Page 25 of Memories of You

“Really?”

He smiles. “What? You think I don’t like brunch?”

I laugh and start to type out that answer in the text. As Ido, Renly lifts his hand, signaling to someone across the room. “I’ll be rightback,” 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 ofdark hair on a medium-build man in a black suit. I do a double-take, thinkingit’s Darrin, then push the thought away. If he were here, surely he would havecome over.

I tell myself that I’m just imagining things since Darrin’son my mind. I turn around, looking for a waiter so I can get a drink, when I findmyself mere inches away from a stunning woman, tall and lithe with one of themost famous faces in the country, possibly the world. Francesca Muratti. Shetowers over me, courtesy of stilettos so high it’s amazing that she can walkwithout falling. She smiles, as friendly as a neighborhood Girl Scout, andextends 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 tocome 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 beyondsurreal.

She cocks her head. “Just remember—I had him first.”

“Congratulations?”

She makes a snorting noise. But I think I see something thatlooks like respect in her eyes.

For a moment we simply stare at each other, and it’sstarting 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 evenis. We went out drinking one night after work and she told me about how Damiensurprised her by taking her to the private, underground sex club.

That was the night we shifted from being coworkers tooutright friends.

I, of course, have never been to Masque. But the pieces fallinto place now. As we walked in, I heard someone mention that they were ontheir way to the club. But they hadn’t left by the front door. Instead, they’dheaded toward the back of the house.

I’ve heard other rumors, too, bits and pieces at variousparties I’ve been to over the years. And from what I understand, sometimesMasque takes up this entire house, but sometimes it’s limited to a section inthe back, like an old speakeasy where you have to know the proper password.

I don’t know the proper password. I don’t, however, intendto admit that to Francesca. I’m sparring with the most famous movie star in theworld. 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 ofleaps and backflips in my mind, celebrating my awesome score. Then she takes astep forward, her brow furrowing, and I am absolutely certain that she’s goingto ask me for details, and my bullshit is going to be called, and my victory isgoing to fizzle.