Fashion Jungle

by Kathy Ireland

  Maybe he would warm to the idea of a child.

  “Love you, baby,” he whispered.

  He loved her.

  He did.

  He just needed time.

  The problem was that she was going to run out of time. And quickly.

  Frederick left the room and shut the door behind him. As luck would have it, she had to use the restroom—again. With a huff, she got up and walked into the room, bumping into the laundry basket and dumping it over before finding the light.

  Clumsy while pregnant, too? Fantastic.

  She bent down to put the basket back and felt her stomach drop. It was one of Frederick’s shirts.

  The one he had been wearing yesterday.

  There was red.

  But it wasn’t lipstick.

  No, down the arm was a stain in dark burgundy.

  Blood.

  New York Fashion Week Countdown - 11 Days

  Something about fall and school shopping, kids in their uniforms, and moms chasing after them with their backpacks made Brittany want to cry.

  Autumn reminded people of fresh starts, pumpkin spice lattes, Halloween, and the ever-present lure of the upcoming holidays. But today? Today, she saw backpacks and families, she saw people hugging and kissing as they took pictures before getting on a bus for their first day of school.

  She saw everything she should have had.

  But didn’t.

  Her childhood had been just like this.

  And she’d wanted nothing more than to repeat it with her own family someday.

  She sighed, taking another sip of coffee as she made her way into the intimidating building that housed Trend. Everyone was in a hurry. And for some reason, on this day of all days, she wanted someone, anyone to just smile at her, say hi. She wanted them to make her feel warm instead of dead inside, wondering and wishing and overthinking all of the mistakes of her past.

  “He’s really not coming,” she said to herself as she held the bundle close. Pink little knit hat. She’d never been a huge fan of pink until that moment. Pink toes, pink lips, a pink little cap covering a pink, wrinkly head.

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she eyed the bundle in her arms and then glanced up at the clock across from the hospital bed.

  Ten hours had passed.

  Ten hours.

  And each hour she told herself to wait just a little bit longer. He would come through. That’s the type of guy he was. Solid. Stable. The perfect boyfriend, right?

  “Honey?” Her nurse, Amelia, walked in with a bright smile. “Did you want me to take her?”

  Possessiveness washed over Brittany as she held the baby close to her chest. “Just a bit longer.”

  Amelia nodded slowly.

  And then Brittany burst into tears. “Please, could you just… could you just stay for a little bit?”

  “I’ll do more than that,” Amelia said softly before sitting on the hospital bed and putting her hand on Brittany’s shoulder. And with awareness in her eyes, Amelia, a stranger… began to pray.

  And as the nurse’s words washed over her, Brittany continued to weep in both relief and comfort that at least she knew she hadn’t been completely abandoned.

  The elevator jolted.

  To this day, Brittany couldn’t recall the entire prayer, only that Amelia had said that all things would turn out for the better. And Brittany had believed her, she’d taken that one simple truth and tucked it away inside her heart.

  It had to be okay.

  Because the alternative was impossible to digest, to even comprehend. Brittany squeezed her eyes shut as an emptiness stretched inside her chest, and then her cell buzzed in her purse. She hoped it was Zoe updating her on the whole Aaron situation. It was terrifying that someone who’d done such a horrible thing to her friend was somehow now out of jail. Brittany just hoped he wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk to them—any of them.

  She pulled her phone out and smiled for the first time that day.

  Oliver: Lunch? Dinner? Snack? I have a few surgeries today, but I’d really like to see you even if it’s only ten minutes…

  She quickly replied back.

  Brittany: Can we do all three?

  Stunned that she’d actually typed that in her current mood and pressed send, she watched the little dots move across the screen, waiting for his response.

  Oliver: At this point, I’d probably quit my job just so we could. But since I’d like to stay employed so you can always introduce me as the hot doctor, I’m going to have to say one out of three. Please don’t break up with me.

  She grinned.

  Brittany: You mean we’re together?!?!

  Oliver: Don’t break my heart. I only have one. Kidneys, however…

  Brittany: How about dinner? Tonight?

  She briefly remembered that she had to do dinner at some point with Ronan this week but brushed the thought away just as the elevator doors opened to floor twenty-two where Trend was housed.

  She wasn’t able to look at her phone again until she was safely tucked away in her office. And by then, she had five texts from the only man who’d made her heart slam against her chest since Ronan.

  Oliver: Dinner sounds great.

  Oliver: Want me to cook?

  Oliver: We could go out too, but something tells me you’d rather stay in.

  Oliver: I’m overthinking this.

  Oliver: It’s because I want to do this right—you deserve it.

  With a grin so broad it almost hurt her face, Brittany tapped back.

  Brittany: Cooking class. Both a date out and a night in… I know a guy who owns a place. Actually, he’s co-owner. Sound good?

  Oliver: Send me the address and the time.

  Brittany smiled to herself as she fired back the address as quickly as possible and then opened her email to send Roger a quick message. He was one of the owners. Technically, he held the majority, but it wasn’t something he talked about. It was his love for food and a desire to find a life partner who shared his same interests that had spurred the idea. It was one of the top places in the city to do singles’ night.

  Within minutes of sending the email, Brittany had a response. Roger had made room for them and had also invited himself.

  Shocker.

  With a grin, she rolled her eyes and then started typing back just as a knock sounded at her door.

  “My desk is empty.” Grace put her hands on her slim hips. Her black pantsuit was tight against her svelte figure, and her cherry red heels added at least two inches to her height.

  “Your desk is empty,” Brittany repeated, leaning back in her chair. “Because?”

  “I need that story, I told you sooner rather than later. Sooner already happened, it’s later… today is later. I needed it the minute we chatted. Didn’t he call you?” Grace started to pace in front of Brittany’s desk, each clack of her heels like a nail in Brittany’s coffin.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. Butts belong in tight jeans or at the end of cigarettes, buts are excuses that I don’t have time for. I need that story. And I’m going to move up the photo shoot to this Friday. Don’t let me down—” She held up a polished finger. “Lucky for you, he stopped by. I told him to let me yell at you before he came waltzing in with that smile and the dimples and the ridiculous jawline. The man’s a monster for not letting me at least touch one of those firm biceps.” Grace shrugged. “He had to take a call. Don’t mess this up.”

  And, just like that, Grace stomped out of the office, and Ronan—Brittany’s waking nightmare—walked in.

  “Grace.” He nodded at the editor.

  She stopped, looked at him, shook her head, and kept walking.

  It was her way.

  “Always such a pleasure chatting with the devil herself,” Ronan said under his breath, making himself at home in Brittany’s office, perching his body in one of her leather chairs.

  “Your mother?” she said sweetly.

  “Grace,” he fired back w
ith a taunt in his eyes. “Though it’s safe to say they’re on the same playing field. Women like that should come with little alarm bells so we lesser humans can prepare for all the fire-breathing.”

  “Grace’s bell is her shoes,” Brittany said with a smirk. “You know how angry she is by how loudly she walks. It’s on purpose.”

  “Clever. Mother’s is all in the perfume. I smell her, I know she’s circling, and I run. Simple as that.” He grinned.

  “That must be difficult since the apron strings are still knotted up around your body, hmm?”

  He barked out a laugh. “I knew you missed me.”

  “Hardly.” She tried to hide the flutter in her stomach at the way he drank her in. The same way he used to. The way she had dreamed about that night in the hospital.

  Her white knight had never come.

  Only darkness.

  She turned away. “Did you need something other than witty banter, or can I get back to work?”

  “Dinner, remember? I sent you my schedule, emailed you a few times, but you never got back to me.”

  “It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and I’m a busy woman,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Tonight,” he said with a challenging glint in his eyes. He tugged on his black tie and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his expensive slacks. “We can do dinner tonight. The wife is away for the week in Paris anyway.”

  “How convenient for you,” Brittany found herself saying, even though she knew he wasn’t the type of man to cheat. No, he just got women pregnant and then abandoned them because of his mother. His family. His name. “I’m busy tonight.”

  “Are you trying to see how far you can push Grace because it amuses you, or are you really busy?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m busy the rest of the week.”

  “Your schedule said—”

  “I’m in demand, what can I say?”

  She almost threw her stapler at him. Did he have to ruin the only thing she was looking forward to tonight?

  She clenched her teeth and gave him a firm nod. “I’ll meet you at Roma’s.”

  “Michael’s,” he said quickly.

  It had been their first date.

  Their spot.

  Memories flooded her.

  Brittany’s heart physically hurt with each thump against her ribs.

  “Fine.” Was that her voice? That weak sound coming from her lips?

  “Great.” He stood and walked toward her, and before she could protest, he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I’ll have a table ready at eight. Should I send a driver?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” He was too close, way too close.

  She didn’t want to back down, though. Didn’t want to show fear. “Yeah, I’m a big girl now. I know how to wave down taxis and everything.”

  “Trust me.” He eyed her up and down and then shook his head as sadness flashed across his masculine features. “I’m well aware that you’re a woman, a confident, beautiful, incredible woman.”

  “Please don’t say things like that to me.”

  “I swore to you I’d never lie.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. “Don’t make me break that promise, Britt.”

  Tears filled her eyes as he released her hand and walked out.

  The worst part of it all had been the sting of his wedding band as it pressed against her skin, as if she needed the reminder that, in the end…

  He hadn’t chosen her.

  Canceling on Oliver had been physically painful. How was she already attached after only one date and enough texts to make a teen blush?

  He’d said that he understood, but it was so early, did he really? The worst part was that she didn’t tell him who she was canceling to go out with. She didn’t want to give him cause for concern, though she had been honest and said that it was for work and that Grace was breathing down her neck.

  It wouldn’t help the situation if Oliver knew. He’d just worry, or worse, she’d see a side of jealousy she almost always saw when she tried to date, and the fantasy would be ruined. And she wanted to keep it, just a little bit longer, the illusion that a man existed who didn’t pressure her for sex immediately, who might possibly understand her beliefs, her morals. A man who looked at her and saw more than a body, more than legs that went on for days.

  She toyed with her clutch, holding it in front of her as if it were some kind of armor against attractive politicians who had a habit of breaking hearts with smiles on their faces.

  She ducked her head as she walked into Michael’s. She was so much taller than most women that she knew she’d most likely get noticed, if not by the people eating, than surely by the staff or the owner who used to reserve the table right by the kitchen just for her and Ronan.

  Speak of the devil.

  Ronan stood.

  He was in the corner at their usual table.

  Nostalgia hit fast and hard.

  Brittany swallowed against the knot in her throat as lead filled her legs. With each step, she winced. It was like walking into the past, only they were older, wiser—at least she liked to think she was wiser now. But the way he looked at her, and the way her heart responded said the exact opposite, didn’t it? Yes, he was attractive, but she’d learned her lesson. She just wished the rest of her agreed because the sick part was that her heart still wanted the happily ever after. It believed, even after all this time, that people could change. That she could have a family with him. It was a sick joke of the universe, toying with her heart.

  She forced a weak smile and sat across from him, only for him to abruptly stand and then pull her chair around with her in it until they were side by side, thigh against thigh.

  “There.” He sat back down and swept his hand toward two opened bottles of wine on the table before them. “Red blend or white?”

  “Red,” she whispered hoarsely.

  With practiced movements, he poured her a glass and handed it to her and then grinned, his full lips spreading into a devastating smile. “To old times.”

  Old times?

  Her stomach dropped.

  Old times like when he’d abandoned her?

  Like when she was waiting at the hospital for him to show up?

  Old times like when he promised her forever and walked away in the same breath?

  “To old times.” She clenched her teeth and barely managed to touch her glass to his without shattering it in his face and letting out a horrified scream.

  A shriek full of sadness.

  Regret.

  Anger. So much anger toward him.

  Toward what should have been but could never be.

  “What’s this?” Britt had already handed her little girl back to one of the nurses. There was a single red rose and a sheet of paper with the scribbled words, I’m sorry. She moved the note and started to shake. It was the list, the one she and her friends had built and agreed to make a copy of and give to the man who took their hearts. Each of the girls had one—and she’d given hers to Ronan.

  And just like that, Ronan Kampbell gave something back that she had never asked for.

  Shattered. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch it.

  A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “I came as soon as you called.”

  She looked up into crystal blue eyes. “Do you think you could use your connections to help…?” He assessed her for a few minutes before slowly nodding.

  She fell into a fit of tears while the devil held her close, and she wondered if she’d had it wrong the entire time. Maybe men like Ronan were evil—and men like Dane? Saviors dressed as sinners.

  Maybe everything she believed… was a lie.

  “So.” She set the wine down and grabbed her phone, kicking all the memories and thoughts from her head. “We should get started—”

  “Not yet.” Ronan grabbed her hand and pulled it down until it was pressed against his thigh, but he didn’t release her fingers. “We have time, Britt.”

&nbs
p; “We’ve never really had time, Ronan,” she said sadly. Time had been as cruel as his mother. It’d told them that they needed to rush something that neither of them understood, that both of them were too young to possibly grasp. “There’s always been a buzzer just waiting to go off. Why prolong it?”

  He hesitated. The glow of candlelight on his face highlighted his strong jaw and that stupid grin, not to mention the thick, glossy hair that always looked effortless. “You’ve changed.”

  “I have wrinkles now,” she said proudly and took another drink of wine. “That and I don’t walk barefoot down the streets of New York like a hippie anymore.”

  “Pity,” he said softly. “I was going to say you’ve lost a bit of the light that used to make every photographer in the world infatuated with you.”

  She jerked back. “Wow, at least I know you’re not trying to seduce me with compliments like that.”

  “Joy’s cheating.” He said it softly. “She’s been cheating. That’s why she’s in Paris. It’s going to be a media firestorm.”

  “And the media caught wind, how exactly?” Brittany asked curiously. The Kampbells were notoriously secretive, nothing but good news, things that would win another election—heck, they wanted the world.

  He just shrugged. “Some things slip.”

  “You.” She narrowed her eyes. “You let something slip?”

  “I did a favor for Dane, he did a favor for me,” he said simply, but Brittany knew what it meant to exchange favors with a man like Dane, what it meant for Ronan and what it meant for the position he was currently in, the life he now lived.

  Politician through and through, wasn’t he? Not that she had a leg to stand on, all things considered. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m not the only one who’s changed if you’re dealing with the devil. No matter how pretty he may be, the man has no manners when he’s busy threatening physical violence.”

  “And yet he calls you friend.” Ronan seemed to concentrate on her mouth a little too hard before his eyes flickered to hers. “Because of his sister?”

  Her stomach dropped. “We were all friends. And I would rather call him friend than enemy. Wouldn’t you?”