“She was what tied us together.”
“You smile when you lie,” was all he said as he pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and set it on the table.
His footsteps may as well have been a countdown as he left the restaurant. With shaky fingers, Zoe lifted the piece of paper he’d slid toward her.
It was a bill.
For seventy grand.
And at the bottom, the added interest: her hand in marriage.
Dane slammed the car door behind him and leaned back against the warm, plush leather of the Escalade as Brittany and Everlee made their way into the restaurant. He watched like he always did.
Made sure there were men following them as per his promise to his sister back when the girls had still been modeling full time.
They’d had more stalkers than they realized.
And they had no idea how many of them he’d dealt with.
How many of them were now at the bottom of the Hudson with horror-filled faces and bodies weighed down with cement.
He looked down at his phone, ready to text Zoe, ready to tell her he needed her answer.
Not just for him.
For her, too.
Because she wasn’t safe.
Wouldn’t be safe if Ronan couldn’t magically rein in the district attorney. Dane’s worst fears would be realized. And he’d made a promise that he’d protect her, that she’d never have to be afraid again.
The problem with love was that you expected your other half to see you at your worst and accept it.
Zoe had seen him at his worst and ran screaming the other way. She saw his monster, and instead of embracing it or chasing the demons away, it was she who had bolted—in the opposite direction.
She was afraid of him.
But he would accept her fear if that meant he could attempt to take her love. Maybe that made him sick.
But it was the only way he knew how to be.
A headache throbbed at his temples as he turned on the tracking device for Frederick.
He fired off the address to his driver, a few blocks away. The photographer could be at a shoot. Or not.
The car rolled up to an empty warehouse.
The door opened. Dane stepped out and buttoned his coat against the wind and then walked over to one of the side doors.
Voices filtered out from inside.
He pressed his ear against the door and listened, trying to make out the muffled sounds.
“Are you sure?” a female voice asked. “I mean, my agent said it was fine but…”
“Don’t you trust your agent?”
“Of course! I’m living the dream!”
Dane almost rolled his eyes.
“Then just take off the blouse. You still have your bra on, but the shot will be a lot sexier with the light in here. Trust me, this is my job. All right, sweetheart?”
Silence. Then, “Okay…”
Dane had heard enough. He walked back to the SUV, got in, and dialed a number he hoped one day he’d get to lose. “Frank?” He drew out the name. “I’m going to give you an address. Make it quick, get some pictures and any information you think might be useful.”
“Am I doing cleanup?”
“No,” Dane said thoughtfully. “Not yet.”
But soon. Very. Soon.
“What’s that?” Brittany plopped down next to Zoe and hung her purse on the back of the chair. One didn’t just drop a Chloe bag on the dirty floor. Even though she made an incredible living, she always respected the merchandise. The clothes, the purses, the scarves, everything had a place, and that place wasn’t next to some guy’s spilled beer and a few peanuts.
Zoe jumped in her seat, folded the paper, and stuffed it into her bright pink Kate Spade. “Oh, you know, just notes.”
“Still going over Fashion Week?”
Zoe took a sip of her drink and drummed her sharp, black fingernails on the wood tabletop. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
Brittany leaned over and placed her hand on Zoe’s. “This is your moment, enjoy it.”
“Ugh.” Zoe fanned her green eyes as they started to mist. “I needed to hear that, thank you.”
“Love you.” Brittany squeezed her hand. “Now, what are you drinking?” She waved down the waiter, who took one glance at her and blushed.
She smiled wider.
He looked like a recent college graduate.
“Hi.” He swallowed at least five times before blurting, “What can I get you?”
“Not that.” Brittany made a face at Zoe’s drink. “Since when do you drink whiskey?”
“Never.” Zoe shoved the drink to the far edge of the table while Brittany looked over the menu.
“Hmmm, how about three Moscow mules with Tito’s and a tequila shot for right here.” Brittany softly patted the chair that had been empty for a year—and would remain empty, never to be filled again.
A feeling of loss swept over Brittany. It was painful. It always hurt when her past reminded her of things she’d rather forget.
Of choices she wished she could make again.
But that was the cruelty of humanity, wasn’t it?
Once you made a choice, you rarely got a second chance.
And if anyone asked her what she wished every time she found a penny and threw it into water…
It would be that.
For a second chance.
“Coming right up.” The waiter beamed.
“Thanks.” Brittany glanced at his name tag. “Brock.”
“Not a problem,” he said, still lingering, his eyes drinking Brittany in like she was on the menu right next to the cocktails.
Zoe cleared her throat.
He seemed to realize that he was still standing there, blushed harder, and then skipped off toward the bar.
Zoe made a face at Brittany. “Could you at least try to make it so another waiter doesn’t fall in love with you and then cries out of rejection?”
“One time.” Brittany threw her head back and laughed. “And he’d just gotten dumped. He was already sensitive. Plus, I gave him a huge tip.”
“Too bad, since I’m pretty sure all he wanted was your—”
“Sorry I’m late!” Everlee tugged at the chair, creating a screeching noise as she dragged it across the cement. “Whoops! Okay, what’d I miss? And why aren’t we drinking yet?”
“She was drinking when I got here.” Brittany outed Zoe. “And nothing important.”
“We’re about to lose another waiter,” Zoe grumbled.
Everlee dug around in her purse and pulled out a twenty. “Here you go.”
Zoe jerked it away. “Thank you!”
“Wait, are you betting on if I’ll get asked out? I thought we stopped doing that when we grew up.” Brittany looked between her friends with a soft smile.
“She’s too pretty,” Zoe said, ignoring her. “We need new friends.”
Brittany kicked her under the table, earning a laugh from Zoe just as their drinks arrived.
A moment of silence passed between them as the waiter placed the shot in front of the empty chair. It was always tense, filled with laughter and conversations that lasted for years, only to stop suddenly just when they’d seemed to climb out of the dark pit that was the modeling industry.
“Whose turn is it?” Everlee asked in a soft voice that completely matched her blue-and-white yacht dress and pink lips. She always looked like she just stepped off the cover of J. Crew. She was the epitome of a Hamptons wife, who had never visited the Hamptons long enough to claim the role.
“Mine.” Brittany eyed the tequila, not her favorite, but maybe it would make the pain of yesterday and the horror of tomorrow a little less severe. She grabbed the glass between her fingers, lifted it into the air, and whispered, “To Danica, we miss you.” The glass felt cool against her fingertips as she tilted it back and downed the entire drink. The alcohol burned the back of her throat and spread through her chest, settling like a bomb in her stomach as she reached for h
er Moscow mule to try and make the feeling go away. “Why did we pick tequila again?”
“Because.” Everlee smiled. “Danica was rough around the edges, the badass of the group, and she said she wanted us to take shots every girls night as a testament to the rest of the world that we’d made it, that we were successful enough to order top-shelf shots and drink on a weekday at a fancy bar.”
Brittany held her glass close as memories of Danica hit her hard in the chest. Their friend had been the wild one, and yet it was Brittany who’d gone and done the unthinkable, and Danica who had been there when she had nobody to turn to.
Miss you, friend…
She took a long sip of her drink then looked up. It was silent—too silent. They were talkers, so it was quiet enough for her to wonder if something was wrong.
And it was.
In a big way.
She almost dropped the drink as she set it on the table. As it was, she reached for both Zoe’s and Everlee’s hands underneath it and squeezed them tightly. “The nerve of that psycho.”
“I have other words to describe her,” Zoe said through clenched teeth while Everlee went white as a ghost.
Their old agent was in the corner with a group of five girls. A group of five men soon joined them, including Marnie’s right hand man and ex-lover an Arnold Schwarzenegger look alike who was fully prepared to do anything she asked. It was almost alarming how much they looked alike. His massive presence almost made Brittany want to cower as he pulled up a chair and started sliding small packages of drugs toward the girls like party favors. Nobody knew if he was the dealer, a bodyguard, or just the man who distracted the young models with his good looks and charm.
“We should go,” Everlee said in a hollow voice.
“No.” Brittany shook her head vehemently, disgusting that they had a daughter the same age as some of the models they were trying to get hooked, then again, that was the life wasn’t it? Her body gave an involuntary shudder. “She can go. This is our spot. Plus, you know she just likes to parade herself in front of us like a freaking pageant mom with too much access to hairspray and red lipstick.”
“Brittany said ‘freaking,’” Zoe repeated triumphantly, earning an eye roll from both women. “What?”
“I heard that the last girl Marnie booked on a shoot ended up crying in the bathroom because the photographer asked her to take her clothes off. Apparently, it was for some nude shot, but she was never told. Mr. Universe over there had to almost break down the door to get her out.” Figures. Marnie never told any of them anything. She just expected her models to keep their heads down and work. Her response to everything had been, “This is your job.” And the muscle over there was the right hand that enforced it.
“Marnie,” Zoe said like a curse.
“I know.” Brittany shook her head in disgust. “Bad enough that she sends her girls overseas to get hooked on drugs during the after-parties. ‘This is the lifestyle, this is what you wanted,’” she said, mimicking their ex-agent’s Italian accent perfectly as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. Classic Marnie. “She makes me sick.”
“Same.” Zoe downed the rest of her drink.
Brittany followed.
“Guys,” Everlee stood, “I’m going to use the restroom really quick.”
“Just don’t get caught in a corner with the crazy.” Zoe nodded to Marnie’s group.
“No worries.” Everlee lifted a shoulder and weaved through the crowd.
“Look at her,” Brittany said in disbelief. “The doppelganger literally just copped a feel and handed the same girl a package of cocaine!”
“Stay skinny,” Zoe said mockingly.
“Stay awake,” Brittany added. “Keep them happy.”
“Never say no,” Zoe finished in a harsh whisper.
“Back!” Everlee announced, looking like the bathroom was the place to be if you wanted to experience a revival.
“That was quick.” Brittany reached for her drink again, twisting the straw between her fingers to keep herself from waving the waiter over for another. It was exactly what she needed, especially with Marnie making a scene. Brittany didn’t hate people. Not really. At least, she tried not to. But, Marnie? Marnie was the sort of person who was easy to hate because she was selfish to her core. Everything revolved around her. And it all came back to money. She asked for your soul, and if you didn’t give it, she was through with you. She manipulated, she lied, and she had no qualms about seducing the younger male models into her bedroom.
Something Brittany had only found out about after one of them had confessed to her that he had been forced to stay over at Marnie’s house for a shoot in the morning. He’d had no money, and after taking him out to dinner, one thing had led to another.
He had been raped.
He said it was consensual.
When Brittany asked why he lied, he said it was because Marnie had fed him.
He’d lasted about four months before getting sent back to Oklahoma with a bill for all the expensive dinners Marnie had paid for, plus interest.
The woman was an emotional terrorist with too much power and way too many influential friends.
Except for Dane.
Dane hated her.
Which made Dane a friend, even though Zoe would probably disagree.
Then again, that was a situation Brittany never truly understood because it was the one thing Zoe refused to talk about.
“Food?” Everlee grabbed a menu. “I haven’t eaten yet.”
Brittany cleared her throat.
“Oh, stop.” Everlee set the menu down. “I’ve been starving all day, believe me, but the shoot went long, then I had to change, and I had time for one Starbucks stop before my next call.”
“For what?” Zoe asked, changing the subject.
Everlee’s face lit up. “Oh, you know, just InStyle.”
Brittany’s jaw dropped. “But they usually only put celebrities on their covers.”
“Not that you aren’t famous…” Zoe added, giving Brittany a scathing look.
“You know what I mean. Actresses.” Brittany glared right back and then flashed a smile at Everlee. “We need details!”
“Well…” Everlee clapped her hands. “Sadly, our friend here is right. The last cover was Jennifer Aniston, and the one before that was J-Law. Point is, they like actresses, but they’re doing a three-page spread for their Winter Wonderland shoot, and I got a callback!”
“That’s amazing!” Brittany cheered. “You’ll get it, I know you will.”
“Pray for her.” Zoe winked.
“Always do,” Brittany said sweetly, meaning it down to her core. “How else do you think we escaped that?” She nodded her head toward Marnie, who was currently draping her arms over two male models who looked like they hadn’t yet hit puberty.
“Amen,” Zoe said on a laugh.
“And cheers.” Everlee lifted the menu. “Now, let’s eat!”
“Let’s.” Brittany eyed the menu and then grabbed her drink and downed the rest of the watered-down ice.
The alcohol should have helped by now.
The pain was still there.
The fear.
The hollowness in her stomach that matched her chest, where her heart should beat with excitement.
Roger was healthy and fine.
Her friends were with her.
She had a date!
Her stomach sank even lower.
The waiter came back. “Another round,” she said as casual as she could looking back down at the menu. Her eyes always gravitated toward the fries. She imagined what it would be like to dip them in ranch and then let the grease from an accompanying burger drip down her chin onto her tan legs.
“Shrimp salad,” she said instead. “Dressing on the side.”
“Same,” the other girls said in unison.
She’d had enough shrimp salads to last a lifetime.
In the corner, Marnie laughed louder.
It seemed no matter how hard
they tried, some things just never changed, did they?
Everlee couldn’t stop shaking as she flipped through the channels. Late-night TV took over the apartment as the lights from their floor-to-ceiling windows displayed an incredible view of SoHo.
She flipped to Jimmy Fallon and grabbed a pillow to hug. It made her feel like her hands weren’t shaking as much when she held something. Especially since Frederick had gone long on another shoot.
She sighed as the TV buzzed in the background.
Lonely.
After happy hour, she’d stopped off at Walgreens and made the purchase she’d been putting off for five days.
Now, dark shadows danced around the walls, mocking her, making her feel like she wasn’t so alone. At least she had noise from the TV, right?
How was it possible to be so lonely when she was married? Famous? Money bought her things. Fame got her Frederick. But her heart? It needed more than a pillow to hug, didn’t it?
She chewed her lower lip.
She wouldn’t take another.
She didn’t need the pills anyway.
They just helped her relax.
She was shaking for another reason entirely.
The timer went off on her phone.
With a jolt, she stood on shaky bare feet and walked for what felt like an eternity to the master bathroom.
“It’s probably nothing,” she said to herself. The lonely silence seemed to crackle around her like lightning had manifested itself inside her room, within the walls of the expensive, white tile.
Only the best for Frederick.
For the couple that had it all.
She eyed herself in the mirror.
Beautiful, flowing, blond hair; wide, brown eyes; perfect lips compliments of Dr. Ajaya.
Breasts that were high and full.
Not too big.
Not too small.
Four hundred fifteen ccs on the right, and four hundred fifteen on the left.
Toned muscles from hours of Pilates.
A spray tan that cost more than most people’s weekly food bill.
It was fine.
Everything was in order.
Focus on the positive.
Maybe it was the stress that had been making her paranoid. After all, her husband had come home smelling like skank—and not just once.
Fashion Jungle Page 5