“That’s kind of a great idea.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I’m completely pleased with myself. “Now I just have to get it arranged with the hotel, invite everyone, figure out the decorations, and at least eight thousand other things I’m forgetting. All within a week. And keep Damien from clueing in.” I frown at Jamie. “I can do it, right? Tell me I can do it.”
“Oh, totally,” she says dryly. “No problem at all.”
Chapter Two
Friday is a complete waste of a work day—but I don’t mind because I manage to make a ton of progress on the surprise party. And I don’t care what Jamie and Rachel think, I am so going to pull this off.
Even though Damien was in New York most of the day—and is now en route from the airport to the Stark Century Hotel where he’s meeting Noah for cocktails—I’d done most of my legwork from my office in Studio City. Just because there’s less risk of Damien running across a stray scrap of paper.
I’d started the day with the guest list, methodically creating a spreadsheet with the name of everybody I want to invite, and then going one by one through the list and either calling or emailing them. Most responded right away, and so far I only have two regrets—my friend Ollie, because he’s in Munich doing some sort of corporate legal work for a major client; and Sylvia’s brother Ethan because he’s in Australia with a girl he met recently.
I still have a few more people to call, and some who haven’t reported in, but it’s shaping up to be a nice crowd.
I’d also spent over an hour on the phone arranging for decorations and the cake. Sally Love, the owner of Love Bites, did the cupcakes for our wedding reception, and she’s agreed to not only create a massive cake for the party, but to also take care of transporting it to Santa Barbara. I’m leaving her to decide on design and flavor—she’s the hottest celebrity dessert chef around these days, and I trust her completely. She’s also a good friend, and I know she’ll do us right.
As for the rest of the food, I was planning to have the hotel cater, but when I invited Damien’s childhood friend Alaine Beauchene, he insisted on handling at least one station. Alaine is the owner of Le Caquelon, a popular fondue restaurant, and although I’d intended him to only come as a guest, I’ve had his fondue and it’s amazing. So no way was I going to turn down that offer.
Unfortunately, by the time I had to leave the office to head to Stark Tower, I still hadn’t touched base with Richard Layton, the manager of the Pearl. Instead, we’ve been playing phone tag all day. Which makes me nervous, considering the hotel accommodations are pretty much the cornerstone of my whole birthday scheme.
Now, I’m heading down the 101, hoping to get back to the apartment in record time.
Because tonight, I have a plan.
My phone rings, and I press the button on the steering wheel to connect the call.
“Mrs. Stark?”
“Call me Nikki, Edward,” I say for the billionth time, even though we both know that as Damien’s primary driver, he’ll never back off the formality.
“Of course, Mrs. Stark.”
I bite back a smile. “Where is he?”
“I just left him at the hotel. I told him I needed to get gas and asked when he wanted me back.”
“Brilliant,” I said. “How long’s he planning on being with Noah?”
“Apparently Mr. Carter has plans later this evening. Mr. Stark told me to expect him to be ready to leave by six-thirty.”
I glance at the clock and realize I need to hurry. “Okay, thanks. I’ll be home in ten. I’ll text you when I’m all set.”
“I’ll be in position,” he says, and it’s my turn to laugh. The way we’re talking you’d think we were doing espionage.
No sooner have I hung up with Edward than my phone rings again. This time it’s Richard, and we’re able to smooth the way through the hotel plans. Basically, I want the party to be in the Presidential Suite. It’s an incredible suite with a marble staircase, a wall of windows that rises two stories with a view of the ocean, and a rooftop garden.
The hitch is that Damien always stays in that suite when we go to the Pearl. Which means we either have to lie and tell him it’s occupied—which is risky as he might find out otherwise during the trip—or I have to come up with some clever way to get him out of the room so that the party guests, food, alcohol, and decorations can all move in and get set up.
“How long will that take?” I ask Richard, wincing a little even before he answers.
“An hour minimum.”
“Could you pull it off in forty-five minutes?”
He makes a strangled, helpless sound. “For Mr. Stark, I think we can manage.”
“You’re amazing,” I say, and then we turn to the next task—trying to figure out what the excuse to leave the room could possibly be.
“I’ll keep working on it,” I say as I turn into the Stark Tower parking garage. Nothing I’ve come up with is even remotely convincing or certain. A birthday dinner is logical, but dicey. Because first, I want Damien to be hungry for the spread of food at the party. And second, what if he decides that ordering room service and having dinner in bed is a more entertaining way to spend his birthday? If I disagreed, he’d know right away that something was up.
I frown, considering. Maybe theater tickets? Richard would probably like the extra time.
I make a mental note to see what’s playing, and then park my car and hurry toward the elevator.
Less than fifteen minutes later, I’ve freshened my make-up and am wearing my favorite casual dress. I love it because it’s made of soft jersey material and is incredibly comfortable. I chose it because it’s easy to get on and off.
I text Edward, pack a tote with the few essential items I need to carry out my evening’s plan, and then head back down into the parking structure.
The limo is waiting for me by the elevator alcove, and Edward comes over to open the door for me. “Good evening, Mrs. Stark.”
“Thanks for doing this, Edward,” I say.
“Now, you know it’s no trouble. The more I’m driving, the further I get in my book.”
“What are you listening to now?” Edward is addicted to audiobooks, and we’ve been comparing notes on the classics.
“To Kill a Mockingbird. Can you believe I’ve never read that book before?”
“It’s one of my favorites. I’m surprised you got through school without reading it.”
He winks at me. “I managed to get through school without doing a lot of things. I regret some of them now. But not all,” he adds, with a devious smile.
“I re-stocked the bar,” he says as I slide in. “And everything else you asked for is stocked as well.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like the privacy screen up on the way back to the hotel?”
“Please,” I say. Often I keep it down when it’s just Edward and me, but today I have a wardrobe change to take care of.
Traffic is light, but I work quickly, and by the time we’re close to the hotel, I’m putting the finishing touches on my surprise.
“Are you ready, Mrs. Stark?” Edward asks over the intercom. “I can circle once if you need more time.”
“I’m good,” I assure him. “Do you see Damien?”
“He’s just stepping out of the hotel. Have a lovely evening, Mrs. Stark.”
“That’s my plan,” I reply as the limo pulls to a stop outside the hotel. I’m sitting on a rear-facing bench just in front of the privacy screen. There’s also a black velvet curtain that bisects the limo just a few feet in front of me, and I’ve closed it. The result is that I’m in a small, secluded section with no view of the rest of the passenger area.
All I can do is wait, which I do impatiently until I hear the click of the handle and then the door being opened at the far end of the limo. I lean forward, then peek through the slit
between the two halves of the curtain and watch as Damien enters and gets settled. He has his phone out, the bright screen illuminating his face as he taps something out. I bite my lower lip, hoping that I’m right about the message he’s sending.
“Are you heading home, Mr. Stark?” Edward asks, and though it may be my imagination, I think I hear a note of amusement in his voice.
Damien nods as Edward shuts the door. A moment later, I hear a sharp ping from the storage area on the sidewall of the limo, just a few feet from Damien. I press my lips together, my heart starting to beat faster. Yeah, I think. The game is on.
I know I should move further back to ensure he doesn’t see me, but I can’t resist watching, and so I hold the curtain tightly shut and peer through the only gap that remains, barely larger than a pinhole.
I watch as Damien frowns, then slides across the bench seat to the compartment designed as a holding place for small personal items that might otherwise roll across the floor or get misplaced in the usually dark interior.
I know of course what he’ll find in the compartment: My phone. And a pair of lace thong panties.
He pulls out both, and even in the dim lighting I can see amusement in his eyes—along with a rising heat.
His gaze moves slowly around the limousine’s interior, and I can almost see him running through the possibilities. Is Edward taking him to meet me? Or am I right there, just a few feet away?
He eases forward, crouching as he moves toward my end of the limo. I back away, careful not to move the curtain, and sit down, my arms casually thrown over the back of the bench, my legs crossed, and a sparkly high-heeled sandal dangling from one foot.
I see his fingers first as he reaches into the gap between the halves of the curtain. Then he pushes them apart in one quick, efficient movement that has the drapery rings clacking—and which reveals him on his knees in front of me.
“Ms. Fairchild,” he says, as he looks me up and down. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” I run my fingertips down my cleavage to the silk bodice of the gown I’m wearing. Except it’s not a gown—it’s actually a robe that’s designed to look like an elegant garment. And it’s held together by one simple tie around my waist.