They called her name and, somehow, she walked to where Luc stood, approving models before they stepped onto the stage.
Her stomach revolving in queasiness, Hayley halted before him, a plastic half-smile on her lips. He looked at her sideways and shooed her off past the curtains and onto the runway.
Her heart stopped and the sickness surged up as applause reached her ears and bright white light blinded her for a moment. Then it kicked in. Her job, the modeling part. She had to do it. With slow breaths, she sent the sickness back down her throat and walked, the red dress hugging every inch of her body, from her breasts to her knees, where it opened like a fluffy mermaid tail. The applause of the public was of approval, and that sparked a little confidence in her. Her strides became surer. Her smile widened. Her turn evoked some surprised gasps and whispers.
When she left the stage, someone cut her out of her dress. She changed into another outfit—the next two weren’t as tight—and entered twice more. Each time, her confidence grew and, at the last turn, she almost felt like Gisele Bündchen, owning the runway and everyone around it.
And it was all over before she could really feel at ease.
Luc and his team opened champagne and offered a few flutes around to the models that had highlighted the night. She hadn’t done badly, but he ignored her completely, even during goodbyes.
Hayley picked up her things and her purse, then left the pavilion, disappointed in herself.
If she hadn’t become so nervous before the show, she wouldn’t have eaten so much chocolate, she wouldn’t have gained half a pound, she would have fit in the awesome dress, and she would have made Luc’s short list of employable models.
Her mind on her failure, Hayley tried to hail a cab for almost twenty minutes before giving up and taking the subway.
The ride to Brooklyn was cold and long and tiring, and by the time she got home, her roommate was already in bed. Chloe had left a note over the kitchen counter, saying her mother had called and that there was a chicken salad in the fridge. She smiled. Her friend, always the thoughtful one.
She wanted to skip dinner, to fall on her bed in her dirty clothes and sleep her disappointment away, but she knew a warm shower would do wonders.
Afterward, in her flannel pants and tee, seated at a stool at the kitchen island, she was watching some Lifetime movie and eating the salad, when the intercom rang.
“Hello?”
“Hayley, baby, it’s me.”
It took her a second to recognize his voice. “Dylan? What are you doing here?”
“Can’t you open up, then we talk?”
“Yeah.” She pressed the button that released the lock of the main building door and ran to the front door of her apartment. “Crap,” she whispered when she realized she was in her PJs. She turned to go to her room, but the knock on the door stopped her.
With a loud sigh, she opened the door then caught her breath.
Leaning against her doorway, stood Dylan Deveraux. He wore a fitted blue sweater over his large shoulders, which accentuated his blue eyes, dark jeans that hugged his hard butt and thighs, and fancy black shoes. His black hair was shorter than she had last seen, but he still kept longer bangs over his tantalizing eyes. And he was tall. About six-four, just the right height for a tall girl like her. Dylan was perfection.
“Hey, Hayley, long time no see.” Even if his tone wasn’t slurred, she would have known he was drunk because of his terrible whiskey breath. And, just like that, the perfection was gone.
She beckoned him in and closed the door before he could wake the whole building. “What are you doing here?”
He wobbled through her tiny living room. “That isn’t a nice way to talk to a friend.”
“Cut the crap, Dylan.” Hayley stood her ground and crossed her arms to cover her bra-less breasts. “It’s two in the morning, and you’re totally wasted.”
“Caught me.” He smiled at her, making her heart flutter.
Damn, he shouldn’t affect her like that. She knew him. She knew his reputation. The whole world knew. Besides, even if he were a serious guy, what were her chances with him? Zero. Well, if he were a serious guy, he wouldn’t hang out with her every now and then and consider her only a friend.
Dylan continued his uncoordinated walk to her bedroom. She rushed behind him, but he had already sprawled across her bed.
“Dylan, get off my bed.” She shook his arm. “I had an exhausting day. I need to sleep. Soon. Now.” But he didn’t answer. She shook his arms with both her hands this time, but that also did nothing. “Dylan. Wake up.” She wanted to yell at him, but she didn’t want to wake up her roommate.
She sat down beside him and watched as his chest heaved up and down in a calm rhythm. Why the hell did he keep on coming to her like this? Wasted and sleeping it off? What was she to him? A place to crash other than his parents’ house? He had money to pay for any hotel in New York. Heck, he had money to pay for all the hotels in New York. And yet, each time his parents were in town, he came to her. But not before drinking his sanity away.
She pulled his shoes off, grabbed one of the pillows from her bed and the extra comforter inside her closet, and went to the living room.
The couch wasn’t the best bed, but it was better than to try and squeeze herself against Dylan. Not that she didn’t want to. But what if he thought she was one of the hookers he slept with and tried something with her? She couldn’t take that.
She turned off the lights and lay on the couch.
“I don’t know why you put yourself through this,” Chloe’s voice came from the dark corridor. “It hurts you.”
Hayley hugged the comforter closer to her body. “I can’t just send him away when he’s that drunk.”
“Yes, you can.” Her roommate sounded closer now. “Just call a cab and send him to a hotel.”
And then what? Destroy their friendship? Was there a friendship to be destroyed?
“I can’t.”
“I know that, and that’s why I’m talking to you.” Chloe sat on the couch with her. The dim light coming from the window cast a shiny halo around Chloe’s figure. “I can help you with this, if you want. I can help you send him away and make him stay away.”
“I don’t know….”
“Think about it.” Chloe patted her leg before getting up. “Just keep in mind that you’re the one getting hurt here, and the more you let this keep going on, the more hurt you will be.”
Her words echoed through the dark living room, disturbing Hayley’s exhaustion and giving her nightmares.
Chapter Three
Dylan rolled over, hugged the pillow, and smiled at the sweet mixed scent of berries and peaches.
In a swift jump, he was out of the bed, staring at the pink pillow he had been about to make out with.
Shit. He was in Hayley’s room. Again. He didn’t remember how he got here. Again. A faint but insistent throbbing spread through his skull. Again.
Frowning, he scanned the tiny but organized bedroom. The clock on the white nightstand indicated it was just past noon. Where was Hayley? He usually slept on her couch. If he had taken her bed, where had she slept?
He started for the door to find her and apologize for kicking her out of her own room, but halted upon passing the tall mirror on her closet door. He looked like hell. His hair stuck out in every direction, his sweater was crumpled and smelly, and his breath could kill. No way in hell could he let her see him like that.
Without many options, he went to her bathroom and cleaned himself up—his finger as toothbrush for his teeth, water for his hair and face. Feeling nasty in the stinky sweater, he slipped it off and wore only with his white shirt, which smelled slightly better. He reached down for his shoes from beside the bed, but decided to leave them there and put them on later, so not to make any noise in case Hayley’s roommate was still sleeping. It was past noon, but still. He didn’t want to be responsible for ruining Chloe’s slumber. Damn, he hoped he hadn’t ruined her sleep las
t night, too.
On tiptoes, Dylan crossed the short corridor and found Hayley sleeping on the couch. She looked peaceful, but he doubted she was really comfortable there. The pillow was on the floor, the comforter pressed in between her legs and arms, as if she was hugging it, her delicate feet propped on the arm of the couch. Her long amber hair fell around her shoulders, her tank top had ridden up, showing a piece of her soft midriff skin, and her breasts barely fit inside her tight top.
Shit. He turned his back to her, ashamed at having stared at her body.
But it was such a nice body, how could he resist? He peeked at her over his shoulder. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t a famous model yet. She was so, so beautiful.
He smiled, remembering the first time he saw her. They were at a party, and he spent over six hours trying to woo her, but she didn’t fall for his bullshit. No girl had ever resisted him—except Hayley. She was the first and only. And that’s how their friendship was born. Even though his instinct was to try and kiss her and sleep with her each time he saw her, Dylan had found a true friend in her, and for that he put his physical needs aside. She was the only one who understood his problems, his dark moments, who endured him, who saw past the bullshit, and didn’t throw herself at him. More importantly, she didn’t care about his fortune.
Hayley stirred, moaned, and opened her eyes. “What are you smiling about?”
Was he smiling? “Nothing.” He sat in an armchair beside the couch. As she sat up, she pulled the comforter up to hide herself. “Hey, hmm, sorry. I didn’t mean to take your bed.”
“I know.” She smiled, and her green eyes shone.
“Was I too much of a jerk?”
“The usual.”
Their eyes locked, and she lost her smile. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much shit about his life, but he was always afraid he’d push her away if she found out every one of his little messes. Wouldn’t it be better, though? For her? To be away from him and his bad influence? But then who would give him pep talks and receive drunken him with open arms in the wee hours of the night? Who would tell him everything would be okay? Who would give him a hug when he was down because of his brother? He had driven many, many times from Princeton to New York just to have one of those hugs.
She was one of those rare jewels, and he couldn’t afford to lose her.
Feeling like a coward, Dylan averted his gaze. “Where’s Chloe?”
“Working. She left early. She wanted me to go to her bed then, but I just couldn’t move.” She shifted leaned back on the couch. “I take it your parents are in town.”
“Yeah. They arrived a few days ago. We tried having a family lunch yesterday. Alexis even flew in from LA, and Celine from London.”
“And it didn’t go well?”
“When does it go well?” The rage from the previous day surged up. “You know what? It’s not important. I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
He glanced at her. “What were up you to before I came?” He was always afraid of that question, afraid she would say she had a date or had a guy over, but his curiosity outweighed his fear.
“I had a show. Three dresses this time.” She didn’t sound happy or proud of herself.
“Sweet. How was it? Did you sweep the designer off his feet?”
She grimaced, hugging the comforter tighter. “As if.” She pouted. “I gained weight and one of the dresses wouldn’t close. The designer was furious with me. He told me he’ll never hire me again.”
“Wait. You’re as thin as ever. How much did you gain?”
“Half a pound,” she admitted with a low, ashamed tone.
“What? That’s nothing.”
“Well, it was enough for this dress.” She looked at her red nails, playing with them. “Now I have one more designer to add to my rejection list.”
“Are you serious? Because of half a pound?”
“This is serious. Half a pound is too much in my field. In fact, I should lose two or three more.”
“That’s crazy, you know that, right? You’ll disappear.”
“I’m not that thin, unfortunately.” She looked down at herself, but the comforter was still covering her whole body. “I have too many curves.” Her eyes found his again.
“Thank God you do,” he said before thinking. Warmth spread through his cheeks, but he didn’t break the stare.
She did. She cleared her throat, stood up with the comforter and walked to her bedroom. “Be right back,” she said and closed the bedroom door behind her.
Hayley was perfect. Tall, long legs, flat stomach, thin waist, not a single ounce of fat. Even though she wasn’t the ice skating prodigy she had been when younger, he knew she still liked to skate for at least a few hours each week. And he knew she’d practiced Pilates for many years now, and that provided for her lean, firm muscles. She had perfect breasts and hips. Her hair fell like a dark golden cascade down her back and her emerald eyes shone each time she smiled—and she had an amazing smile. All her photos were gorgeous. He had gone to two or three of her shows, and she looked great on the runway. How could Hayley not be the most successful model out there?
If only she had more exposure.
Chapter Four
Hayley tried not to freak out as she paced. She had already taken a quick shower, brushed her teeth, combed her hair and pulled it up on a ponytail, and put on jeans and a large long-sleeved tee. She knew Dylan and the dirty thoughts in his mind. They were friends, but he was a playboy and she knew she was a cute girl—she was a model, wasn’t she? He wouldn’t waste an opportunity to stare at her body. So no tight clothes or short skirts or low cleavage while around him.
Dylan would drive her crazy one of these days.
And she had been hiding from the temptation for over thirty minutes. What if he got bored and left? She didn’t want him to leave, not yet. Despite her doubts, she liked his company, liked talking to him.
After one last look at the mirror to make sure she looked okay, but not too okay, she left her bedroom.
Dylan sat at one of the stools at the kitchen’s island, a sketchpad and a pencil in his hands, focused on whatever he was drawing.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Hope you don’t mind.” He gestured toward the sketchpad and pencil. “I found them on the counter.”
“I don’t mind.” She walked into the kitchen. “We leave it here to jot down anything we need to buy for the house.” He nodded and went back to drawing. “What do you want to eat?”
“Not sure,” he answered, his eyes on the sketchpad. “Nothing too heavy, I think.”
She smiled. “Too many drinks last night?”
Dylan snickered, winking at her before returning to the sketchpad. “You could say that.”
“All right. How about yogurt, juice, and toast? And apples?”
“Damn, Hay, how can you eat so…” he faked a cringe, “healthy?”
She grabbed food from the fridge and put it in front of him. “That’s what I have. If you don’t want it, don’t eat.” Then she turned to the toaster.
“Fine. But I’ll skip the yogurt. And the apple.”
Hayley laughed as she loaded the toaster. If only life was always this easy, this uncomplicated. While waiting, she leaned on the counter opposite the island, crossed her arms and spat out, “I’m thinking about quitting.”
The pencil fell from Dylan’s hand, and his wide blue eyes met hers. “What? Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve tried this for almost five years. It’s not working. I can’t even get into an agency. All I do is freelance. And it’s getting harder.” Unable to stand his gaze on her, she stared at the floor. “I’m not fit for it. I should quit and find another job.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed the toast from the toaster and put it in front of Dylan, then put two more slices in for herself. “I could work as waitress somewhere for a while. Or in retail. Then try to get into coll
ege.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not really. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
After finishing one piece of toast, he picked up the pencil. “And give up on the thing you like the most?”
She sat on the stool across the island. “It’s not like I have many options, is it? I can’t keep doing this and starve to death.”
“It can’t be that bad.” He went back to drawing. And it was irritating. He was talking to her but not looking at her? Just irritating.
“It’s that bad.”
Dylan stopped drawing and stared at her, his eyes heavy on hers, clouding her thoughts. “What if I could help you?” He sounded excited, hopeful.
“What do you mean?”
He lowered the pencil, but didn’t release it. “I think I may have a way of helping you. An idea.”
“But?”
“But you gotta help me, too.”
What now? What could he ask of her?
She sipped from her juice, considering. “I know I’m gonna regret this, but shoot. Tell me your idea.”
“I think your popularity would increase if you went out with me. Everywhere. We go out to restaurant, to concerts, balls, trips.”
“But you already do all that. Without me. How would I help you like that?”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and leaned closer. “You need attention. I can give you that. Paparazzi, covers of gossip magazines, famous people, the red carpet. I can get you all that. All I need you to do is to be there with me. And to go to my father’s ball with me.”
“Your…father’s ball.” Crap, he was going to put her in between him and his father. Oh, this was bad. “I don’t want to stand between you two, Dylan. Don’t pull me into your family problems.”
“You’re not going to be a problem. You’re going to be a solution. He set up this incredible ball on Valentine’s Day to launch his factory in New York. But he forbade me to go because I don’t have a serious girlfriend.”
His Allure, Her Passion Page 2
