by K. A. Linde
“Yes, ma’am? Can I help you?”
“Can I get a Maker’s on the rocks?” she asked, feeling a headache coming on.
“Ma’am, we’re too close to landing for that,” she said with a curt smile like she was used to dealing with bitches in first class.
“Are you serious? Alcohol. Anything. Thanks,” Chyna said, throwing herself back in her chair and ignoring the woman’s insistence that she couldn’t provide alcohol at the moment.
A couple of minutes later, an older male flight attendant dropped off her drink while glowering at the other attendant. “Don’t mind her. She’s new,” he said with a wink.
“Thanks,” she muttered, taking a shot of the bourbon straight out of the first bottle before adding the second one to her glass. There—her headache was already going away. She sipped on her drink, thankful that someone had shown her some mercy.
The plane touched down at JFK Airport long after she finished her drink. She had another man help her pull her bag down. She hadn’t eaten anything in nearly twenty-four hours, and the Maker’s Mark was hitting her stomach stronger than it normally would have.
It was eight o’clock in the morning in New York, and her stomach growled, ready for her afternoon lunch in Italy. The time change was going to be a real bitch to get used to. She had informed Carl that she would be arriving in New York that morning and was thankful when she saw his scruffy-bearded face appear among the individuals waiting with signs for their passengers. He ushered her out to the car, taking her carry-on in his hand. He didn’t ask any questions as to why she was arriving two weeks ahead of schedule.
“To your apartment, Miss Chyna?” he asked as he veered into traffic.
“Alexa’s apartment would be wonderful, Carl,” she said, curling up into a ball in the back of her town car. Her phone had never gone off, except for the return message from Carl, and it died shortly after she landed. She felt sick, tired, hungry, and exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to lounge around with her best friend.
“Of course,” he said, swinging around traffic toward her apartment.
They arrived forty-five minutes later, having evaded most of the Sunday traffic.
“Want me to wait?”
“No, Carl. Thank you. I will catch a cab if I need a ride. Hopefully, I’ll be here all day and night,” she murmured the last part, not wanting to freak him out more than she already likely had.
“Are you all right, Miss Chyna?” he asked as she popped open her door.
“Fine, Carl. Go take your wife to church,” Chyna added with a smile.
“Thank you. Hope you feel better,” he told her, not believing her.
She slammed the door behind her and took the elevator to Alexa’s floor. It was a rickety old thing that made her uneasy, but she didn’t think she could manage the stairs in her state. She traipsed down the hallway and knocked on the door. She had a key…somewhere. It was probably buried in her penthouse. Maybe Frederick knew where it was. He knew more about the design of the apartment than she ever would.
As she stood there, mulling over where she thought Alexa’s spare key might be, the door swung open. Chyna’s empty stomach plummeted, and she tried to hold back the rising bile. The day had been too long, the night too exhausting, the plane ride too burdensome, and the time change too weakening for her to have to deal with this right now.
At least to her credit, Adam looked just as shocked as she did.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. Her voice came out angrier than she had intended. She was pretty sure it was ninety-five percent exhaustion speaking. The other five percent was blatant curiosity, considering the fact that he had continued to pop into her head yesterday after Alexa had brought him up.
“What are you doing here?” he asked right back. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Milan?”
“Long story. What are you doing here?” she repeated, eyeing him carefully. He still looked the same. A month and a half hadn’t changed him, except he had maybe lost a little weight. It didn’t look bad on him. Damn those hazel eyes. They were more on the side of gold today than green, and she liked those days. What was she even thinking? She was clearly not in the right state of mind to be around him.
“I brought Lexi coffee,” he said, holding up a bright white-and-orange coffee cup with big orange lettering that read Jittery Joe’s.
“Where the hell is that from?” she asked because she had never seen it before.
“Uh…NYU off 45th,” he said hesitantly.
“You went all the way to 45th to get Lexi coffee?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hold up with the third degree. Her coffee machine broke. Jittery Joe’s is from Georgia. I just thought it would be nice.” He shrugged and put on that goofy grin she had always loved.
No! No. No. She did not even think that word. She swallowed, unsure as to what the hell she was even doing at the moment.
“Who’s at the door?” Chyna heard Alexa call from inside.
Adam turned around and called back. “Chyna.”
“What the fuck? Are you fucking serious?” Lexi yelled, jogging to the doorway. When she saw Chyna, she threw her arms around her best friend like it had been centuries since she had seen her. “What the fuck are you doing home, chica?”
“Just wanted to surprise you,” Chyna said, plastering on the smile Alexa was used to seeing.
“Well, come in! Oh my God, it is so good to see you.” She turned back around after pulling Chyna into the apartment. “Thanks for the coffee, Adam. See you around,” she said, smiling at him sweetly before all but slamming the door in his face. “I am so sorry about that.” She waved her hand at the door.
“It’s fine,” Chyna told her, taking a seat on the uncomfortable, lumpy sofa.
“So…what the fuck are you doing here?” Lexi asked, grabbing her coffee and sitting down next to her friend.
“Time for a change,” she said with a shrug, trying to remain lively.
“Yeah, but Milan!” Lexi’s eyes went wide with the last word.
“Yeah…Milan,” Chyna responded.
“You can’t even pretend to be happy around me right now, and you’re two weeks early! Spill!” Lexi commanded.
Chyna kicked off her shoes and pulled her knees up to her chest. “So…remember that fashion designer I mentioned?”
“Yeah,” Lexi said slowly. “The fling?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“What about him?”
“Well, I gave him up and came home, just like you told me to,” Chyna told her.
“So, what’s the problem?” Lexi asked, putting an arm around her shoulder.
“Nothing,” she said, brushing it off. “I guess I was just in over my head. Time to come home.”
Lexi looked at her like she didn’t believe her, like she wanted to ask a million questions. Chyna seriously did not want to answer them. She didn’t even want to think about how she had left. She had felt so strong when she had walked out of that apartment, choosing to leave him and actually making that move. Now, she just felt drained, and she didn’t want to contemplate what that could mean, wondering if she had made the right choice.
“Actually, chica, can I borrow your cell? Mine managed to die on the drive over,” Chyna said with a shrug.
“Of course,” Lexi said, threading a piece of hair behind her ear. She stood and walked over to the counter. “You sure you don’t want to talk some first? You look like you might kill whoever you’re about to call.”
Chyna took the phone when Lexi handed it to her with a smile. “I’ll make it through.”
“So…uh…who are you calling?” Lexi asked nosily.
Chyna sighed, hating what she was about to do almost as much as leaving this morning. “My mom.”
16
Past
Frederick smiled at Chyna, like a kid in a candy store. He was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can you fucking believe this, hooker?” he whispered into
her hair.
She shook her head. She was too anxious and excited to see this shit going down. “I’ve been waiting for this for far too long.”
“And, to think we made the unveiling,” Frederick said with mightier-than-thou pretenses.
“Of course, we made the unveiling,” Chyna said, rolling her eyes. “Who do you think I am?”
“I would have started worshiping at your feet earlier if I’d known it would get me into Marco’s fashion line grand opening on Madison Avenue!” he all but squealed.
“I’ll remember that next time,” she said with a catty smirk.
“How did you score this anyway?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Just the right connections,” she said with a shrug.
“Do you even know?” he asked, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“Of course I know!” Chyna turned back to face the gorgeous boutique on Madison Avenue.
Part of the street had been obstructed from public view for the cutting of the ribbon, and there was a private entrance for the viewing of the exclusive new clothing line. It was all hush-hush. So, of course, nearly half of the Upper East Side elite had scrambled for a chance to be present. The more exclusive, the more desirable it was to be in attendance.
Chyna hadn’t really thought she would get access to the line. She had a name behind her, but she didn’t model, she wasn’t in the industry, and she wasn’t a celebrity. The chance of finding the golden ticket had been slim.
When she had gotten back from her morning mani/pedi two days earlier, Bernard had stopped her at the door and handed her an envelope. He said someone had been asking around for her apartment or drop-box, but Bernard didn’t know the guy. Since he wasn’t with the postal service, Bernard had taken the letter and informed him that he would hand-deliver it to Chyna. She was surprised that whoever it was had given Bernard the letter.
Bernard had given her a fair warning about opening the contents. He was always looking out for her. She had reassured him that she would be careful, and then she had taken the elevator to her apartment. She had ripped open the envelope without care and stared in shock at the contents within—two gorgeous cards bordered in gold with the designer logo stamped on the front. She turned the stationary over and discovered that they were in fact invitations with her name on them.
She had phoned Frederick immediately. Alexa was too engrossed in finals for her last year of law school, and she probably wouldn’t have been all that impressed with a grand opening for a boutique she couldn’t spend money in. Frederick had squealed like a girl, asking her more questions than she had answers for. She had shut him up real quick by volunteering his pass to someone else.
How the hell the tickets had landed on her doorstep had crossed her mind several times since she had opened the package, but she didn’t have an answer, and she didn’t really care. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
Chyna turned her attention back to the building that was half covered in a white cloth to hide the completed boutique. An enormous red ribbon was held up in front of the entranceway, and a woman was holding a rather cumbersome pair of large gold scissors.
Another woman in an obnoxiously glittering dress with diamonds dripping from her neck, ears, and fingers smiled at the waiting crowd. She took a step forward and began speaking. “Thank you for being here for this very important moment in Marco’s fashion line. I am Giselle, Marco’s personal assistant, and I am happy to introduce you to the man himself.”
The small crowd of people fell silent as an attractive man with a staggering confidence walked out in front of the store. He was every bit the man Chyna had read about—tall, dark-styled hair, deep penetrating eyes, and impeccable taste. What she hadn’t read was the thing she couldn’t describe even to herself. From where she was standing twenty feet away from him, some type of pull, a magnetic pull, drew her to him.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said in crisp, clear English with the faint trace of a gorgeous Italian accent. “My name is Marco Moretti, owner and designer of Marco’s Italian fashion merchandise. I am very pleased to have such a warm welcome in the States at the grand opening of my newest boutique. Thanks to my wonderful business associates, I have had a very easy transition onto your Madison Avenue. I am happy to call it home.”
Frederick squeezed Chyna’s hand. “He’s looking at you,” he whispered.
Chyna was already well aware. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of him since he had walked in front of his new building. To say her pull to him was magnetic was beginning to become an understatement. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. She didn’t even know if she believed in love at all. All she knew was that she knew it when she felt it—desire. She was sure she was dishing out her fair share in his direction, but his eyes hardly portrayed otherwise.
The second or two he spent staring at her during the pause in his speech were breathtakingly long. She was thinking of a thousand places in the nearby vicinity where she would let him take her. How much effort would it take to convince him?
“After much anticipation, I am here to announce the opening of Marco’s on Madison, the freshest Italian line to cross the Atlantic.” He smiled like a true charmer and took the giant scissors from the woman holding them. She offered them up enthusiastically. With a gorgeous smile on his face that really lit up the camera, Marco leaned forward and cut the red ribbon into two.
As the ribbon fluttered to the ground, the white curtain followed, revealing live models posing in the all-glass storefront. The crowd applauded at the castle-like building’s completion. The gold Marco’s sign overhead was the perfect finishing touch on the classic design. Everything at eye-level rested on mahogany shelves. Plush red pillows with gold tassels and antique-looking clothing racks completed the display, portraying an overall feel of lavish royalty.
Chyna caught the eye of the young Italian designer once more before he turned away from the crowd, pushing the front doors open for the first time. A chill ran up her spine from his earlier gaze, and her mind traveled far away again. She needed to reel it in.
She had plans later, and she couldn’t let this interfere. It was just an opening for a boutique. She wanted to go shopping, say she was one of the first to get a Marco design off Madison, and then leave. She wasn’t afraid to drag Frederick out of there, if need be.
Following the surge of people moving forward into the store, Frederick grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the crowd. They wandered the perimeter of the store. She was almost as interested in the amazing craftsmanship of the interior design, admiring its difference from the modern stores she was used to. Frederick kept a continual conversation going, yammering in her ear about the layout, the state of the furniture, the cost of the upholstery, and on and on.
She couldn’t deny the exquisite taste of Marco’s designs. His lines were even, colors perfectly integrated, and style replete with both unique pieces and mix-and-match options. She didn’t even know him, but she could feel his touch on every item, which was a hard thing to manage.
As she fingered a turquoise silk button-up, she felt a presence behind her. All she wanted to do was turn around and confront whoever was having such a profound effect on her. Instead, she continued to stare down at the beautiful piece of work, ignoring the person now hovering behind her.
“I think you would look better in something like this,” Marco said, holding out a purple shirt with gold accents in a similar style. “Matches your skin tone and complements your green eyes.”
“My best friend wears a lot of purple,” she said with a shrug. “It’s all right.” She tried to sound indifferent. She had never needed fashion advice before. But, this wasn’t advice. This was the designer.
He smiled, seeing through her attitude. “Hardly,” he said, turning her around to face a mirror. He placed the shirt in front of her body. “See.”
Chyna stared at her reflection in the mirror. The colors really did work for her in just the way he had said th
ey would. She should have trusted him, but sometimes she just liked what she liked. “You’re right. It’s better,” she told him.
“I know,” he said, taking a step back. “Marco Moretti.”
He offered her his hand, and she placed hers in his gently. He leaned forward and kissed both of her cheeks softly. She knew it was just a greeting, but her heart leapt at the contact.
“Chyna Van der Wal,” she said, licking her lips when he pulled back. “You have a very impressive store.”
“Thank you. I like it.” He smiled at her and drew her away from some of the other customers. “These. This and this,” he said, grabbing a pair of dark skinny denim pants, a gold tank, and light brown boots. “Go!” he commanded, pushing her off into the dressing room.
She barely had time to process before she was following his order. She took the outfit out of his hands and quickly stripped down behind the dark wooden dressing room door. When she reemerged in the outfit he had picked, she could hardly believe the man’s taste. Honestly, he was almost too good.
“Perfetto!” he said, examining her outfit. “You’ll wear it out.”
“Mr. Moretti, would you like me to ring that up for her?” a gorgeous woman with slick blonde hair hanging down to her waist asked. She was dressed in black from head to toe with some faint gold accents in between.
“That won’t be necessary, Lydia,” he said with a smile. “I believe Giselle might need some more help up front.” The woman nodded curtly and left the dressing room, understanding his need for privacy.
Chyna wondered where Frederick was at that moment. Had he noticed her leaving with Mr. Moretti…with, the owner of Marco’s fashion line? Why did she even care right now? He was gorgeous and alone with her in a dressing room. Oh, the possibilities!
This was much better than thinking about her meeting later. She had been putting it off for far too long already. She didn’t know what to think about everything that had happened. All week, Alexa had been convincing her, convincing both of them, to just talk it out, but Adam hadn’t relented, and it had hardened her fortitude. At this point, she would rather be alone with a fashion designer in his dressing room while a crowd waited outside. Who was she to care if anyone heard her?
