Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
“I’m both jealous and sad that you’re going to Dubai,” I tell Renly as we step into the party. It’s being held in a stunning house in the Hollywood Hills with a huge entrance hall filled with people in dark suits and colorful gowns. I pause just inside to take it all in, amazed that I’m actually at an A-list Hollywood shindig celebrating the wrap of a film intended to be next year’s summer blockbuster.
“It’s the kind of assignment I signed on for. But,” he adds, squeezing my hand, “it’s only an assignment. I’ll be back.”
“You better. I lost my best friend once. I don’t intend to lose him again. Especially since he can get me into such cool parties.”
I’ve never been one to follow Hollywood gossip, but even I know who Matthew Holt is, the huge entertainment mogul who owns this house. And I’ve heard of Carson Donnelly too, the director who invited Renly and kindly suggested that he bring a date. Bonus for me.
“Do you miss it?” I ask. “Working in Hollywood, I mean.”
“I haven’t been gone that long,” he says. “But no. Honestly, I like where I landed. It was fun in Hollywood, and it was exciting in the military. But it’s nice to have the freedom that I have working at Stark Security. I have opportunities and agency here that I wouldn’t have working as a SEAL.”
That makes sense to me, and I’m about to say as much when my purse vibrates, signaling a text. I pull it out and check the screen, hoping it’s not my stalker.
It’s not. I frown, because instead it’s work. Specifically, it’s Darrin.
I make a face as I look up at Renly.
“Work?” I nod, and he laughs. “Well, welcome to the land of grownups.”
I roll my eyes.
“Is it urgent?”
I skim the text. “He talked to his boss and has a few tweaks that he wants to work out. He’s hoping that we can get together tomorrow.” I groan. “I hate going into the office on Sunday.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says. “Tell him you can carve out an hour, and then we’ll go grab brunch afterwards.”
“Really?”
He smiles. “What? You think I don’t like brunch?”
I laugh and start to type out that answer in the text. As I do, Renly lifts his hand, signaling to someone across the room. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Unless you want to come with me?”
“Who is it?”
“The director of photography on the last film I worked on. Nice guy but a little grabby.” He glances at the skimpy dress that I’m wearing, a flowing skirt with a bodice held up by barely-there spaghetti straps. “Actually, why don’t you stay here?”
I smirk. “Yes, sir.”
He leaves, and a moment later Darrin responds to my text, agreeing to meet at ten. I’m putting my phone away when I catch a glimpse of dark hair on a medium-build man in a black suit. I do a double-take, thinking it’s Darrin, then push the thought away. If he were here, surely he would have come over.
I tell myself that I’m just imagining things since Darrin’s on my mind. I turn around, looking for a waiter so I can get a drink, when I find myself mere inches away from a stunning woman, tall and lithe with one of the most famous faces in the country, possibly the world. Francesca Muratti. She towers over me, courtesy of stilettos so high it’s amazing that she can walk without falling. She smiles, as friendly as a neighborhood Girl Scout, and extends her hand to me.
I take it without thinking.
“So you’re the flavor of the month,” she says.
“Pardon me?”
Her smile widens, showing teeth. “Renly’s newest toy.”
“I’m not a toy.”
“Then you clearly don’t know Renly.”
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
She takes a step back. Her head tilts as she studies me. “You definitely have moxie.”
“What is your problem? You don’t know me. You just decide to come over and rag on me about the man I came to this party with?”
“Are you dating him?”
“That is none of your business.” This conversation is beyond surreal.
She cocks her head. “Just remember—I had him first.”
“Congratulations?”
She makes a snorting noise. But I think I see something that looks like respect in her eyes.
For a moment we simply stare at each other, and it’s starting to get awkward when she says, “Has he taken you to Masque yet?”
I say a silent thank you to Nikki that I know what Masque even is. We went out drinking one night after work and she told me about how Damien surprised her by taking her to the private, underground sex club.
That was the night we shifted from being coworkers to outright friends.
I, of course, have never been to Masque. But the pieces fall into place now. As we walked in, I heard someone mention that they were on their way to the club. But they hadn’t left by the front door. Instead, they’d headed toward the back of the house.
I’ve heard other rumors, too, bits and pieces at various parties I’ve been to over the years. And from what I understand, sometimes Masque takes up this entire house, but sometimes it’s limited to a section in the back, like an old speakeasy where you have to know the proper password.
I don’t know the proper password. I don’t, however, intend to admit that to Francesca. I’m sparring with the most famous movie star in the world. I want to win. I don’t care about playing fair.
Which is why I lift my chin and say, “Of course. In fact, we’re heading back there and going tonight.”
For a moment, she doesn’t react at all, and I do a series of leaps and backflips in my mind, celebrating my awesome score. Then she takes a step forward, her brow furrowing, and I am absolutely certain that she’s going to ask me for details, and my bullshit is going to be called, and my victory is going to fizzle.
But then Renly walks up. My knight in shining armor. “Francesca?”
She smiles at him, that famous smile I’ve seen on so many posters.
“Is there a problem?”
“None at all. Your friend was just telling me that you two are going to Masque this evening.”
Renly looks at me, and I try to look completely nonchalant. Then he slides his hand along my back and, very slowly, says, “Yes. In fact, we’re heading there right now.”