by Francis Ray
He pulled her into his arms. “I was worried.”
“Didn’t you see my note?” she asked.
He lifted his head. “I did, and I was still worried.”
“Sorry.” She gave him a quick kiss, then picked up the bags she had dropped and started for the kitchen. “I have dinner.”
Alex slowly followed. She appeared happy. Gone was the frightened woman of this morning, but there was something going on that he couldn’t put his finger on.
In the kitchen, instead of helping, he simply watched her as she set the table and transferred the Chinese food onto plates. Opening a bottle of wine she’d pulled from one of the bags, she poured two glasses and handed him one.
“What are we celebrating?” he asked, still trying to figure out why she seemed different.
“I have money,” she said. Without taking a sip, she placed the glass on the table, picked up her purse, and pulled out a thick bank envelope with an unsteady hand. “I don’t have to be scared anymore.”
The words hurt. He had been unsuccessful in allaying her fears. He’d known, of course, but it still hurt hearing her say he wasn’t enough.
She must have seen something in his face because she placed the envelope on the table and came to him. “I don’t know how to make you understand that, even knowing you were there, I needed to have money of my own. I want to be with you because I want to, not because I don’t have a choice.”
She was right, of course. He’d been thinking about his feelings instead of about her. His thumb grazed tenderly over her lower lip. She was taking steps to become her own woman. “You want to tell me how?”
She bit her lower lip, sighed. He wasn’t sure if she was unsure, embarrassed, or both. “I sold some of my jewelry.”
He tenderly brushed her hair from her face. “I hope you drove a hard bargain.”
She stopped chewing on her lip. “I did.”
“Good.”
“I also took some clothes to a resale shop.” She frowned and shook her head. “I didn’t realize I had so many clothes.”
“I think a lot of women would say the same thing.”
“Probably.” She went to her purse and came back with the money he’d given her and the credit card. “I won’t need them now.”
Alex, who understood pride, took the money. “Keep the card for emergencies.”
“I’m good.” She smiled. “It feels wonderful saying that and knowing it’s true.”
“I’d feel better if you’d keep the card for now,” he told her. “You can stick it in your wallet and forget you have it.”
“If it will make you feel better.” She turned away to finish putting the food on the plates. “Come on, let’s eat. There’s one more thing we have to discuss.”
Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. “Yes?”
She looked up at him then away. “I want to pay rent. I know I can’t pay what the guest bedroom is worth, but I’m hoping my cooking and preparing meals will help.”
All he could think of was that she wasn’t leaving him, but neither was she leaving his bed. “Considering you might start off in the guest bedroom, but end up in my bed, how about fifty dollars a week.”
She licked her lips. Desire replaced worry in her beautiful eyes. “I—I can pay two hundred dollars a week.”
He shook his head and placed his hands on her waist. “Fifty dollars and that’s final. Why don’t we seal the deal in said bed?”
Her breath hitched as her gaze moved to his lips. She licked hers again. “A-aren’t you hungry?”
“Starving.” His mouth found hers.
* * *
Saturday morning Alex woke up with a smile and Dianne in his arms. He’d enjoyed turning her nos into breathless yeses. Nothing in life could surpass the sheer pleasure of her coming apart in his arms with his name on her lips. He planned for a lifetime of such moments.
She stirred, murmured his name, and stilled. His hand swept her hair out of her face. He didn’t doubt she was tired. They’d made love most of the night. Around midnight they’d eaten the Chinese food she’d brought home, then made love again. He was insatiable. Thank goodness she was, too.
Life had blindsided her, but she was fighting back. As Catherine had said, Dianne didn’t expect him to stick. He’d just have to show her that he wasn’t going anyplace. The first thing was breakfast.
Slowly sitting up, he removed her arm from his chest. She stirred and woke up. “Go back to sleep.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Considering I let you sleep very little last night, I’m going to cook you breakfast in bed.”
She lifted her head and grinned. “Wasn’t that the reason I didn’t get much sleep?”
Chucking, he pulled her up to him and kissed her again. “True, and I’m making no promises it won’t happen again. Today is Saturday and we have all day to just do nothing.”
Something flickered in her eyes, then was gone. “If I stayed in bed, I’d just miss you.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair. “I’d miss you, too.”
She rolled from him to stand naked and playful once again by the bed. “Race you to the shower.”
“You’re on.” Tossing the covers back, he took off after her, catching her just inside the bathroom. “I win,” he said and claimed his prize.
Almost thirty minutes later they emerged from the shower. It took another fifteen minutes to get dressed. Alex was heartened to see that, as the morning progressed, Dianne’s smile remained. She insisted he go to the fitness center when he mentioned that he tried to get there at least once a week. He thought she would remain in the apartment, but she’d followed him and been a major distraction while on the treadmill.
He might have been annoyed if the attention she received hadn’t helped to prove to Dianne that her CEO was an idiot for firing her. She was beautiful and men noticed.
Finished with his routine, he walked over to her. “My spotter almost dropped the weights looking at you.”
She swung toward him, lost her balance, and landed in his arms. “Are you all right?”
“Always better with you in my arms.”
“Alex, have mercy on the rest of us,” called James, his spotter.
Setting Dianne on her feet, Alex left with her. Minutes later back inside his apartment, he whispered, “I’ll give you a head start to the shower.”
She looked up at him though a sweep of her lashes. “Either way I win.”
“We both win.”
* * *
You’re going to be all right.
Monday morning, Dianne repeated the litany over and over as she searched the want ads for a job. With the weekend over and Alex gone, she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. She had to find work. The money she had wouldn’t last forever. She might enjoy being with Alex, as she’d told him. What she hadn’t liked was not having a choice.
Her hands unsteady, she quickly located the want ad for models. She swallowed on seeing the size requirements—no larger than a size 6. There was no mention of age. There didn’t have to be. There were models in their thirties or older who did very well, but most had been modeling since they were in their teens or early twenties.
She reached for the cordless phone to call a few models she knew were in New York, then placed her hand in her lap. Their unlisted numbers were on the cell phone that she had turned in. Then she remembered that two of the women she’d been about to call were scheduled to do a photo shoot for Fashion Insider magazine in Central Park that afternoon.
The downside was that Sonya was one of the models. Sonya would be gleeful about Dianne being fired, but it couldn’t be helped. Before her courage failed, she dressed and left. She’d make Alex proud of her yet.
* * *
An hour later, Dianne wasn’t so sure of her prediction. Security was extremely tight. The off-duty policeman hired by the fashion magazine didn’t care who she was. She wasn’t on the list, and she wasn’t getting through the barricade.
“If you
could please just tell Ms. St. John I’m here, she’ll clear me,” Dianne told the guard.
The wide-shouldered man rolled his eyes. “Lady, do you think I have time to keep running back and forth with that line? Besides, like I told you—” He held up the clipboard. “—if your name’s not on this list, you don’t get past me.”
“But—”
“He said no, miss,” a female security guard said, then crossed her arms over her thin chest.
Disappointed, Dianne looked past them to see four models in eye-popping colored evening gowns in various poses on the grass, by the trees. She recalled doing similar shoots, becoming tired with the reshoots, the heat, or the cold. What she wouldn’t give to have it all back.
“Isn’t that Dianne Harrington?”
“I heard she got fired.”
Embarrassed, Dianne tucked her head, tightening her grip on her purse. She had to get out of there.
“I want her autograph.”
“I’m first.”
Amazed that they weren’t laughing at her, she turned toward the women just as she heard another cutting voice.
“I don’t want her autograph,” a high-pitched female voice said. “The man who fired her was right. She’s as old as my mother.”
“I’d be hiding my face if I were her,” another young voice piped in.
Dianne took a step to leave and realized that was what she’d always done when faced with problems. Alex expected more of her and so did she. Her head came up. Her gaze met the surly glare of two teenagers, probably model wannabes, before settling on a well-dressed woman in her early twenties who looked embarrassed. She had a small notebook and pen poised in her hand.
“You’re wearing one of Harrington’s designs,” Dianne said, smiling. “The peach color looks great with your skin color and the slim skirt is flattering.”
Obviously pleased, the young woman grinned and approached her. “I had to save for three months to buy this suit, but it’s worth it. The D line might not fit my budget, but it does fit my body.” She held out the small notebook and pen. “Could I please have your autograph?”
“Certainly.” Dianne quickly signed her name. “That’s what we wanted in the design, for the wearer to feel comfortable and self-assured.”
“I’m not wearing one of your designs, but my sister has several,” said her companion, holding out a sheet of paper torn from the other woman’s notebook. “She’s going to faint when I show this to her.”
“Of course.” Dianne’s practiced gaze swept over the woman, who wore jeans and an oversized shirt, a baseball cap, and boots. “D isn’t for everyone. You obviously like expressing yourself with your clothes. Perhaps one day you’ll think about a D.”
“How can you still recommend their clothes after they fired you?” asked the first woman.
Dianne started. For a brief moment she’d forgotten. She’d been a brand ambassador for too long to stop because they no longer wanted her. “I—I still believe in the company my grandparents started.”
“Why did they fire you?” asked the female security guard, unfolding her arms.
Dianne couldn’t push the words out. The outspoken teenager had no such difficulty. “The new CEO said she was too old and too fat. Past her prime.”
The woman she’d signed the first autograph for shot an angry look at the teenager. It bounced off.
“The CEO must be blind,” the male security guard said, his appreciative gaze running over her again.
Dianne’s spirits lifted a little. “I’m hoping Cicely, the fashion director for Fashion Insider magazine, isn’t.”
“My sister always wanted to be a model,” the female security guard said.
Dianne had heard the same thing thousands of times. “I never appreciated it until it was taken from me. I hope your sister gets her chance.”
The slim woman in her early thirties smiled, showing a wide gap in her front teeth. “She’s sixty and has ten grandchildren. Her day is long gone.”
“Just like mine,” Dianne murmured, fighting the stinging in her throat.
The female security guard looked at Dianne a long time, then hooked a thumb over her right shoulder. “We old, fat broads have to stick together. Five minutes or I’m coming after you.”
“Thank you.” Bending to go under the wooden barricade, Dianne set out in the direction of the main group of people behind the photographer, aware that Cicely would be there giving instructions. She was as well known for the fabulous layouts in her magazines as she was for running a tight ship.
“Hilda, fix Florence’s hair and lipstick, then do something with the circles beneath Sonya’s eyes. Maud, sultry not bored. Kate, chin up, chest out,” Cicely instructed.
While the makeup artist and the models snapped to do as Cicely ordered, Dianne worked her way up to the fashion director of the magazine, who ruled her department and fashion shoots with an iron fist. “Gus, do your thing. I want those pictures to leap off the page.”
Without answering, Gus Bear, one of the best in the business, lifted his Canon and began taking pictures. An assistant handed Cicely a bottle of water, but her gaze remained on the women. Dianne knew she was looking for flaws. Dianne couldn’t see any in the size 0 to 2 models. The oldest, Sonya, was twenty-four.
“Done,” Gus said, handing the camera to a waiting assistant and accepting another.
“Individual shots, ladies, so remain in place,” Cicely called out.
“Cicely,” Dianne said, when the last model’s picture had been taken.
Cicely turned, her black eyes narrowed with annoyance, then she smiled. “D. It’s good to see you.”
Dianne air-kissed the other woman, briefly taking the small soft hands extended to her. “You’re going to have a fabulous spread as usual.”
Cicely lifted the bottle of water and took a swallow. “Nothing else is acceptable. What are you doing here?”
Dianne moistened her dry lips; there was no help for her mouth. “I need a job. I thought you might be able to use me.”
Cicely blew out a breath and shook her head of shoulder-length black hair. “You’re too well known as the face of Harrington.”
“For some jobs perhaps, but a lot of people don’t pay any attention to the model,” Dianne said, uncaring that desperation coated each word. “I’ll take anything.”
“I’m sorry, the answer is still no.”
“What are you doing here?” Roscoe Lewis asked, stalking up to them. “Let me guess. You want a job.” Folding his arms across his chest, he laughed. “This is priceless. You’re wasting your time. You should have been nicer to me.”
Dianne’s eyes chilled. “Not even if I have to beg on the streets.” Ignoring the anger on his face, she faced Cicely. “Thank you. Do you mind if I speak with the models?”
“I do,” Roscoe said, a smirk on his face.
“I was asking Cicely.”
He faced Cicely. “I will withdraw my shoes from the magazine spread.”
Cicely casually took another swig of water. “Do you know what they call me?”
Roscoe’s bravado faded. Dianne didn’t blame him. Cicely was known as the Ice Queen. She was nice, but if you crossed her, run for cover—fast.
“Cicely, you know I was just kidding.” He laughed, or at least tried to. “I just didn’t want you making a mistake in hiring her.”
Cicely’s naturally arched brow shot higher on her exquisite face. She was beautiful enough to be a model, but she’d worked her way up to become a respected voice in the fashion industry. “I don’t make mistakes in hiring—and if I do, I rectify them immediately,” she said, her voice cold.
“I—” Roscoe began; then he swallowed and scowled at Dianne. She folded her arms and smiled into his scared face. He was a well-known shoe designer, but Cicely had clout she didn’t mind using to ruin him.
“I’ll help you get your foot out of your mouth because I have meetings lined up all afternoon. We both know you’re bluffing. You signed a contract and
we have very good lawyers who take a dim view of people who don’t honor contracts. But the most important thing is there’s only one person allowed to be Ice Queen, and that’s me.”
Dismissing Roscoe, Cicely faced Dianne. “I wish I could use you. You’re what a woman should look like.” She nodded in the direction of a large white tent. “You’ll find the models in there.”
“Thank you.” Turning, Dianne made her way across the grass, hoping, praying every step of the way.
In less than three minutes, Dianne had the same answer. None of the models had any leads. Their jobs were booked though their agents. After asking for their agent names, and ignoring the smirk on Sonya’s face, Dianne left the tent and hurried back to the security checkpoint.
“She hire you?” the female security guard asked.
“No, but I have a lead.” Dianne held up the small sheet of paper. “Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Dianne hurried away to find a quiet area to call the agencies.
Chapter 11
In took exactly thirty-three minutes for Dianne to be back where she started. The agencies wouldn’t even let her attend one of their open calls. She didn’t meet the size requirements. It was of no comfort that her age wasn’t given as one of the reasons. It seemed no one wanted her.
Slowly, she walked back to Alex’s apartment. She needed to save money. Possibly it would help her lose a pound or two.
In his apartment, she went to the guest bedroom and plopped onto the bed. Last week she was employed, having fun tempting Alex.
The phone on the bedside chest rang. Thinking it was Alex, she decided not to answer it. She didn’t want to disappoint him again. But wasn’t evading him the same?
“Hello.”
“Hi, Dianne. It’s Summer.”
“Alex is at his office,” Dianne told her.
“I know. I just got off the phone with him,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Me?” Dianne frowned.
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I wanted you to know that I think you got a dirty deal,” she said with heat. “I’ve had to fire employees, but there’s a way to do everything.”
