So, that only left Samantha with Vivian. Dependable, stable, sane Vivian. Vivian, who until now had always been the one to talk her down from the ledge when times get rough.
Only now her errant lawyer lady pal was currently MIA in this backwoods community called Paradise.
Sami’s irritated gaze scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization as she took a shallow breath, feeling her panic begin to rise. Where the hell was everybody? She and Armando hadn’t even passed as much as a gas station in the last sixty miles! Even country bumpkins had to fuel their redneckmobiles, right?
“Seriously, did we take a wrong turn somewhere, Armando?” she asked her well-dressed travel partner as he twisted in his seat, holding up his iPhone to shoot yet another picture of a barn or a cow or something equally hideous. Ever since they’d reached the Tennessee border, the man had been enthralled by their country surroundings, gawking at every farm they’d driven past… and there’d been a lot of farms along the way. “Hello! Earth to Mannie!” she called impatiently, snapping her fingers at him. “Could you please pull your attention away from the frickin’ braying ass on the side of the road?” she demanded as they passed a buggy being pulled by a duo of donkeys. “Pay attention to me!”
“You mean forget about the gorgeous scenery and pay attention to the whiny bitch in the car with me, you mean? You know I’m married, right? I can listen to my significant other gripe at home,” the sexy man beside her drawled, shooting her a knowing look as he shifted in his seat. Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, a tailored bright red silk shirt he’d paired with an emerald green tie and matching fedora, Armando Savage huffed dramatically as he dropped his cell phone back in his lap and glared at Samantha. “And doing THAT won’t leave wrinkles in my favorite outfit,” he pointed out petulantly, picking at the misaligned pleats in his billowy shirt. “This shirt will never drape right again, I’ll have you know. You already owe me, Samantha, and your debt keeps growing.”
“So sorry for your current fashion conundrum,” Sami sneered sweetly as she glanced over at Armando. “But it isn’t like red is really your color anyway. You look like an overripe tomato in that getup. What happened to that Black Valentino I sent you last week?”
“Black is boring, bitch!” Armando gasped, pressing a hand to his heart as he glared at her. “Scarlet is THE color of the season and I look hot! My Nicky said so right before I left,” he huffed.
Sami snickered as she shot a wicked grin at her fellow traveler. “Your husband just wanted a bon voyage blowie in the bathroom and would have said anything to get it and you know it.”
Armando sniffed dramatically, tossing his head as he turned to look out the window. “Well, my blowies are the bomb, but that isn’t enough to make my baby lie to me about something so important. You’re just pissed you can’t rock the runway in this kind of red!” he insisted, plucking at his shirt.
“Yeah, your choice of fashion faux paus is at the top of my list of problems,” Sami retorted glumly.
Clicking his tongue, Armando shook his head as he winked at her. “Chica,” the handsome Latino man chided, “You need to learn how to relax and live a little. Enjoy this gorgeous scenery. Let it soothe that seething inner bitch who seems to have taken over your body,” he urged, gesturing out the window. “Seriously, I don’t think you just have a stick up that luscious ass of yours. I’m fairly certain you’ve got the whole tree up there.”
“My ass is just fine, thank you very much,” Sami snapped. “It’s still high, tight and firm and that’s all that matters! Besides, this isn’t a vacation, Mannie. You and I are on a strict search and recovery mission, remember?” Samantha pointed out as she gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “We need to find Viv, snatch her up, and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. I think all the serene surroundings might have numbed her brain or something,” she worried aloud as she looked out the window at the admittedly pretty countryside. “The fresh air has obviously caused an aneurysm. What other reason could she wanna linger out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Sure, it was pretty, she thought with a look out her side window. Of course, pretty was all it was. In the last hundred miles, she’d passed exactly seven barns and four houses. That was it! No cities. No towns. Not even a freaking Dairy Queen. The lack of civilization was severely disturbing to her psyche. And she either needed a very dry martini or a mocha latte. At this point, she’d happily sell her soul for either one.
Mannie snorted and rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just take a second and appreciate our gorgeous surroundings, Sami? You’re a model. If anybody should be able to appreciate the beauty of this kind of view, it’s you,” he remarked as he returned his gaze to his own window.
“As you well know, I’m now a former model, Armando,” she reminded him caustically. “Or have you forgotten even my manager of the past decade agrees that I’m now oh-fficially a has-been.”
“Your manager is a pendejo, carina, and the Cordova Agency’s reputation isn’t what it used to be. I’ve said that you should be searching for a new agency for years. Plus, I think that sleazy agent of yours sheds his balls like a snake sheds its skin whenever he’s expected to negotiate for you. You can do better,” Mannie growled, pursing his lips in a way that should have looked feminine, but totally didn’t. That was Mannie, though. He could pull off the impossible – which was one of the reasons she adored him. “You are no has-been, Samantha Dixon. If you truly still want to work in front of the camera, I’ll hook you up with my old agent. I might not have stood in front of the camera for years, but I’ve still got connections. I know I could hook you up with somebody that would see you as more than a dollar sign with legs.”
Smiling, Samantha shook her head at Mannie’s offer. “I don’t wanna model any more. Not really. The whole industry has turned into a nightmare and, if I’m honest about it, I’ve kinda lost my taste for the limelight. I guess the problem I’m having is that I just always imagined leaving the industry on my terms, you know? To be told that I’m too old? I can’t lie,” she whispered as she rubbed a hand over the ache developing in the center of her chest. “That fucking stings.”
“They didn’t call you old, princessa,” Mannie reminded gently as he ran a finger underneath his inky black bangs, moving them out of his eyes.
“Fine,” Sami snapped impatiently. “Too mature then,” she drawled, mimicking the English stick-up-his-ass director who had dissed her. “It’s all the same freaking thing, Mannie, and you know it. The funny thing is I don’t feel old. Well, not most days anyway. I mean, yes, I have to go to bed a few hours earlier than I used to if I don’t wanna be a complete zombie in the morning. And no, I can’t exactly party like I could ten years ago. But, hell, that’s got more to do with the company I’m forced to keep at those little soirees the agency insists we attend than it does with my age. I swear to God, if you don’t know which Kardashian is in fashion this thirty seconds, you just aren’t worth knowing in the modeling industry any longer.”
“I hear you, sweets,” Armando agreed with a nod. “Why do you think I got out of that rat race years ago?” Shooting her a grin, he shrugged. “The people we were ten years ago is nothing like who we are today. Look at me. Ten years ago I thought I was just a straight guy with amazing fashion sense,” he declared with a horrified shudder. “What was I thinking?”
Unable to escape the bubble of laughter rising up her throat, Sami didn’t fight it. She rolled with it. And as giggles began to fill the cab of their vehicle, she began to feel more like herself than she had in weeks. Months, even.
Grinning at her, Armando’s dark eyes brightened. “Ah! There’s la nina bonita. I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching out to pat her cheek.
“I’ve missed me, too, Mannie,” she offered truthfully, as she wiped at her eyes. “It feels like I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to be somebody else,” she admitted softly, steering the vehicle toward the sun as she adjusted her sunglasses with one hand.
“That’s because you have. You’ve been killing yourself trying to pretend like you’re still eighteen and keep up with all those little chippies you work alongside. Those chicas are driving you loco,” he clucked, waving his hand dramatically at her. “Instead of the lioness, you’ve been the gazelle, letting the hunters rip you apart. No more, I say,” he whined, his accent growing thicker as he shook his head. “You are a rich, beautiful, talented woman. You don’t need those vultures or their money. Walk away, bambina. Walk away before they take a part of your soul you can’t get back,” he advised grimly.
“Honey, I don’t have to walk away; they fired me. My fault, I guess. After all, I am the idiot who thought I still actually looked good to stand in front of a camera in next to nothing,” she lamented sadly, feeling the weight of failure and depression begin to settle over her again.
“No! They are the fools who aren’t interested in what a true beauty looks like. They think being a stick is sexy. Think about this, Sami. These morons are still paying you to sit on your gorgeous ass and look gorgeous, yes? How do you Americans say it? Money for nothing? I’d say that makes them los idiotas, yes?”
“You are as American as I am, Arthur,” Sami reminded him, using his real name. Only a select and special few knew the flamboyant man beside her was actually born Arthur Smith, a third generation Latino American born and raised in Buffalo, New York. It was a closely guarded secret Armando would happily take with him to the grave.
Narrowing his dark eyes, Armando pursed his lips. “Why must you always remind me of that?” he asked with a pretty pout as he dropped the accent and threw his head back against the leather headrest. “You know I hate it.”
“It keeps you humble,” Sami replied agilely, lifting one shoulder and blowing him a kiss over it.
“You know, you are one seriously catty bitch,” Armando sulked, tossing his dark head dramatically. “You should really see somebody about all that venom you’re carrying around inside you. One day it might poison that pretty face of yours.”
“So says the most theatrical diva to ever sashay his way out of Atlanta,” Sami insulted him right back, knowing by the twitching of Mannie’s lips he was on the verge of his own laugh-fest.
“I might be un poco dramatica, chica, but you have been struggling to keep up with those fashionistas you work with for months. Personally, I think it’s a good thing you’re being forced to slow down. Maybe you can take this time away from the city to begin figuring out what you want to do with that amazing brain of yours,” Mannie suggested. “You are so much more than a pretty face, Samantha. You always have been.”
“Oh, please,” Sami snorted dismissively she pressed a button on the door to lower the window a few inches and let in a little air to the stuffy vehicle. “The only thing I’m really qualified to do is walk up and down a runway, Mannie. Or are you forgetting that I, too, came from a rather inauspicious beginning?”
“Ay! Did you catch a whiff of that nasty smell?” Mannie asked as he coughed delicately and fanned his face.
“I think they call it fresh air, Mannie?” Sami replied dryly as her eyes skittered from the road to her over-the-top friend.
“No, not that! I think it’s a scent called Eau de Bullshit,” he drawled. “Because it stinks of straight up ca-ca in this car, amiga. Who do you think you’re kidding with this all-I-can-be-is-a-pretty-face-and-sexy-body bullshit? I remember how hard you worked to get that business degree you never talk about. As I remember it, you nearly killed yourself for four years modeling every weekend and bartending at night to earn that diploma.”
“I wanted a fallback plan,” she mumbled.
“And you got one. You graduated with honors. And we both know that isn’t the end of your talents. You’re also forgetting I’ve seen all those doodle books full of designs you keep stashed all over your apartment, Samantha. I know all about your hidden abilities. You’ve got a gift, chica.”
Jerking her eyes from the road to the man beside her, Sami’s jaw dropped in surprise. “How the hell do you know dick about my doodles?” she finally managed to shriek, her high-pitched voice laced with panic. She’d always kept her drawings to herself lest she be laughed at for her severe lack of talent. And now to find out one of her best friends had known about her hobby for God knows how long? It was humiliating.
“Sami, relax. I saw your designs last month when I was house-sitting while you were away doing that Versace show in Paris,” Armando urged, his face softening as he saw her genuine distress. “Nicky and I came over to pick up your mail and check on your condo and I noticed you’d left one of your sketch pads on the coffee table. I couldn’t help looking, chica! Those dresses you drew were divine! True works of art. Those weren’t doodles, mi novio! Those were priceless designs any fashion house would pay a fortune to have in their show.”
“I can’t believe you went through my designs,” Sami whispered, her gut burning with betrayal. “Those were private, Armando!”
Flushing guiltily underneath his tan skin, Mannie fidgeted in his seat. “Nicky said you’d be pissed when you found out I’d snooped,” he admitted under his breath.
“That’s because your husband actually respects other people’s boundaries,” Sami snapped angrily, pushing her foot down on the accelerator as her desire to reach their destination skyrocketed. She was afraid if they didn’t get there soon, she was going to give into her sudden, but overwhelming need to murder one of her closest friends in cold blood.
“I respect boundaries,” Armando huffed. “It’s just I sometimes I see them too late to actually remember not to step over them. Besides, you left your drawings on the table for anyone to see. How was I supposed to know they were a closely guarded Sami-secret?”
Frowning, she had to admit Mannie had a point. It’s not as if she had a big ol’ ‘Keep Out’ sticker on her notebook or anything. And she had left it in plain sight for anyone to stumble on. “Okay, okay,” she mumbled. “Maybe you have a point. I just don’t like people looking at my doodles.”
“Why?” Mannie asked, his deep voice practically a whine now. “They’re good, amiga. Really, really good. Those designs should be strutting down runways all over the world, not hidden away in a sketch pad. You’ve got a God-given gift, mi cielo. Seize it! Savor it! Celebrate it! But for God’s sake, don’t squander it.”
Sami felt her cheeks warming as Mannie praised her. In her whole life, only one other man had ever believed in her the way Armando did. “You sound just like Ben used to,” she remarked quietly, memories of her one-time love of her life suffusing her. God, thinking of him still produced the sweetest kind of pain.
Stilling beside her, Armando shot Sami a soft look of understanding. “You still miss him, don’t you?” he questioned softly.
“Every single day of my life, Mannie. He was The One, y’know?” she acknowledged in a soft, sad voice, the confession painful to admit even after all this time. “But some things just aren’t meant to be.” And Ben Atkins – in addition to being one very special, one-of-a-kind man – was definitely one of those things that weren’t meant to be. At least not for someone like her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. She had. She did. Her love for him had been pure… so pure that she’d never been able to move on. The truth was the memories she had of their doomed love affair was what she held onto during the long, lonely nights. The idea of trying to find and create something like what they’d shared together was laughable. She’d never find another man as perfect for her as Ben had been so she’d never bothered trying. She wouldn’t allow another man into her bed or her heart. She couldn’t let another person taint the memory of what she’d had with him. Nobody could ever know her as well as he did or touch her the way he had. And no one would ever love her as completely.
Catching her breath as precious memories from her past collided with the harsh reality of her present, Samantha tried to ignore the burn of tears behind her eyelids. Lord knows, she’d cried enough tears to fill a rive
r since they’d broken up. But who could blame her? Ben had been everything any sane woman could ever desire in a man. Tall. Solid. Honest. Strong. Dedicated. Passionate. He was the type of guy any woman would have fought to hold onto with both hands and her very last breath.
Unfortunately for her, while Samantha Joy Dixon possessed a beauty that could make a man ache with need, she’d always been a little too crazy for any rational male’s comfort level … even a man as patient and kind as her Ben had been.
At the time, she’d thought he’d been as close to perfect as any man she’d ever met, quickly becoming the gold standard by which she measured all men. Over time, she’d learned that while he was wonderful, he also wasn’t without his faults (he snored loudly and constantly forgot to put the seat back down in the bathroom). Minor flaws aside, however, there had been absolutely no doubt for her that her man had been perfect for her. In her mind, she could still see him as he was when they’d been happy. Every glorious inch of him. He’d been over six feet of lean, muscled hunk. With thick black hair peppered with a few streaks of gray, a neatly manicured beard and mustache and piercing grayish blue eyes that got darker when he got angry or aroused, Ben had possessed a face that could both break hearts and melt panties, a perfect blend of both saint and sinner. He’d been a little over a decade older than her, but it hadn’t mattered. His crooked smile had always made her heart skip a beat – especially when he’d directed that killer grin at her. But while his physical looks had been what she’d initially noticed, it wasn’t what had held her heart hostage and kept her locked in his thrall.
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