Chapter 24
Nothing Keeping You Here
Kiki
Ipivot in front of the mirror, critiquing my reflection from every angle. Maybe if I stare long enough I might actually grow an ass and boobs again.
No such luck.
These will have to do.
The dress I’m wearing wasn’t part of my original plan.
I had your standard black cocktail dress all ready to go when I spotted this one tucked in the back of my closet.
Total impulse buy, picked up years ago during a shopping trip with my aunt.
It’s the kind of dress you swear you have to buy because one day you’ll have the perfect occasion to wear it.
The problem is that kind of occasion usually never shows up.
Until now, I guess.
It’s deep plum silk, the kind that catches the light when I move, skimming over my frame in a way that makes me look a little more voluptuous and a little less like I’ve been existing on caffeine and anxiety for the past few months.
It also has a thigh-high slit along one leg that I’m not entirely sure I can pull off, but here we are.
My hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, and my makeup seems to be holding steady.
Although… did I smudge my lipstick again? I lean toward the mirror and retouch my lip liner for what has to be the fifth time tonight.
I need to get a grip.
It’s been a couple of days since I’ve seen Eddie, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wondering about his “not-really-a-date” date on Valentine’s Day.
Who it was with. Hopefully not Romy.
How it went. Hopefully not well.
And how it ended. Definitely not with them in bed together.
My brain and I are not on speaking terms, seeing as she refuses to focus on benign topics like world peace or caviar.
But I am looking forward to seeing Eddie tonight. After all, there’s a good chance neither of us will know anyone at this party besides each other, which gives us a reason to stick together, right?
Unless he spends the night hanging out with Romy after their “not-really-a-date” date.
Brain, shut up.
I grab my keys and start the car, letting it warm up while I finish gathering my things.
My phone rings on the counter, and every muscle in my body locks when I glance down at the screen.
Federal Detention Center.
Jesus. What the hell does Drake want now?
I could ignore it. Let it go to voicemail. Pretend I didn’t see the call come through.
But Drake has a vindictive streak a mile wide, and I’m already jumping at shadows. The last thing I need is to give him another reason to be angry.
I make the sign of the cross—even though I haven’t been a practicing Catholic in decades—and swipe to answer.
As usual, and I can’t believe I’m actually used to this, the automated voice comes on the line, asking if I’ll accept a collect call from Drake.
I close my eyes and bite back a shudder. “Yes.”
After a moment, my estranged husband is on the other end of the line. “Wasn’t sure you were going to pick up.”
“What do you need, Drake?”
His soft chuckle hums through the phone. “There are a ton of things I need. Getting them is the problem.”
Yeah, I’m not listening to your rendition of Little Boy Lost right now.
I grab a glass and pour a splash of wine into the bottom. It’s barely a teaspoon, but it still counts as liquid courage, and I need all the help I can get. With a sigh, I toss it back before leaning against the counter, my lipstick long forgotten.
“My lawyer said you hung up on him.”
“Yep,” I reply. “Three times.”
“Kiki…” His voice is a razor blade wrapped in cotton. “That’s not very cooperative.”
“Drake, I already told you. I don’t want any part of this.”
“Of what? Telling the truth about that night? Don’t see why that would be a problem.”
My stomach churns, threatening to expel the wine I just downed. I know this is a recorded line, which means he has to be careful with what he says. Can’t reveal too much of his plot to escape the noose.
Maybe I should announce his plan, busting it all to hell. If he keeps it up, I may do just that. See how he enjoys being on the receiving end of wrath for a change.
“I heard things went south with the guy you were seeing,” he continues. “That’s a shame.”
Just like that, my world tilts. How the hell does he know about Eddie?
My grip tightens on the phone, so hard I’m surprised the screen doesn’t crack. “What are you talking about?”
Apparently, playing dumb isn’t my best option.
Drake scoffs into the receiver. “Come on now. You don’t think I still have eyes and ears out there? That I don’t know what’s going on?”
A shard of fear slices through my spine, sending rivulets of terror through every blood vessel.
“I’ve got nothing but time in here, sweet cheeks.”
Time to plan. Time to plot. Time to make my life a living hell if I don’t play along.
And now he knows about Eddie. He might not hesitate to hurt him too, just to get back at me for whatever perceived wrong he thinks I’ve done to him.
“Oh, that,” I blurt, desperate to spin a story that sounds somewhat reasonable. “It meant nothing. It’s been over for a while.”
A bitter laugh reverberates through the line. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Leave him alone, Drake. He has nothing to do with us.”
“I don’t have any problem with him,” he replies easily. “Look, you’ve gotta get your rocks off somewhere, right, sweet cheeks?”
“Stop calling me that.” He knows I hate that nickname. Always have. Now? It makes my skin crawl.
He chuckles again, no doubt getting off on getting under my skin. “Look, stop hanging up on my lawyer. And give some real serious thought to coming clean about that night. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
There it is. To a passerby, it sounds like a bit of amenable advice, but I know Drake all too well. I read between his lines.
Don’t make this hard on me, or I’ll make it torture for you.
“Drake, I—”
But he’s gone, the line clicking dead in my hand.
If this wasn’t Nolan Montague’s party, I would’ve called with my regrets, because I am definitely not in a party mood anymore. Not after Drake.
But Nolan is the man signing my checks for the foreseeable future, and he made it abundantly clear that Eddie and I were expected to attend. So here I am.
I pass my keys to the valet and force a polite smile before turning toward the house.
I know it’s the same place we’ve been working on for weeks—I can see the unfinished wings stretching off to the left and right of the main portion—but it all feels different.
Warm light oozes through the foyer, and the living and dining rooms have been transformed into a space befitting a king.
No joke.
Nolan did not go subtle. The furniture is clearly staged, but it’s been done well, with plush seating arranged in conversational clusters, antique-style bar carts gleaming in the corners, and flickering candlelight layered over everything like a filter designed to make people forget they’re standing in the middle of an active construction zone.
It’s incredible… and a little ridiculous. I can’t help but wonder why Nolan ever needed Eddie and me at all when he can snap his fingers and make a place look like this in two nights.
Then again, I’ve worked my ass off on these rooms, and if I catch any of these rich snobs leaning against that freshly installed wallpaper, stuff that cost $1500 a roll and took me fourteen phone calls to France to order, I might actually commit a felony and end up in hotter water than Drake.
I want to go home.
Well, Kiki, old girl, that’s not an option right now, so find yourself a drink and a corner, and try not to look like you’re completely petrified to be here.
A server offers me a glass of champagne, but the last thing I need is bubbles amplifying the anxiety already clawing its way up my throat, so I make a beeline for one of the antique bar carts and grab a glass of wine.
Now to find a quiet corner. At least I know this house better than anyone, Nolan Montague included, so I know where to look. Craning my neck, I note how the vestibule off the dining room sits in relative shadow.
I can tuck myself out of sight until this whole thing is over.
Sadly, my plan lasts all of three seconds.
Across the room, I spy a familiar face. The mayor of Sparkwood offers me a discreet nod. His wife is not so subtle, her sharp gaze slicing straight through me as she leans in to whisper something to the woman beside her.
Fantastic.
I’m at a party hosted by a Hollywood big shot, and I still can’t escape my local bully contingency.
Way past time to hide, and I’m just a few steps from freedom when I hear my name.
Pivoting, I see Mr. Howard looking like he just stepped out of a courtroom in his pressed suit. “Kiki, you look lovely.”
What the hell is he doing here?
“Hello, Mr. Howard. You’re a surprise.”
He nods. “When you sit on as many boards as I do, you get invited to these shindigs. What about you?”
No doubt code for: why would the pariah of Sparkwood be invited to such an upscale party?
I motion around the room. “I work here, actually. Nolan Montague insisted I attend tonight.”
His brows lift slightly. “So you and Eddie are working together?”
No, no, no. Come on universe, give me a break.
“We’re not working together. I mean, he’s handling the construction, and I’m in charge of the interiors. It was Nolan’s idea, actually.”
Mr. Howard gives my arm a gentle pat. “It’s all right, dear. I told you before, there’s no issue with you two working together, so long as there’s no personal overlap. Deirdre hasn’t mentioned the custody issue in weeks. We’d like to keep it that way.”
Message received, Mr. Howard. Stay the hell away from Eddie for the duration.
At this rate, I might as well lock myself in a cupboard so I don’t bother anyone by existing.
But I nod and mumble, “Absolutely no overlap at all, sir.”
“Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.” He brushes his palms together. To him, the matter is settled. “I’m off to sample some food. Would you care to join me? Tell me about this fabulous restoration?”