As Micah observed the crowd of photographers, reporters and other fashion-industry people gathering inside the white tent that had been erected in the park, he couldn’t help but imagine one of them as the person who’d assaulted Bailey. This was more than likely the same collection of people who’d been here during Fashion Week. Any one of them could have snatched her that fateful day. Any one of them could be waiting to complete the job they’d started back in September.
What the hell was Bailey trying to prove by intentionally putting herself in harm’s way again? That she was over her abduction? That she’d somehow won?
It was complete bullshit.
She wasn’t over it. The abduction still haunted her, no matter how much she tried to hide it from the rest of the world. Micah could see just how much it still affected her whenever they were together. A trace of that anxiety lurked behind every smile.
Bailey was of the mindset that if she told herself she was okay enough, eventually it would become reality. But Micah knew better. And the only thing stepping out on that runway tonight would prove was that she didn’t take her safety nearly as seriously as she should.
“I don’t like this,” he heard just over his shoulder.
Micah turned and found Daniel Hamilton standing a few feet behind him, his eyes zeroed in on the crowd.
“It’s dangerous and unnecessary,” Daniel said.
“So why the hell are you all allowing her to do this?” Micah asked him.
Daniel shot him a cynical scowl. “You’ve been following her every step for nearly a month. Do you think you can stop her?”
Micah bit back a curse, pissed because Daniel was right. If Bailey wanted to do something, there was not a person on earth who could stop her. And unfortunately, she was hell-bent on doing this.
“There’s more security here than they would have for the pope,” Daniel reasoned, as if trying to convince himself. But that didn’t matter to Micah. He wasn’t in love with the pope.
He was in love with Bailey.
He’d known for days, but had finally accepted it after leaving her apartment the other morning. He’d fallen half in love with her before she’d walked off the set of Connect in September, and the feeling had blossomed since her return to New York. He couldn’t imagine going back to a time when she wasn’t in his life.
He had to talk to her. At least one more time. He had to convince her not to step onto that runway, because something in his gut told him that she shouldn’t go out there tonight, and he trusted his gut above all else. It had never steered him wrong.
Micah’s purposeful strides took him to the dressing room behind the band shell in under a minute. He rapped on the door.
“Bailey, I need to speak with you.”
When she didn’t immediately answer, he knocked again, preparing to barge through the door if she didn’t open it in the next three seconds.
“Bailey!” he hollered.
The door swung open. Bailey stood on the other side, wrapped in a silk robe that stopped just above her knees.
Micah was immediately hit with a wave of lust. Coupled with the adrenaline and fear that had started pumping through his bloodstream before she answered the door, it was enough to almost bring him to his knees.
“We have to talk,” Micah said. Without waiting for an invitation, he entered the dressing room and took her wrist, tugging her with him to a back corner.
“The show starts in less than a half hour, and Suzanne still hasn’t finished my face. I don’t have much time, Micah.”
“Don’t do this, Bailey.”
“What do you mean? Don’t do what?”
“The fashion show. You shouldn’t do it. It’s too dangerous.”
She took a step back, her features contorting with indignation. “I am not backing out of the show,” she stated.
“Bailey, with all the things that have happened to your family these past few months, it would be insane for you to go out on that runway. The person who kidnapped you could be out there right now.” He pointed toward the door. “Why would you walk right into his hands again?”
“The person who kidnapped me could have been out there at every show that I’ve ever done. We may never know. And there are more than two hundred people in that audience, Micah. Do you honestly think someone could kidnap me in front of all of them?”
“Someone could shoot you,” he said. Her head jerked back as if she’d suffered a physical blow. “Did you ever think about that, Bailey?” Micah pressed.
“There are metal detectors,” she said. “My dad insisted on them.”
“All the precautions in the world won’t stop someone who’s determined to hurt you. Whoever is doing this is stepping up the pace of the incidents. It could all crescendo into this guy doing something unthinkable to you tonight.”
After a pregnant pause, she huffed out a laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “You watch too many cop shows.”
“This isn’t funny, Bailey.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “It’s ridiculous, and a waste of my time.” In an accusatory tone, she asked, “What’s the real reason behind this?”
“The real reason? I just told you. I think—”
“You’ve known about this show for weeks, yet now you think it’s dangerous? Is it really my safety that you’re concerned with, or losing your exclusive?”
Micah’s head reared back. “What?”
“It’s not as if it’s a secret that having the Bailey Hamilton exclusive has been important to your career. You said it yourself. And I’ve learned just what lengths people in show business will go to in order to get what they want. Just ask my cousin Nelson.”
“Nelson? What the hell does Nelson have to do with this?” Micah could hardly keep up with the conversation.
“He discovered that the producers who hired him only did so to get closer to me. They wanted to capitalize on my story.”
“Bailey, do you really think I give a damn about some news story? We’re talking about your life here.”
“Exactly. It’s my life.” She put her hands on her hips, her chin rising as she took several steps closer to him. “I’ve spent my life listening to people tell me what to do, and I’m done with it. I’m expected on the runway in twenty minutes, and nothing you, my brothers or anyone else says or does will stop me.”
She spun around and walked back toward the vanity, where her makeup artist—who had been watching them with a wide-eyed look on her face—resumed Bailey’s makeup. Micah just stood there, feeling powerless.
What could he do? He couldn’t tie her up and keep her from going out there, even though that was beginning to sound like a viable option. He was pretty sure if he brought the idea to her brothers, he could convince both Kyle and Daniel to help him.
Micah shook his head, clearing away the ridiculous thought.
Bailey was determined to go through with this. All he could do was watch and pray that it wasn’t something they all lived to regret.
* * *
Bailey stared in the bathroom mirror, her hands clutching the sides of the sink. The attack had hit with blinding speed, sending her into a maelstrom of panic. Blood rushed to her ears, the pounding deafening and growing louder and louder with each second that passed. Her chest constricted with anxiety, snatching the breath from her lungs. She was light-headed and so dizzy with fear that she was afraid she’d collapse if she let go of the sink.
“Everything is okay,” she muttered past the panic clogging her throat. “Everything is fine.”
But everything was not fine.
She wished she could blame Micah and his irrational claims about her kidnapper possibly being in the crowd, but Bailey knew exactly where the blame lay. She had not been fine for months. And no matter how much
she’d tried to tell herself that things would eventually get back to normal—that she would get back to normal—she knew that she was getting worse. And she would not get better until she got help.
“Damn it.” She shut her eyes tight and concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. “You’re going to be okay.” Bailey repeated the statement over and over until the tightness in her chest and her grip on the sink loosened.
She looked intently at the reflection staring back at her. She couldn’t go on like this. She could not allow these episodes to define her existence. And she didn’t have to, if she got the help Micah had urged her to look into.
There was a knock at the door. “Bailey, are you okay? It’s almost time.”
“I’ll be out in a second, Brianna.”
She grabbed a tissue from the box next to the sink and gently dabbed at her eyes, careful not to damage any of Suzanne’s work. Pulling in another deep, fortifying breath, Bailey stepped out of the bathroom and found Brianna waiting on the other side of the door.
“The place is packed,” her sister said, grabbing her hand. “And they’re all waiting for you. You ready to give the crowd what they want?”
Bailey squeezed her sister’s fingers. “I am so ready.”
The excited buzz from the crowd was palpable—Bailey could practically feel it on her skin. It had been her idea to have the lights dimmed and the stage and runway in total darkness. The temperature inside the tent had been gradually lowered to match the frigid temperatures outside.
The crowd was hit with an extra blast of cold air as the lights came on and the winter scene was revealed. A roar of approval echoed in the tent and the first models strutted onto the stage, dressed in one-piece bathing suits.
Bailey stood at the base of the steps that led to the stage. She removed her robe and adjusted the cups on her fuchsia-and-black bikini. Her bottom half was covered in the matching sarong.
At Brianna’s signal she climbed the stairs and walked through the opening in the winter-white curtains.
The fear and trepidation Bailey had experienced just a few minutes ago were completely gone the moment she stepped onto the runway. The audience went wild, their applause and roars of approval urging her on, reminding her of everything she loved about her chosen career. This was her calling.
And, oh, my God, how good it felt to be there again.
With her chin high and her chest thrust forward, Bailey strutted across the stage with her signature walk, the fabric of the silky sarong fluttering with her movement. She stopped at the predetermined marks along the runway to pivot and pose for shots. Once she reached the far end of the runway, she released the knot at her hip and shook the sarong loose. The crowd roared again. Flashbulbs went off, creating sparks of dancing lights around the tent.
Bailey did several more turns before starting back up the runway. When she got to the middle, she peered over her shoulder, and with a sly, seductive smile on her face blew a kiss. The crowd loved it. Bailey hooked the sarong over her shoulder and strutted toward the curtains.
She owned this stage, and everyone in the room. Tonight was what the Fashion Week show should have been. Tonight was all about Bailey Hamilton, and she was loving every minute of it.
The minute she got off the runway, she was bombarded with hugs.
“That was awesome, Bailey! Way to steal the spotlight,” another model said with a good-natured laugh.
Her mother ran up to her and cradled her face. “You were amazing.”
“I learned from the best,” Bailey said.
“Okay, okay, we can all celebrate after the show,” Brianna snapped, in full work mode. “Bailey, maxi dresses are next. Don’t forget the straw hat and sunglasses.”
Bailey didn’t even mind her sister’s bossy tone. In fact, she relished it. This was normal. This was what had been missing these past few months.
Finally, it felt as if things were back where they were supposed to be.
Chapter 12
“Knock, knock.”
Sherrice, a junior designer, walked into Brianna’s office carrying a huge bouquet of yellow, orange and deep red chrysanthemums. Bailey pushed away from the desk where she had been sitting for the past hour, reading online comments about Saturday’s show.
“More flowers,” Sherrice said. “These are from Manuelo. He had the delivery man tell me, repeatedly, that they were from him,” she said with an eye roll.
Bailey grinned. “Are you sure they’re not for you?” she asked. Sherrice had a major crush on Bailey’s former stylist, and Manuelo, being the flirt that he was, teased her relentlessly about it.
His gift was the tenth she’d received in the past two days, congratulating her on her return to the runway. It was being hailed as the comeback of the year. Her cell phone had been blowing up for hours with incoming messages from friends and acquaintances. She should have been ecstatic over the abundance of praise and well wishes, but all Bailey felt was hollow inside.
Not one of the calls or texts had been from Micah.
Bailey had lost count of the number of times she’d started to call him, but what could she say? That he was right about the attack leaving her mentally scarred? That she was sorry about the accusations she’d hurled at him? That she now acknowledged that she needed a professional, but wanted his help in taking that first step?
Who was she to ask Micah to help her with anything? After the way she’d treated him Saturday night, accusing him of only looking out for his exclusive, she would be lucky if he ever spoke another word to her.
The possibility that he might not speak to her again was actually frighteningly real. He had everything he needed for the documentary. If he decided that they had nothing left to say to each other, she could very well have spoken her last words to him on Saturday night.
The anxiety that tightened her chest at that moment was a thousand times worse than anything she’d experienced during a panic attack. Bailey hadn’t realized how much Micah had come to mean to her until now. In these past few weeks, he had become her definition of normal. She didn’t want to think of going back to a time when he wasn’t part of her life.
She loved him.
She wasn’t sure precisely when it had happened, but there was no mistaking the emotion that traveled through her whenever she so much as conjured up a single thought of him.
He completed her world. A life without him was too upsetting to contemplate.
* * *
Micah stood before the door to Bailey’s apartment. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the show. He’d spent the majority of his time at the station, either in the editing room or holed up in his office—an office that wouldn’t be his for much longer.
Micah blew out a weary sigh and hefted his messenger bag over his shoulder. His fist hovered in front of the door for a moment before he rapped on it. He could hear shuffling and then the sound of footsteps coming closer to the door. He stood up straight and stared right at the door’s peephole. A second later, the door opened.
Bailey stood before him, dressed in a casual sage-colored pants-and-hoodie combination. She wore fluffy socks and her face was devoid of makeup.
She was, as always, stunningly gorgeous.
“Hi,” Micah opened.
“Hello.” Her voice was soft. Unsure.
He pulled in another steady breath. “Can I come in?”
She hesitated for only a moment before taking a step back and opening the door wider so that he could enter. He walked past her, caught a whiff of the scent she always wore and was nearly knocked on his ass with the need to drop everything and take her into his arms.
He walked to the living room and deposited his messenger bag next to the coffee table, then turned to her and said, “I’m sorry.”
“For?” she asked.
“It wasn’t my place to tell you what to do the night of the fashion show. But you have to know where it was coming from, Bailey. My fear of you going on that stage the other night had nothing to do with retaining an exclusive and everything to do with needing you to be safe.”
“I know,” she said.
Now it was his turn to look at her with confusion.
“Really?”
She nodded. “It was wrong to accuse you of having an ulterior motive. You’re not like others I’ve run across in the media. You have too much integrity to use me to get a story.”
Micah’s eyes closed as overwhelming relief stole over him. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for recognizing that I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever.”
Micah wished he could just let things stand, with Bailey once again looking at him with that gentle, yearning look in her eyes. He could gather her in his arms right now. Fill his mouth with the taste of her. Fill his hands with the soft feel of her. They could forget that they’d ever fought and spend the night making love until they could no longer think.
But he loved her too much to do that.
She needed help. She would never be whole again if she didn’t face her demons head-on, and the only way to face them was to acknowledge that they were there to begin with. He needed to show her how much of herself she had lost, and what was at stake.
“I have something I want you to see,” he said. He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa, then sat next to her.
“What is it?” Bailey asked.
“Something I came across today.” He slid the laptop from his messenger bag and set it up on the coffee table. Logging on to his machine, Micah pulled up the video file of the raw footage he’d run across while editing the documentary.
He turned to her and said, “Before I show you this, I need to tell you that it was Daniel’s idea to add this to the documentary. You were right about insisting that he be part of this project. His input has been tremendous.”
Micah pressed Play and opened the viewer to the full-screen version. The first of a number of street interviews of people voicing their opinion of Bailey started to play. Micah fast-forwarded the footage to the video that had been recorded at a school Bailey had partnered with during a mentorship program over the past year. They watched clip after clip of bright-eyed girls piling on praise and excitedly sharing what it had meant to them to work with Bailey.
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