He arches a brow. “Nia Hancock?”
She glances at me. “Gorgeous and psychic. Quite the combination.”
I roll my eyes. “Wyatt Royce, meet Nia Hancock.”
“Best friend, protector, and sometimes job facilitator,” she says. “The pleasure is mine.”
“Why are you here?” I ask her, and she glances toward Griff.
“He’s here because he’s working on that movie with Lorelei. I’m here because his usual date—that means you—bailed on him.”
“Excellent,” I say. “Anyone else here I know?”
“Know?” Nia says. “I don’t think so. Know of. Definitely.”
“She’s been playing the celebrity sighting game as we walk the house,” Griffin says.
“I think that’s cheating here. I’m pretty sure my grandmother invited all the celebrities. At the very least, she crossed the ninety-five percent mark.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Nia says. “You’re Wyatt Segel.”
“I thought you knew that,” he says, but Nia’s scowling at me. “You never told me he was one of those Segels.”
I shrug. “Sorry. It never occurred to me.”
She swoops her right hand under her left arm. “Water. Bridge. Moving on. The point is that everyone is here. And now I need to borrow my girl,” she says to Wyatt. “Because we totally have to gossip. Fair enough?”
To his credit, he laughs, then kisses my cheek. “I’ll find you.”
“You better.”
Nia and I head off, with her pointing out everyone I don’t recognize. “That’s Nikki and Damien Stark,” she says gesturing towards a man I recognize as the tennis star turned billionaire entrepreneur.
“He paid a million for her nude portrait,” I say, feeling a kinship with the woman. “It was supposed to be anonymous, and then someone found out.”
I shiver, thinking how awful that would be if it happened to me with Wyatt’s show.
“And that woman they’re talking to is Jane Martin—she wrote that movie about the kidnapped kids. And the guy to her left—isn’t he hot?—that’s Dallas Sykes.”
“Really?” One of my guilty pleasures is reading the tabloids, and he was all over it for a while. “They called him The King of Fuck. I guess he slept around.”
“They’re married now,” Nia says. “But there was so much scandal, remember?”
I don’t, and she’s about to clue me in, when two stunning women walk over and introduce themselves as Wyatt’s mother and sister. Like Anika, they’re both down to earth, and before they continue to mingle, Lorelei stresses that I really should audition. “I can’t get you the role, but I can get you access. And in this town that’s important.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I really am grateful, even though I probably won’t ever take her up on it.
We wander some more, and I realize after a while that Nia has been steering me to a quiet corner. “Okay,” she says once we’re sitting on a small divan, fortified with fresh glasses of wine. “Tell me what’s up with Wyatt.”
I consider dodging the question, but Nia’s my best friend. And I don’t really want to dodge. I want to talk.
So I tell her the one thing that I’ve been holding inside. The one thing that’s been building in me for days. “I think I’m in love,” I say, but instead of congratulating me or even arguing with me, Nia rolls her eyes.
“Girl,” she says, “you fell in love twelve years ago. Love is not your issue.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Everyone thinks that love is the end. Fall in love and live happily ever after. That’s bullshit, sweetie. Love is work. Like serious fucking work.” She lifts a shoulder. “And I worry for you.”
“For me? You don’t think Wyatt will work at it?”
She slouches back against the divan. “I don’t know him. Not yet. Not really. I’m sorry, Kels, but if you want the cold, honest truth, you’re the one I worry about. You’ve put yourself in a box for so long, sweetie. I’m not sure you can fit anyone else in there with you.”
I start to say something, but she talks over me.
“Which means the only way it’ll work is if you come out of the box. And I don’t know if you can do that. Not if it gets hard and scary. Because Kels, you’re the girl who’s always playing it safe. And sweetie, love doesn’t have a safety net.”
I’m in a sour mood as we leave the party and head toward the car an hour later, Nia’s words still ringing in my ears.
Wyatt glances at me, his brow furrowed. “You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just best friend stuff.” Not exactly a lie, but also not the truth.
He looks like he’s going to argue the point, but the chirp of my phone signaling an incoming text cuts him off.
Since it’s probably her, I dig in my purse for my phone, only to frown when I see that it’s not from Nia, but from one of the other teachers.
I applaud you, but what an exit strategy. Hope it works out for you.
“Nia?” Wyatt asks, and I shake my head and hand him the phone.
“Another kindergarten teacher. I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Maybe she sent it to the wrong person.”
It makes sense, and I start to tap out a response to let her know her text went astray. But I’m distracted by the fact that both Damien Stark and Siobhan—who I met once at Wyatt’s studio—are standing by Wyatt’s Navigator.
I know Siobhan’s connection to Wyatt through the show, of course, but it takes me a second to remember that Damien Stark is the patron of the Stark Center for the Visual Arts, where Wyatt’s show is scheduled to open.
I slow my pace, cold dread building inside me.
“Should I even ask?” Wyatt says.
“It’s not good.” Stark pushes off the car and walks to Wyatt.
“Considering you don’t exactly get involved with the day-to-day operations of the center, I assumed as much. Tell me fast,” he says. “If it’s bad, you might as well get it over with.”
“Should I leave you alone?” I ask them.
“No.” Wyatt takes my hand. “You’re with me.”
“She needs to stay anyway,” Damien says. “I’m sorry, Kelsey.”
The dread in my stomach forms into a hard knot. Because there’s no reason for a man like Damien Stark to know my name. Not unless I somehow ended up on his radar. And I shouldn’t. Because my photos are supposed to be anonymous. No one’s supposed to know except me and Wyatt and JP.
But they do. I can see it in their eyes. Stark and Siobhan.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Leah,” Siobhan says, exhaling slowly. She passes me a digital tablet displaying a collage of social media posts. I’m too shocked to really focus. But I see enough. One of Wyatt’s images of me with my face blurred out. And it’s side by side with photos of me teaching dance and playing Red Rover at a kindergarten picnic.
“What are these?” I whisper, as beside me I feel Wyatt getting stiffer and stiffer with rage.
“Rumors,” Damien says. “She started a rumor campaign, apparently with the blessing of Roger Jensen. It seems he told her that she’d be getting you a ton of free publicity.”