Page 99 of Wicked Heat

“You okay?” Ash asks, as I slide into my chair and start to crane my neck looking for her.

“I just saw Kiki King. I love her stuff. If she sits anywhere near us, do you think it would be totally inappropriate to ask for her autograph?”

Ash starts to answer, then just closes his mouth, looking so amused I give him a light slap on the arm. “Stop laughing at me. I don’t fan girl often, but I really like her. I’ve seen her in concert twice already.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he assures me. Then tilts his head up and says, “Hey, Kiki.”

I spin around so fast I almost give myself whiplash, then feel my mouth drop open when Kiki Freaking King slides onto Noah’s lap and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

That’s when I remember that King is Kiki’s stage name. Her real name is Kiki Porter Carter, and considering how long Noah has worked with Damien, I have no idea how I missed this little factoid about his wife’s identity.

“Ash,” she says with a huge smile. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m a little trapped.”

“She’s been gone for a week,” Noah tells us all. “I’m not letting her off my lap for at least another five minutes.”

“I love your work,” I say as a man I recognize from parties at Nikki and Damien’s house joins our group. A man with chestnut hair, broad shoulders, and hard assessing eyes. Media mogul Matthew Holt, who I happen to know is also Kiki’s producer.

He also owns a sex club in Los Angeles, but I’m not sure that’s public knowledge, and I’m certainly not going to mention it now.

He pauses, frowning as he looks at me. I’m about to introduce myself when he taps the side of his nose. “Bree, right? We’ve met at various Stark functions.”

“Yes,” I say, more than awed by the man’s memory. Then again, he has his fingers in pretty much every entertainment pie, not to mention various other entrepreneurial ventures. It’s probably fair to assume that men like that tend to remember random facts, stock prices, and the names of people they’ve met.

“Matthew, I’m about to drag Noah—and I assume Kiki by association—over to my condo. We have a few things to talk about in a less public venue. Care to join us?”

His eyes sweep the room, landing on a stunning woman standing next to the piano and scowling at her phone. “Actually,” Matthew says, “I’m going to pass. I think I have a date.” His mouth curves into a knowing smile. “And if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll give you a shout before I pop by.”

“Fair enough,” Ash says. “Drinks when we’re both back in LA?”

“Absolutely.” His eyes meet mine. “It will be nice to see you again, Bree.”

“Oh,” I say stupidly. Because I’m not sure if he’s assuming there’s more between Ash and me than there really is… or if he’s expecting there will be by the time we meet again.

Ash’s rooftop condo is absolutely stunning. Not only does it look out over Lady Bird Lake—which from what I can tell is really a river that that separates North and South Austin—but it also has a view of the Congress Avenue Bridge and the famous bats that live beneath it.

Or, at least, that’s what Ash tells me. Apparently, they come out at sunset, and since we didn’t get to the condo until almost midnight, we missed tonight’s show.

“Tomorrow,” he says as I stand on the patio and look across the river to the lights of South Austin. He brushes a kiss to my temple. “We’ll sit out here with champagne, watch the bats fly into the sunset, and celebrate the fact that those prick blackmailers are in custody and won’t ever bother you again.”

“You really believe that?” He’s standing behind me, his arms around my waist, and I twist to look up at him.

“How can I not? Have you seen my table?”

Despite the circumstances, I can’t help but laugh. Noah has completely taken over the oval-shaped dining table. There are three computers, some sort of gizmo that looks like a Big Black Box, but which Noah swears is the heart of it all, a bazillion cords, and various other techno gadgets that I’m assured will help Noah trace the money Ash will be transferring on my behalf at two tomorrow, which is also noon Pacific time.

As Ash and Noah settle in to talk techno, Kiki and I take a bottle of wine out onto the patio, and, despite me having a serious fan girl moment, we have a reasonably normal time talking life, the universe, and men while we sip a very nice chardonnay.

“I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” Kiki says. “But Noah’s the smartest man I know—don’t tell Ash or Damien,” she adds, making me laugh. “He’ll track the money, and he’ll find out who’s behind this, and it will all be over.”

“I hope so,” I say. “I’d thought it was done when Rory was captured. Then it all came back months later when we learned that he wasn’t the only one involved.”

“And now this.”

I nod. “Now this.”

“As soon as it’s over, you and Ash need to take a trip.”

“That would be amazing,” I tell her. “But…” I trail off with a shrug.