Her First Knight - The Beginning: Storm Lake (Under-Cover Knights Book 2)

by Livia Quinn

  What was that expression “screwed the pooch”? Was she setting herself up to fail? In this case, she had to go with her instincts. She knew what she wanted. Knew it as well as she knew her name—Lana Maisel Calloway. She’d ditched the “Lana” after retiring from modeling. Everyone in the fashion industry knew Lana Maisel but Buffy was particularly fond of her Calloway heritage. It held special significance to her. The Calloways had always known exactly what they wanted, knew when they’d found the mates they would spend the rest of their lives with.

  Buffy was toying with the name for her agency. The question was did she go with her name, capitalize on the notoriety of it, or use something more industry appropriate? The resources she had available would determine her choices because more publicity would be necessary to promote a name that wasn’t as recognizable.

  Right now those resources included her own rapidly dwindling savings and the investment from her friend, Skye. Skye O’Rourke was a former model like herself who gave up her career to open an air cargo business outside Thunder Point. Skye’s mother had offered Buffy five years free rent on a property she owned in Thunder Point but Buffy was tired of being away from her family. She was through with the non-stop globetrotting, schmoozing, and missing those important birthdays and other special occasions. She’d missed too many already.

  She believed in her dream and was positive it would work in her hometown—Larue, Louisiana. Not only had she given it substantial study and done her due diligence, but there’d been significant growth in her online photo gallery.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  Chapter Four

  Ridge spotted Buffy Calloway in the bar near the promenade. He slowed, his first inclination to turn around before she saw him and take the back way to his room. Irked with himself, he continued in her direction. When had that started anyway? He’d never been one to run away from a fight or a challenge. But he had a feeling he’d just run up against an immovable object.

  She was strategically situated where she could see all traffic going in and out the front door, or entering most of the shops and restaurants. And as she well knew, it would be difficult for any red-blooded male to pass her by without noticing the stunning blue eyed woman, with the long sweep of legs crossed at the ankles sitting right at the edge of the carpeted walkway, her head angled to expose a creamy throat and the sleek French up-do. A few long strands of that red gold hair had escaped and teased the eye as it snaked down her skin into the vee of the ivory silk. The look was classy without being too sophisticated.

  She was deep in thought, so deep that she’d missed her target’s approach. Well, Ridge, that was arrogant. She could have another engagement. He stopped and looked the bar over to see if anyone gave him a territorial eye. There were a few that seemed like they might be envious. He decided to get it over with. Crow wasn’t his favorite meal, but he’d eaten his share of it.

  “Waiting for someone?” he asked.

  She jerked, clenching her fist and at first he thought she was going to launch a punch at him. But her hand went to her chest and she laughed. It was a sound that made him think of birds scattering in an early morning sunlit field. It floated free and light, welcoming. No subterfuge. He remembered their first meeting and didn’t want to waste a minute with her thinking the worst.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Please, don’t apologize. I was watching for you.”

  And no games, he thought. Refreshing. He smiled, “I figured as much. You seem like a lady who doesn’t take no for an answer.” He frowned, “I feel like I owe you an apology. Last night wasn’t… I mean, I don’t usually…” His breath left in a whoosh, and he looked down the promenade.

  That delightful laugh came again. “You don’t usually strip on stage in front of a bunch of strange women?”

  Ridge blushed. That was a first, too. Hopefully, with his dark complexion she hadn’t noticed.

  “Aww, don’t be embarrassed. If the real cover model hadn’t shown up you wouldn’t have been busted. You were very convincing.” And a natural, she thought, but the blush warned her to go slow.

  He cleared his throat. “Can we forget about last night?”

  A laugh bubbled up before she could stop it and Buffy said, “Should I lie and say I can forget? I’m afraid your performance has been indelibly engraved on a few dozen fertile minds. There’s no telling where your description might end up. And there were at least a few camera phones in the room.” Concern etched his forehead in a frown.

  “Ah, didn’t think of that?” She felt compassion for the big guy.

  “Actually, I don’t know where that… person came from.” Ridge sighed and asked, “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Not at all…” she held out her hand, “I’m Buffy Calloway.”

  He took her hand without hesitation, “Ridge Romano.” So it was Italian heritage, she thought. He sat and a waiter came by to take his order. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, thanks.” He turned to Buffy. “You’re not serious about the pictures are you?”

  If he was worried about having some innocent fun show up on an author’s social page somewhere, he wasn’t going to like her proposal. She should tread very carefully.

  “Oh, I doubt it will hit the front page of the Washington Post. What were you doing at the conference?”

  He smiled, “I got on the elevator behind you, as a matter of fact. I wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I knew I was in the hallway of the convention level surrounded by women. I was curious about what was going on. I… saw one of your book covers in that room. Does that mean you’re a cover model?”

  “I’ve done a few covers.” Half-truth. “I’m a freelance photographer, planning on opening a photography and film studio soon in my home town.”

  “And you were here…” Ridge frowned.

  “Looking for talent, interviewing models. This conference was my last stop before returning home. What about you? What are you doing in D.C., Ridge?” Was he a legislator worried about kinky pictures getting back to his home district? Or worse, the family? She looked down at his left hand briefly. He caught her, and that elegant brow lifted.

  “I have meetings with several government agencies. I hope to have things tied up by Saturday. Would you allow me to buy you the dinner I owe you at a swanky restaurant?”

  Buffy couldn’t stop measuring his features, thinking of his skin color in terms of F-stops, positioning him for the best lighting angle. And then her thoughts took her places she rarely went with models, and almost never with men. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to a man.

  Following her instincts she decided to wait until she saw him the next time to broach the subject of photographing him. She didn’t want him to run off before she could make a proper pitch.

  “Look, I would understand if you’re leery of a man you met under—”

  “No,” she laughed, “that’s not it. I’d love to have dinner with you. When?”

  Ridge was surprised she’d accepted, at all, much less so quickly. He looked at his watch. “I have another meeting tomorrow, and most of the day Saturday. Shall we touch base tomorrow evening?” He handed her his business card with his cell on it. “I’ll have it off during our meetings but I’ll call you when I get out. If it’s not too late, perhaps we could have a drink.”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll be here through Sunday. I have two seminars to present tomorrow but I can skip tomorrow night’s activities. And I’d like to tell you more about my business.”

  “Are you looking for investors?” Ridge asked, a slight edge in his voice.

  “That’s not what I’m here for, but if an investor comes along whose ideas match mine I’d be open to it. I’m not trying to get money from you, Ridge. I’m interested in something else.” Why did she have to say that, just before he left?

  She was intelligent, beautiful, confident and now… mysterious. And he really wanted to see her again.

  He rose, “If
you need to reach me, you can call and leave a message, otherwise, I’ll give you a ring when I get back to the hotel tomorrow evening.”

  After he left, Buffy thought about her approach. She needed to know more about him before she could convince him to pose for her. She flipped his card over. Ridge Romano, Internal Security Systems CFO, CEO. There was no address but she might look up his area code and see where his phone had been purchased. She smiled, wondering if she could get him to attend the Friday night bash hosted by the cover models.

  Chapter Five

  Buffy had an early breakfast Friday morning with three writers from opposite ends of the country. Sonya introduced herself, then Cathy and Diane. Dressed casually in jogging shoes, they looked like they were ready to hit the street. Diane had a brochure on the downtown museums and told Buffy it was their first time in D.C. “We didn’t want to leave without at least spending a day sightseeing.” Buffy suggested they have lunch or do a little souvenir shopping at the old post office—one of her favorite spots.

  Diane said, “We wanted to attend your seminar on photography, but we figured it was tuned toward authors who do their own covers, so we decided today was the day we should go.

  Sonya smiled, “We’re hoping to make it back in time to catch the cover model extravaganza tonight. That should be fun.”

  Buffy could barely get a word in, the women were so excited. “Have you known each other a long time?”

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing. “No, it’s crazy,” Diane said. We met during the strip bingo game. Cathy went after one leg of Tucker’s trousers. I grabbed the other, and Sonya held onto the belt loops for dear life.”

  “Sonya suggested we decide who got them over drinks last night and we hit it off,” Cathy said.

  “So what I want to know is who got Tucker’s pants?”

  “We, uh, can’t seem to decide.” Cathy laughed. “We thought about cutting them into three pieces, you know, two legs and the crotch, but then we’d be fighting over that.”

  Diane said, “You mean, you’d be fighting over it.”

  “Hey, I was the one who had ownership of the crotch. Did you see that guy?” Sonya asked Buffy. “He was hot.”

  “Yeah, we wouldn’t be going anywhere today if he were ‘appearing’ again in a conference room near us,” Diane said.

  Which just confirmed her choice. Buffy redirected her focus on the women. “So y’all just met?”

  “Yes,” enthused Diane. “Isn’t it amazing. If we hadn’t fought over that cover model’s pants, we never would have met, and it’s as if we’ve known each other forever.”

  Sonya said, “We’ve already extended our stay. Cathy found a package deal on a tour and the hotel gave us a special rate to stay through Tuesday—their slow time, they said. So, we’re going to do D.C.”

  “You just never know who you will meet at a conference.” Diane looked at her two new friends then at Buffy.

  Buffy agreed.

  “So, Ms. Calloway, did you hear that the guy on stage wasn’t actually Tucker? No one knows who he is. Everyone was talking about him in the bar last night.”

  Cathy leaned forward, “Deborah Bowler—that’s the lady in the wheelchair—said he offered her the value of that expensive suit he was wearing, for the shirt she ended up with. It was a good chunk of change.”

  “And he made a sizable donation to Sally’s Wounded Warrior fund.”

  “He’s like some kind of stripper Robin Hood or something.”

  Buffy almost choked on her drink. “I had heard some of that.” When she thought about his kindness to the handicapped woman she got another little ping in her gut, a guy would call it a gut check. She was afraid she knew what it was—the Calloway curl—that clutchy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Grandmama said you were experiencing a sure case of denial if you didn’t think it was your heart whispering, He’s the one, until the whisper turned into a blatant, What the hell are you waiting for? It’s him, you dummy!

  “Do you ladies know I’m in the business of producing stock images for covers as well as marketing through book trailers?”

  She explained and showed them some examples of her images. Their eyes widened. “So,” asked Diane, “do you know him?”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Will he be at the party tonight?”

  “I’ve met him,” Buffy hedged, “but I can’t say if he’ll be at the party. I’d like your help though with something else, and in exchange, I’ll offer you some tips for your museum picture taking.”

  “That sounds great!” Diane bounced out of her seat and surprised Buffy by reaching into her purse and pulling out a sophisticated Nikon, one any novice would be thrilled with, and scared of.

  “Diane!” Sonya laughed.

  Buffy did too, and waved her off, “No, it’s okay.” She looked at Diane, “How much do you know about this camera?”

  “Not a damn thing,” said Cathy. “She took our pictures in the bar last night and we all looked like demons, red eyes on a black background. Sonya and I got better pictures on our phones.” She swiped her phone and turned it to face Buffy.

  “Okay, what time do you have to catch the shuttle?” Buffy asked.

  “8:30,” Sonya said. She seemed to be the planner of the three, the one that would take charge of the tour brochure and get them to the Metro on time.

  Buffy said, “All right. Let me know when you have to go. Diane, do you have something to write on in that tote bag?”

  Sonya pulled out a tiny spiral notebook, “I’ll take notes.”

  Buffy spent the next forty-five minutes showing all three the basic settings on Diane’s camera for various lighting scenarios and giving them some tips for their phones. Then she gave them pointers on picture content, staging, and the balance between setting the scene up and capturing spontaneity.

  After they’d gone, Buffy thought about the feedback she received.

  Diane lamented that so many books pictured faceless heroes and she liked being able to flip back to the cover and “enjoy the view” a few times during her read.

  Sonya agreed and added, “It drives me crazy when the hero in the book is dark-haired and muscular and the picture doesn’t even resemble him. I feel cheated.”

  “I’ve had that happen.” Cathy leaned forward, “but I’m one of those that will buy a book without even reading the description if the guy has great pecs! Like Tucker. Oh my God, he has the most beautiful chest.”

  “A smoldering look. For me it’s the face, and eyes,” Sonya said, “and I usually gravitate to the cover and then make sure I like the blurb on the back. But the cover always grabs my attention.”

  “Great abs,” Diane said. “Though, I read historicals and that’s somewhat different. I love the lushness of the fabrics and that look between the hero and heroine. Whew. Girls, we need to get back in time for the party,” she whispered, teasing.

  “Well then, let’s go,” Sonya said. “The Shuttle returns to the Bay at 5:30 so we can make it if—”

  “Just a second.” Cathy turned to Buffy, “Ms. Calloway, can I have your autograph? My boyfriend would not let me live it down if he found out I met the ‘sexiest fashion model in his lifetime’ and didn’t think of him.” She winked.

  Buffy smiled. She should have expected to be recognized for her career in fashion modeling; after all, she’d been on the most visible publications in the world, had even done a very risqué—her grandpapa called it—front and back cover, the first ever for Vanity Fair.

  Cathy was the only person at the conference who had approached her as “Lana”. She knew her look was a little different since she’d dropped the façade she’d always worn like a cape and gone to her natural coppery blonde instead of the dark auburn Fabrere had insisted upon.

  “What’s his name?” Buffy asked pulling out her pen.

  “Bubba is his nickname… well, what the heck, make it to Bubba. He’s a lot better looking than the name implies,” Cathy said showing h
er Bubba’s photo.

  “Hey, ‘Buffy’ here, remember? If you want to talk about preconceptions.” Cathy pulled out a copy of the Highlander cover for her to sign. Buffy wrote, To Bubba, a true-life hunk and a great guy according to your girlfriend, Cathy. Stay true! Lana.

  “That’s hilarious. He won’t be taking it with him if we split up. Thanks!”

  Besides the feedback on covers, the things they’d told her about Ridge Romano just heaped more positive traits on his pile. She had the feeling she would have to do some hard pitching to win him over. The more she added to her observations… his embarrassment over his performance Wednesday night, his generosity, the mysterious nature of his business and his worries that his picture could be bandied about… the more she saw him as a man of substance.

  He probably thought cover models empty-headed poster cutouts, and romance, ‘bodice ripping’. Now she was projecting thoughts onto him that might not be true. She’d withhold judgment until she was able to really spend some time with him.

  A plan was forming. She smiled. It would take a balance of honesty and cunning to make it work. She hoped tonight would be the key. She skipped lunch, which wasn’t too much of a hardship after years of controlled, diligent nibbling, and made an appointment with the salon. If he called…when he called, she’d be ready.

  Chapter Six

  Ridge tipped the cab driver and walked toward the entrance of the hotel. The hearings with one particular congresswoman had been vexing, like a trip through a minefield. She’d questioned his statistics, his ‘personal agenda’. She’d accused him of using the bill for his own financial advantage. That had elicited a smile from one of her competitors on the other side of the aisle who knew Ridge’s background, and that for Ridge these hearings almost always delivered a paradoxical result. When or if the contract was approved, like blood pouring from a vein, money would drain out in a steady flow from the companies Ridge represented. This particular representative seemed only interested in cutting funding to the group Ridge fought for passionately on several levels.