Avoiding Extras

by K. A. Linde

  All right! All right! She cared. A little. A lot. She needed to figure out what she was doing anyway. At least she could enjoy her time with this handsome Italian designer.

  “So, Miss Van der Wal—” he said with a charming smile.

  “Please, call me Chyna,” she corrected.

  “Chyna,” he said as if he were tasting her name on his tongue. “That outfit looks better on you than any of my models.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a self-satisfied smile.

  “Have you ever been photographed before?”

  “No,” she said, narrowing her eyes cautiously.

  “Would you like to be?”

  She scoffed. “Is that your best pick-up line?”

  Marco laughed at her catty remark. He didn’t look like a man used to hearing rejection. Not that she had necessarily rejected him. She was still pretty open to the idea. She just hoped he would be a bit more creative. She could make him work for it—of that, she was sure.

  “So, is that a yes?”

  “I mean, I’m not opposed to it,” she said with a smile. “Would I be wearing this?” She trailed her hand down the side of her sheer purple blouse. The gold tank under it shimmered in the dressing room lighting. She liked the way his eyes followed her hand, taking her in.

  He took a step toward her, closing the distance. “In that,” he agreed. “Just that.”

  Her eyebrows rose at his blunt answer. She had expected him to be coy, flirting around his true meaning. She had expected cat and mouse even. Looking into his dark brown eyes, she was wondering why she’d had expectations at all…and where they had come from.

  This man didn’t need to play games. He won them without entering.

  A chill ran down her spine at his heated gaze, and she felt a familiar stirring in her body. He reminded her of someone…someone she was trying to forget ever existed…someone she wanted to stomp into oblivion. His very presence was dangerous, and all she wanted to do was revel in it. But, she had been there with this type of guy before, and she knew the road that laid ahead.

  She tried to push those thoughts away, focusing on the present. A very important fashion designer had just asked to photograph her nude. How often did these kinds of things happen?

  “I’m sure your fashion line would skyrocket to the top with that ad,” she said with a wink.

  “Hasn’t it already?” he asked with a cocky tilt to his head.

  “Are you saying that I wouldn’t improve it?”

  “If anything could improve it, you wearing this blouse would do the trick,” he told her.

  Chyna laughed. She ducked her chin and looked up at him through her dark curved lashes. “Thank you. Though, I do have to get going. I was very happy to see your line opening on Madison Avenue, and I’m thankful that you provided me with an invitation.”

  “Did I?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the left as if he was trying to place her.

  “Did you not?” She bit down on her bottom lip, not sure how else she would have come across the invitation. It didn’t make sense that Marco would have delivered it to her directly. He didn’t know her at all. Still, how else would it have gotten there?

  “I didn’t make the list, but it’s possible. When did you receive the invite?” he asked.

  Chyna wasn’t sure how that would have anything to do with it, but she told him anyway.

  “Two days ago.”

  “No, that can’t be right,” he told her with a conniving smile. “Unless your envelope was lost, I sent them out three weeks prior.”

  Chyna stood there in silence, contemplating all over again how the invitation had landed on her doorstep. Bernard had sworn that it wasn’t someone with the postal service, and if Marco had sent them through the mail, then something was really off. She just didn’t know what was off about it.

  “I guess mine got lost then,” she said with an uneasy smile.

  This was not the conversation she wanted to be having with him right now. She would rather be talking about him undressing her again. In fact, she would rather have him undress her right now. After all, he owned the place, so he could keep the dressing room clear long enough to bend her over this settee.

  “How unfortunate. You could have missed it had it not arrived in time.”

  “And, how fortunate I am that it did then.”

  “I feel quite fortunate as well,” he said, unexpectedly taking her hand in his.

  His hand was warm and soft, and she wanted nothing more than to let him hold it all day. She was such a sucker for powerful, seductive men. He was enticing like the gorgeous exterior to a poisonous flower. She could see how easily she could get lost in him, if she didn’t have somewhere else to be.

  “I guess I should go pay for this. Not going to find a better outfit than the one the designer has chosen for me,” she said, pulling out of his grasp.

  “Please,” he said reassuringly, “it’s on me.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “You already did.”

  Chyna nodded, knowing that glint in his eye meant there was no reasoning with him. She could afford the outfit, but it wasn’t about that at this point. He was picturing her in nothing but the sheer top with a camera. How could she deny him the pleasure of her taking it home?

  “Thank you,” she said, grabbing her purse and the dress she had been wearing earlier out of the dressing room. She walked past him, heading toward the exit, as he nodded at her in acknowledgment.

  He called out to her when she reached the curtain to the dressing room. “Chyna?”

  She stopped, her hand poised on the drawstring curtain. She turned around and faced him, wondering if this was going to be her movie moment. Would he come forward, kiss her, and beg her not to go? All she wanted to do was giggle at the thought. He didn’t seem like the Prince Charming type.

  He traversed the length of the dressing room, stopping in front of her. He pulled out his dark leather wallet and extracted a white-and-gold card. “When you change your mind,” he said, handing the card to her, “give me a call.”

  “What makes you think I’ll change my mind?” she asked, reaching forward and taking it out of his hand.

  He smirked. “Because you just took my card.”

  17

  Past

  Chyna flipped her hair over her shoulder and pushed past the curtain, refusing to acknowledge his statement. She wondered if he was laughing at her as she exited the room, but she wouldn’t look over her shoulder to find out.

  Frederick found her on the other side as she walked out of the dressing room, holding her old clothes. “You slut! I’m so jealous!” he cried when she approached.

  “Jesus, Frederick! Will you shut up much?” she asked as eyes followed her around the room.

  “Okay, my little twatwaffle,” he said, grabbing her elbow and ushering her out of the building like a high schooler desperate for the latest gossip.

  “Seriously?” she asked, rolling her eyes at him. “Can we please go have sex now?”

  “Threesome with Dallas? Neither of us do chicks, but you could…you know, watch,” he said with a shrug. “Or, maybe bring another dude and make it a party?”

  “You amaze me,” she said, peering into traffic before exiting onto the sidewalk.

  “No, three dudes would amaze you.”

  Her head was spinning. “I have to go. I can’t right now.”

  “No fucking way! You were alone with Marco Moretti, the Marco Moretti, for what like twenty to thirty minutes? Don’t think you can just pull the I-have-to-go line on me!”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Well, why the fuck not? I’d bang Marco Moretti in a dirty alleyway in front of a dumpster when it was raining with a football stadium full of people watching.”

  Chyna arched an eyebrow. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

  “Not the point, whore! What happened back there?” Frederick demanded.

  “He came on to me, offered to
take some pictures of me, put on the charm real thick, and nothing else,” she told him, stuffing her clothing into her oversized hobo bag.

  His eyes bugged out. “He wants to photograph you? And, you said no?”

  “I didn’t say anything, fucker, so calm your ass down,” she said, stopping at the intersection.

  “Well, let’s turn right back around and fix that.” He grabbed her elbow again and started pulling her back in the direction from which they had come.

  “No! Quit it! I’m not going to go back to him groveling!” she cried, slapping his hand.

  “Grovel for the man! It’s worth it.”

  “Frederick, I can’t today,” she said, swishing her long hair over to one shoulder. “I can’t…today.” She sighed heavily and glanced away from him.

  “Are you all right, baby?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into a hug.

  “Just not ready for this…this thing with Adam today. I can’t concentrate on anything. I’m all over the place. I’m scattered.” She fanned her face when she pulled back from Frederick. “God, now I’m leaking.”

  Frederick smiled, wiping away the tears welling in her eyes. “You’re too strong for this, sugar. Adam’s a great guy, but then again, so is that hot ass Italian fashion designer. And, he’s just as interested in you. No use worrying your pretty little head over a guy who hurt you. If Dallas pulled half the shit that Adam’s pulled on you, I’d cut off his dick and feed it to a blender.”

  Chyna cringed. “Bad, bad imagery!”

  “All I’m saying,” he said over her cries of protest, “is that you can do better. All right? I’m only saying it once. I hate sappy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, kissing his cheeks before pulling away. “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need it. You’re a fucking goddess,” Frederick said, smacking her ass as she walked away.

  She laughed as she veered through traffic to her waiting town car. Carl whisked her across town to a quaint restaurant that Adam adored. It was all Americana food, which meant she could eat hardly anything on the menu, but he loved it, so she obliged him. Dieting wasn’t really necessary, but she just hated greasy food like that. It made her feel disgusting and unhealthy. Guess her mom’s supermodel lifestyle had rubbed off on her in certain ways.

  When she walked into the restaurant, the bell jingling overhead, she saw Adam sitting in their normal spot in a bright red booth in the back. His eyes found her across the room, and he almost smiled before he looked back down at his plastic menu. She frowned and crossed the tiled floor to where he was seated.

  “Okay if I sit down?” she asked, hating how her voice sounded. Hadn’t she just been seduced by a multimillion-dollar fashion designer? Wasn’t she a strong desirable woman?

  He put his hand out, gesturing for her to sit, but he said nothing. She plopped down into the plastic-covered seat and picked up a menu, staring at it. Her appetite evaded her now that she was sitting in front of him, and everything on the menu suddenly sounded unappetizing.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” she said, biting on her bottom lip. She wished she had something else to do besides stare at the stupid menu.

  He didn’t glance back up from his menu, and for a second, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. “Well, you have the most annoying best friend in the world.”

  Chyna laughed and then coughed, trying to cover it up.

  “She certainly doesn’t give up on the people she cares about,” he said, looking up at her then, “like ever.”

  “Sounds like her,” Chyna said, holding back a smile. That sounded way too much like Alexa.

  The waitress came over, wearing a red and white–striped old-fashioned dress with ruffled socks in white Keds. Her hair was pulled up into pigtails with scrunchies. She looked utterly ridiculous. Chyna could never get over the outfits here. Just dress them in normal clothes!

  “What’ll ya have?” she asked, smacking away on her bubble gum, not even looking at them as she held her notepad poised and ready.

  Adam ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon and a fried egg on top with onion rings, instead of French fries, and a root beer. He burned calories like a maniac. Lucky fast metabolism. Chyna just asked for a strawberry milkshake, happily handing over her dirty menu. The waitress walked off with a grunt, flipping her pad back to the front, and slipped the menus under her arm.

  “Charming,” Chyna grumbled.

  “Judgey.”

  “With reason,” she said, pointing at the woman. “She was plain rude.”

  “She’s probably just had a long day.”

  Chyna hmphed, not wanting to talk about the unfortunate waitress.

  With nowhere else to look, Adam returned her gaze with a sigh. “You wanted to meet, so we’re meeting. I only have an hour lunch. What did you want to talk about?”

  Chyna swallowed and steeled herself for this. She was pleasantly sober. She hadn’t even been drinking the night before in anticipation of this conversation. “I...wanted to apologize,” she said meekly, wanting to break eye contact but not allowing herself, “for what happened.”

  “Apologize?” he asked suspiciously.

  She paused, wishing she didn’t have to do this. Why did it have to be this way? The one guy who she had agreed to actually give it a go with had ended up leaving her. She didn’t know how to do what she was about to do.

  “I can understand why you were pissed and why you left,” she said, her voice breaking. God, she had wanted to keep it together! “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. I probably could have picked a better time to tell you about it, and I could have handled everything that happened afterward better. So…I’m sorry. I was a shit, and I’m admitting that.”

  “You were a shit,” Adam agreed, “but…”

  Chyna froze in place at that word. She had not been expecting that word.

  “I was a shit, too. You were drunk, and I got pissed. Instead of working things out, I just left and let them simmer all week. That wasn’t fair to either of us,” he said, sighing. “I talked to John.”

  She felt her blood boil at the name. That son of a bitch! He had used her drunk ass for his own amusement. She had thought she was attracted to him, but really, it was one big façade. He was as charming as a con artist, slippery as a snake, and tricky as a thief. He had thought he could get an easy lay out of her, and when she had pushed him back, he had freaked out on her. She knew guys like him. From now on, she hated them, too. No one should be able to be that manipulative. He was a certified douche.

  “He owned up to what happened. Told a slightly different tale than the one you fed me, but I don’t think anyone will know what happened unless they were in the room that night. Frankly, I don’t want to know. What happened, happened. It’s over now. I can’t continue to dwell on it.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said softly as their food arrived.

  Adam took the opportunity to fill his mouth, so he didn’t have to talk. She could see he was brooding behind those big hazel eyes, but she didn’t ask a question. She wanted to soak up the fact that he had apologized as well. No way had she thought he would do that. She had been in the wrong, not him. Chyna sucked on her strawberry milkshake, mulling over the situation in silence. He had more to say, and she knew it. They weren’t finished with the conversation after not talking all week.

  Adam tore through his burger, and then he started picking at his onion rings. She waited for him to speak. He looked like he wanted to lead the conversation. When he finally spoke up, she almost wished he hadn’t.

  “Why my brother?”

  It was a question she didn’t have an answer for. She hadn’t kissed John. He had kissed her. But, that wasn’t good enough. As cruel as John had been that night when she had stopped the kiss, he did have a fair point. She had been thinking about the kiss and worse since she had met him. Her intentions had been anything but honorable, and it made her feel worse. She didn’t even want to fight him on this. She didn�
��t feel like she had a right to.

  “I don’t know,” she finally answered.

  “Really?” he asked, dipping an onion ring in ketchup.

  Chyna sighed, wishing she could go back and fix it. Fix her attraction to John. Fix her reaction to his advances. Fix the way she had confronted Adam. “It was a mistake. Plain and simple. I don’t have an excuse, not even a reason. It happened, and it was a mistake.”

  “You knew I looked up to him.”

  She nodded. She sucked harder on her milkshake, hoping he wouldn’t drag this out.

  “I asked you to hang out with him.”

  “I know,” she whispered, staring down at her milkshake, frustrated. What more did he want her to say? Did he want her to beg? She wouldn’t beg. “It was a mistake, Adam.”

  It was the first time she had said his name, and at the sound of it, he seemed to soften.

  “For a while, I thought you were a mistake,” he admitted.

  Chyna’s heart clenched painfully. She felt like she had been shot or punched or some other terrible thing. All the air was gone from her lungs, and she felt sick at the same time. How could he even say that to her? It was so cruel.

  “But, if you were a mistake, I wouldn’t want you back…and I do.”

  18

  Present

  Chyna crossed through Central Park, passing the far side of the MET, as she walked back out onto 5th Avenue. She veered north against traffic toward the entrance to the colossal building. She had always thought that when she grew up she would be the president of the board at the MET. It had been a strange childhood aspiration as far as dreams went for little kids, but she had thought it ordinary then. After realizing how much charity work she would have to do to even fathom getting on the board, she had quickly given up the thought. She didn’t want to be forced to do charity work. She would rather do it all on her own. However, she still enjoyed the opera and ballets that graced the stage.