.”
“Cass …”
“Hey, we’ve barely started dating. The rules for evening outings have not kicked in yet.”
She has a point. I forget how fast things have been moving with Jackson. Primarily because it feels like I’ve been with him forever. Or at least for five years.
We look at each of the silent auction items, and I even bid on a couple’s weekend at a boutique hotel in Laguna Beach. If I win, I’ll surprise Jackson. And if I don’t win, I may surprise him anyway.
“I expected Evelyn to be here.” We’ve finished the auction review, and now we’re standing near a glass case with pages from the shooting script for The Wizard of Oz. I look out over the crowd, but don’t see her. For that matter, I don’t see Jackson. I do see Irena Kent, though, and take a petty amount of satisfaction from the fact that she is not with my boyfriend.
“Isn’t that her?” Cass asks, pointing to the far side of the room where Robert Reed stands chatting with Evelyn and a few other people I don’t know.
“Good eye,” I say. “Let’s go say hi.”
As we head that direction, I’m struck again by the feeling that I’ve met Reed before. I don’t think too much about it, though. It’s hard to grow up in LA and not run across celebrities here and there, especially now that I work for Stark.
But as we draw closer, I can overhear their conversation. His voice is also familiar, and I press my fingers to my temples, trying to place it. Then he extends a hand to one of the pretty young women. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Robert Cabot Reed. But you can call me Bob.”
I go completely cold.
“Syl?”
“It’s him.” My tongue feels thick, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve spoken.
“Him? I don’t—”
“I need to find Jackson.”
“I—”
“Jackson.”
“Oh god.” I hear understanding and panic in Cass’s voice. “Oh, holy fucking god.”
But I’m not listening. I’m stumbling blind through the house, my hands clenched tight at my sides because I will not, will not, will not lose it.
I manage to keep my shit together all the way to the foyer where Prado is still greeting latecomers.
“Have you seen Jackson?” The urgency in Cass’s voice makes me realize how scared she must be.
“Cassidy? Why, yes. He said he was going out front to take a phone call.” Prado steps toward us. “Are you all right?”
I don’t know what she tells him. All I know is that I am pure motion. That somehow I have gotten through the doors and out into the world, and now I am spinning, looking for him. By the valet stand. In the shadows by the street. Under the streetlight.
There.
I run to him, then stop dead when I see that he is not alone.
“Goddammit,” he says to his companion. “What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay away from me.”
I cannot hear the man’s reply, but Jackson’s retort is crystal clear.
“That’s bullshit,” he says. “Aren’t you the one who always says we can’t be seen together? Goddamn you, Jeremiah.”
“Syl!” Cass’s frantic voice cuts through the night, and both men turn toward me, their faces now lit by the soft golden light of the streetlamp.
Jackson Steele.
And Jeremiah Stark.
I make a sound like a whimper.
“Sylvia!” I hear the urgency in Jackson’s voice, and I see both shock and guilt on his face.
I turn—and I run.
“Sylvia, wait!”
But I don’t, I am running blind, at least until I stumble, then cry out at the sharp pain in my knee.
I’ve broken a heel and fallen on the curb.
I see a red-clad valet hurrying toward me from one direction. Behind me, I see Jackson sprinting toward me in the dark.
I scramble to my knees, because I can’t talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
He lied to me. Oh, dear god, he lied to me.
“Sylvia,” he calls, and I stumble to my feet and reach out for the valet. “Dammit, Sylvia, stop!”
“Leave her alone!” Cass cries, and I look over my shoulder to see her tugging on Jackson’s sleeve. “Dammit, Jackson, just let her go.”
I clutch the valet’s hand. “Please. I need a taxi.”
“Of course.” The boy looks about seventeen and completely freaked out. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
“Just the taxi. Please. Hurry.”
There is one already in the pickup line, and he hurries me in. I collapse gratefully into the backseat, and as the car leaves the curved driveway for the street, the last thing I see before I fall inside myself is Jackson standing beside Cass, his body angled as if in motion, held in place only by her firm grip on his arm.
I sink back into the seat and try to decide where to go from here. Not home. Jackson will look for me there.
Not to the office, because I will be found.
In the end, I go to a motel. A boring little chain that charges way too much for its boring little rooms.
But I don’t care about the money or the decor. I don’t even care about the bed, because I do not intend to sleep.
I can’t, not tonight. Because tonight will be the worst.
Tonight, the nightmares will come, dark dragons with sharp teeth and fiery claws.
They will come and I’ll see Bob in my mind—Cabot Reed—and he’ll touch me and seduce me and I’ll come for him, and I’ll hate myself.
Then I’ll look him in the eyes and see Jackson, and hate myself that much more.
I’ll be helpless.