Lavish Loving

by A. C. Arthur

  London fell into a side chair. “Please, guys. Mom, Dad, I know you’re concerned. I understand. But I’ve got a job to do, and I’m not going to run away.” She fixed her parents with a determined stare. “Drakes don’t run.”

  It took an hour, but London and Ace teamed up to convince her parents that every precaution would be taken to make sure nothing else happened. Another hour before they agreed to continue seeing all of Italy as previously planned. They attended the show. No one watching would have guessed the ordeal London had experienced the night before. She was flawless. Electric. Bravissima! Sei unica! These words dominated the next day’s headlines as the hailed her as beautiful, unique, a woman on top.

  Early the next morning, London invited Ace to lunch with her parents before they left Milan.

  “I’m counting on you to protect my daughter,” Ike Sr. said as the two men shook hands. “If anything happens to her, you’ll answer to me.”

  “I understand, sir.” Ace confidently returned Ike Sr.’s firm handshake. “I’ll deliver her home safely. You have my word.”

  As he watched London’s parents walk away, Ace would have been lying to say he wasn’t extremely concerned about making sure that London stayed safe. But he did know one thing—he was the man for the job.

  Chapter 22

  One more show. By the time they arrived in Paris, this phrase was London’s mantra. She’d done hundreds of fashion shows. Had logged thousands of flight hours, crossed several time zones in one day. But the added responsibility as the face of the line, a de facto spokesperson, was another beast altogether.

  With every show, requests for guest appearances and interviews doubled, then tripled. Two company-hired photographers followed her constantly. Oh, and there was that little incident of being taken from a hotel, dropped into a black hole for hours and awakened by a stranger driving her back to a hotel she’d not remembered leaving. Like any trouper would, she assured everyone that she was fine. That was 70 percent true. The other 30 percent was groggy, paranoid and scared out of her mind. What happened in those hours she couldn’t remember? Where’d she go? How’d she get there? Who had taken her? Why? The detectives wanted answers to these questions. But not more than she did.

  The day after the show in Milan, Ace had insisted she take the day off. She had, and aside from too many questions about the packages, they’d had an enjoyable visit. In fact, her father hadn’t stopped asking questions until she refused to answer another one. Talk about overprotective. But after being in Ace’s “care” for the past twenty-four hours, she was sure he’d invented the word. Tyler and Lucien had taken over all preparations for the Paris show. Guest appearances were set up at the house—no, fortress—OTB had rented. No more hotels, doormen or concierges. Ace became all of them. He had a new title. Bodyguard.

  “London, what are you doing?”

  “Oh, my God, Ace. I’m using the bathroom, what do you think?”

  “Why do you have the door locked?”

  London’s face showed the incredulity she felt. “Seriously?”

  Did that door handle actually just rattle? Yes. It did.

  “Leave me alone, Ace. You’re like a warden trying to arrest an inmate already in jail.”

  “Ha! I’m here for a reason. Your last taping is in an hour. Entertainment International. They’re a big deal. We’re setting up in the parlor. Hair and makeup are already down there. The stylist is readying your wardrobe.” He rattled the knob again. “Don’t be late.”

  London shook her head and began to chuckle. His antics were so ridiculous she couldn’t even be mad.

  Her phone rang. She exited the bathroom and rushed to catch it. If it was her parents and she didn’t answer, they’d be on the next plane.

  “Hello? Hey, Max, hold on. You can go on down, Carly. I’ll meet you down there.”

  “Someone is supposed be with you at all times, London. Ace’s orders.”

  “I’ll handle Ace. Go on down.” London walked with Carly to the bedroom door and closed it behind her. She hit the speaker button and fell back on the bed. “Jeez!”

  “London? Everything all right?”

  “Everything would be fine if I stopped getting asked if I’m all right.”

  “Calm down, darling. You sound exasperated. That’s the only reason I asked. You know I care about you.”

  “I know. It’s just been crazy over here.”

  “Sounds like I arrived just in time.”

  “You’re in Paris?”

  “Oui, oui. And wanting to take you out tonight if you have time.”

  London had all but been in prison since the Milan incident. If a hair on her head moved, Ace knew which direction. An evening with the laid-back lover turned friend now sounded like heaven.

  “I’m getting ready to tape a TV segment. I’ll have to see what’s up after that. Call you later?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She hung up the phone, called her parents and quickly scrolled through her emails. Checking the time, something she’d done more since working with Ace than she’d done in her whole career combined, she headed out the door.

  He was coming down the hall. “You’re late.”

  “Five minutes. Give me a break, Ace. You’re not my dad.”

  “I’m damn close to it. I gave Mr. Drake my word to take care of you, and no matter how much it gets on your nerves I’m going to do just that. Now, let’s go be amazing.”

  She was more than that. London was an interviewer’s dream: funny, smart, engaging. The show’s producers had allotted two hours for the shoot. Forty-five minutes later, they packed up their gear.

  Ace had been on phone calls during much of the taping but came back to the parlor once they were done.

  “She was excellent,” the host told him. “Having her as your spokesperson is the best move you’ve ever made.”

  “I can’t disagree.”

  While Ace talked to the producers, London walked over to Samantha, who’d helped set up the shoot. “What’s next?”

  “That’s it, kid. You’re done for the day. Ace talked about us all going out to dinner.”

  London shook her head. “I’ve got other plans. A good friend of mine is in town, so we’re going to hang out.”

  “Oh, okay. Have fun.”

  London pulled out her cell phone, tapping Max’s number as she bopped up the steps.

  “Hey, guess what.”

  “Hello there, gorgeous.”

  “I’m free! What are we doing?”

  “What about front-row tickets to an Adele show followed by a late-night dinner party with Channe Bonfils?”

  “Are you serious?”

  In the fashion world, Channe Bonfils and his dinner parties were legendary. An eccentric royal with more money than God, he lived in a palace that rivaled Versailles and was rarely seen in public. London was all in.

  “There’s only one problem. Well, actually, two. First of all, I don’t have anything here that will meet his dress code. Those parties are strictly haute couture.”

  “I have a few connections here. We’ll get you something breathtaking. What’s the second problem?”

  “Ace.”

  “So you two are dating?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a yes-or-no story.”

  “Look, not now, Max.”

  “Fair enough. Where should we meet?”

  “That’s tricky.”

  “Because of the long story?” London huffed. “Does this have anything to do with your earlier mood? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you about it but later, okay? I don’t want to get into it now. This might get a bit uncomfortable, but you’re going to have to come get me. Seeing you in person is the only way Ace will le
t me leave.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I was kidnapped. Like I said, long story. I’ll tell you the details on the way to Channe. What time should I expect you?”

  “Let me make a few calls, get something that will make you the belle of the ball, and then I’ll call you back.”

  She’d showered before the taping, but London went into the bathroom and formed a quick ablution. She stood in front of the mirror naked, critiquing. Like every other woman with blood and a pulse, when looking in a mirror she highlighted imperfections. Breasts too small. Forehead too big. Torso too long and lanky. Not curvy like her cousin Katrina or her sister, Teresa. More like the giraffe she’d been teasingly called growing up. Fortunately, years of wearing top-of-the-line fashions from the world’s most talented designers had taught her how to downplay her faults and highlight her assets, one being that giraffe neck that had garnered so much teasing. She piled her freshly redone extensions on the top of her head, secured them with pins and pulled down a few tendrils for just the right amount of sexy. After touching up her makeup, she walked to the closet, pulled out a simple, one-sleeved multicolored maxi and a pair of gold-and-silver mesh boots. Almost two dozen bangles covered her arm. She pulled on a pair of dangling two-toned earrings and kept her neck bare. No matter what color, the mixture of metals would complement the gown. A spritz of perfume and London was ready to go. She stood back from the full-length mirror and surveyed her handiwork.

  “Where are you going?”

  London turned to Ace. “I didn’t hear a knock.”

  “The door was open. Samantha thinks you’re not joining us for dinner. Where are you going?”

  London bit back a caustic response and decided on a more sensible route. “Max is in town. He’s invited me to a dinner party.”

  “London, you know I can’t let you go to that.”

  The statement pushed sensible out of the room. “Let me go? Did I really just hear that? You can’t let me go? Who do you think you are, Ace Montgomery?”

  “The man who promised your father he’d protect you.”

  “The problem with that conversation that happened between you and my father is that I wasn’t in it. I don’t need your protection, okay? I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like you did in Milan?”

  Bam. That jab pierced the cocky protective armor and nipped her heart.

  “Forget you, Ace.” She reached for her jeweled clutch and tried to sweep past him.

  He grabbed her arm. “You’re actually going to walk out that door and defy me? Aren’t you even a little concerned for your life?”

  London looked from Ace’s eyes to his fingers clutching her bare arm. Her stilettos allowed her to look him dead in his eye. With the daggers shot from her livid glance, it’s a wonder Ace didn’t go blind. Her tone, low and deadly, was pushed through gritted teeth. “Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”

  Ace dropped it immediately. “I’m sorry, London. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. The reaction came out of how worried I am about your safety, about how much I care.”

  “Ace.” London sighed. “What happened happened. What could have been worse wasn’t. Either way, it’s in the past. I can’t do anything about that or about what might take place tomorrow. I can only control what happens right now. And I’m not going to stop living my life just because some wacko is spending too much time focusing on me while living his.

  “Besides, Max knows everything that’s been going on. He’s just as concerned about my safety as you are.”

  Ace snorted. “I just bet he is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly what it means. Max isn’t concerned about your safety. He’s concerned about his ego and appearances and feeling bad that he got dumped. But you’re too much like him to see you’re being played.”

  “Oh, is that so?” She took another step.

  “Damn right it is.” They stood nose to nose.

  London pushed him away. “And who are you? The knight in shining armor trying to rescue the damsel and stroke your massive ego to a size bigger than it already is? Supposedly so concerned about my safety? I’ll tell you what you’re concerned about. Your precious company. OTB’s reputation. Your name. Your brand. At the end of the day, that’s what you’re really protecting. So don’t come at me with that self-righteous attitude, like you have a lock on what I’m all about. You think you can stand there and dictate to me because of a promise? Because you think you know me? Think again.”

  If Ace had given any thought to backing down, it was short-lived.

  “I may not know everything. But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you’re a spoiled, selfish brat who grew up in the lap of luxury and ate baby food from a silver spoon. I know you are a fabulous model who’s let success go to your head and jade you into someone who can’t see that on her worst day she lives better than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population on their best. Who has wanted for nothing, hasn’t ever struggled or had to overcome a challenge in a day of her pampered life!”

  “I’ve had to overcome plenty!” London raged, argue mode full-blown.

  “What? Name one thing.” Ace was just as angry. Their voices grew louder with each retort.

  “I don’t have to answer to you!”

  “No, you can’t answer because you don’t have an answer!”

  “You don’t know what I have or what I’ve gone through.”

  “Yes, I do. You’ve gone through nothing! Even survived a kidnapping without so much as a scratch!”

  London’s voice now shook with anger. “Don’t think everybody who smells good and looks nice has lived perfect, trouble-free lives. I’ve gone through things, okay?”

  “Like what?”

  London stepped to him, lowered her voice to a whisper, her eyes shining. “Like being violated, physically, against my will. Don’t be so quick to judge, Ace. Some people carry scars the world can’t see.”

  London’s cell phone pinged. She snatched it up along with her clutch and ran out the door.

  “London! Wait!”

  But she didn’t. She ran from Ace, and her past, to a dinner party where laughter and loud music would make her forget. Just as they always had.

  Chapter 23

  Ace felt worse than horrible. He felt numb. Just after midnight London had sent a text. I’m safe, it began. Typed with sarcasm, Ace imagined. Followed by the news that she wouldn’t be returning to the house. That she’d meet them at the venue. He’d gone to bed then. But unable to sleep, he’d spent the night tossing and turning.

  London’s parting words echoed on a loop in his head. No, not London. It was Clarisse who’d spoke the truth last night. Who’d looked at him with quivering lips, whose eyes had watered with vulnerability and unresolved pain. Don’t think everybody who smells good and looks nice has lived perfect, trouble-free lives...lives...lives. I’ve gone through things, okay? Like being violated...violated...violated. Don’t be so quick to judge...judge...judge. Some people carry scars the world can’t see. The world can’t see. The world can’t see.

  He’d instructed Frida to let him know the moment London arrived. He found her in hair and makeup. “Can I have a word with you?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  The armor was on. The guard was up. London had returned.

  “In private, please. Just a couple minutes.”

  “Okay, but that’s all I’ve got.”

  She got up from the chair and followed Ace into the hallway. She stood there, arms crossed, looking away.

  “About last night... I’m sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  “Please, I understand the tough-girl thing.”

  London gave him the side eye.

  H
is hands raised in defense. “Okay, appreciate would be a better way to say it. I appreciate you being defensive. After how I acted last night, you have every right. I was way out of line. Judging, like you said. Inserting myself where I didn’t belong. I didn’t know...”

  He watched her jaw ripple as she clenched and unclenched it. “Nobody does.”

  “Nobody? Not even your family?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. We’ve got a show to do. I need to get ready.”

  Over. Done. She walked away.

  There was a saying in entertainment—the show must go on. It did. And again, London was everything. Like life was perfect. Like she didn’t have a care in the world. After a finale that garnered a two-minute standing ovation, she walked off the stage, changed clothes and left the building. London was done with Europe. Ace left the country believing she might also be done with OTB Her...and him.

  Back home, OTB remained closed for the rest of the week, to give those who’d managed the four-week fashion jaunt some well-deserved time off. Ace spent time with his parents, Christine and Hank, and was happy when an old college buddy invited him to Vegas for a weekend with the boys. Gave him a chance to escape his thoughts and not think about the unreturned phone calls he’d placed to London. And what that meant. She ignored him, yet he was reminded of her every waking moment. Ads, the OTB website, catalogs and press. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d invaded his dreams, as well. Turned them into nightmares. Last night he’d dreamed someone had snatched her backstage at a fashion show. He woke up trying to sprint with legs entangled in sheets.

  Monday finally arrived and along with it the fashion-week wrap-up, a recap and brainstorming meeting held twice a year. As much as he wanted to get back to work, he wasn’t necessarily thrilled about this meeting and what he had to share with the team. But after wading through a slew of emails, returning a couple urgent phone calls and plotting out the week’s to-do list, Ace walked into the company break room for a fortifying cup of joe. Tyler was there already, eating empty calories covered in glaze.

  “Morning, Ace! How’s it going?”