Ben felt like he didn’t even know the woman standing in front of him. She sounded just like all the other brainless bodies he’s spent years photographing, each one more concerned over her caloric intake than anything real going on in the world. Ben got it, to an extent. After all, he made his money by taking pictures of these breathing Barbie dolls. But still… up until now, he’d been convinced that Sami was so much more than that. It was in the way she treated people. It was evident by the way she loved those around her. She couldn’t possibly be this vain.
“What are you doing, Sami,” Ben whispered, his eyes disheartened and disillusioned as he stared into the face of the woman he loved. “What are you doing to us?” he questioned as his mind struggled to process what was happening. He prayed this was a nightmare he’d wake up from, but no matter how many time he closed his eyes and pinched himself, when he opened them, this scene remained unchanged.
“I’m just being honest. This doesn’t need to be a scene, Ben. Just let me get packed up, and I’ll be out of here,” she replied emotionlessly, sliding her diamond engagement finger off her left ring finger and holding it out to him. “You should take this,” she said, shaking the ring at him. “I don’t want any reminders of us, Ben, and this cost a lot of money. I don’t wanna flush it down the commode, so just take it back.”
His heart breaking, Ben felt pure wrath leaking from the cracks in his heart as he stared at the ring he’d given her. She was breaking up with him. “You do this now… you hand me that ring back and choose this fucking job in Italy over staying here and working things out between us, it’ll end us. For good. I will never be able to forgive you,” he threatened. He never thought he’d be the type of guy to issue an ultimatum like this one, but he also never dreamed his Sami would cram a metaphorical stick of dynamite up his ass and blow up their relationship.
“It’s already done, Ben,” she declared with a kind of icy resolve he’d never heard from her. Watching in stunned disbelief as she reached for his hand and dropped the cold metal band of her engagement ring onto his palm, he slowly realized that this was really happening. “You fucking vapid cunt. You greedy goddamn bitch,” he seethed, moving his gaze from the ring in his hand to her face, enjoying the flash of raw pain he saw reflected in her eyes. It was quickly extinguished, but he’d seen it. He could still hurt her. And at the moment, hurting her sounded pretty fucking good. “Thank you for showing me your true colors before I put my gold on your finger. And thank God, I got to see this before I actually had a lifelong connection to you.”
And on that parting note, Ben stormed out of the bedroom, resolved to put as much distance as possible between himself and the woman who’d just devastated his heart and demolished his faith in true love.
Chapter One
Sami
Beautiful people were supposed to lead the happiest lives.
It was cosmic logic, wasn’t it? Widely known and accepted by the population at large. Just one of those indisputable truths that mere mortals couldn’t sway?
Today, Samantha Dixon was calling bullshit on that uppity nonsense because by those rules, she should have been happier than a Kardashian wearing one-of-a-kind Versace in front of the masses. Hell, she should have been more frickin’ ecstatic than Beyoncé after sweeping the Grammy Awards!
But she wasn’t. She was sad, damn it! And more than a little lost.
Because this mission she was on to locate her missing friend, Vivian, and drag her back to civilization was going to be the death of her! Or worse yet, give her worry lines that she couldn’t afford to find at this stage in her flagging modeling career. Wrinkles were career suicide in her industry.
Samantha’s normally pretty face filled with a scowl as she glared out the windshield at the poorly paved road stretching endlessly ahead. Tightening her perfectly manicured rose-tipped fingernails around the expensive leather steering wheel of her rented black Land Rover, her glare deepened as she contemplated her current predicament, eight little half-moon indentations appearing in the supple leather of the wheel. Wincing as she noted the damage she was doing to the expensive vehicle, she forced her fingers to relax and shook her head in disgust. This wasn’t her type of ride anyway. Sure, in another dimension, who wouldn’t be thrilled to be tooling around this country outback behind the wheel of an expensive and shiny luxury automobile?
Pursing her lips, Sami wanted to snarl, “Me! That’s who!”
Give her a sporty little convertible any day of the week! Unfortunately, however, driving her own bright red mini-Cooper had been out of the question, thanks to her fabulously trendy co-pilot’s penchant for over-packing. Trying to convince Armando Savage that a short trip to the country did not call for eight full-size suitcases and three hat boxes required more energy than she had to spare at the moment. Let her flighty friend have his fedoras and feathers. At least space was no longer at a premium in the rented SUV, and Sami wasn’t traveling with a carry-on shoved up her admittedly fine ass. That fact, however, did nothing to brighten her day.
She knew she needed to adjust her less-than-spectacular attitude into something more user-friendly, but she had plenty of reasons for her current less-than-enthusiastic state of mind. First and foremost was the fact that she was the furthest thing from a country girl as a woman could get. Cowboy hats and straw were not her preferred accessories. Give her silk and diamonds any damn day of the week.
Of course, it hadn’t always been that way. Back when she’d been the crowned princess of the Dunham Trailer Park in Fulton, Georgia, she’d been able to rock a denim mini-skirt and halter top like nobody’s business. Of course, those days were long gone. No, she’d given up the country bumpkin look after she’d been discovered by an Atlanta modeling agent who’d been passing through her tiny town while she’d been waitressing at the local Hooters. She’d been fifteen years old at the time – not even old enough to be legally working, but she’d been desperate for cash and the owner of the restaurant had taken pity on her and been willing to pay her under the table.
Being a piss-poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, she had latched on with both hands to get out of the sticks and earn a decent living. Yes, when she’d been presented with the chance to pose for pictures in pretty clothes by a smooth talking operator from the big city, she’d dived head first into the opportunity and never looked back.
And she’d foolishly traded away a semi-decent job slinging slop at paying patrons for a future as a fearless fashionista.
She embarked on a successful career, spending her long days as a walking, talking art exhibit. She wore all the best designer’s clothes…. was draped in the finest jewels money could buy… and was photographed by the biggest names in the fashion industry. And all she was expected to do in return was be flawlessly perfect all the damn time, watching every bite that went between her lips… keeping her body in pristine condition…all while never aging a single day in the ten years she’d been under Cordova Modeling Agency’s employ.
Sami closed her eyes as she felt the last decade settle heavily on her shoulders, weighing her down with the knowledge she’d wasted her youth on making rich people even richer. All while she’d allowed her own happiness to slip through her fingertips.
But with a lift of her regal chin, she shook off her melancholy and concentrated on the road ahead of her. Samantha had many less-than-stellar qualities, but she’d never been a fan of wasting her breath bitching about things she couldn’t change. And at the moment, she couldn’t change shit about her present situation. That alone was enough to piss her off to no end!
In fact, the only thing that might (and might was a real stretch of her imagination at this point) improve her current outlook at this point would be finding her destination and locating her closest and dearest gal pal – one that had been missing in action for the past several days. As soon as she located that erstwhile friend, she’d be kicking the lovely attorney right in the vagina for worrying the shit out of her for the past seven days!
“Where the devil is this backwater hell on earth anyway, Mannie?” she questioned her co-captain in crime through clenched teeth while she navigated their vehicle around yet another pothole the size of Pittsburgh. Side-eyeing one of her oldest – and arguably the gayest – friend she had in the whole wide world, she warned, “And if you tell me to just relax and enjoy the scenery one more time, be aware I’m going to be tempted to drive this fancy-schmancy SUV off the side of this mountain!” Audibly groaning as the back tire of their vehicle hit another broken spot in the pavement, she grimaced and bit her lip to keep from cursing. She still couldn’t believe it had been her idea to embark on this mission of mercy.
Leave it to their friend, Vivian, to get herself brainwashed by a bunch of backwoods buffoons. Deep down, Sami knew Viv hadn’t exactly asked for this assignment her firm had given her. Not even close. The truth was her gal pal had come up here to the wild mountains of Tennessee because one of the high-paying clients at her law firm had gotten himself in a load of trouble. Since the alleged drug czar had been able to afford to pay the firm’s hefty retainer and fees, the company had assigned their newest partner the case, sending Vivian on an all-expense-paid trip to the tiny town of Paradise, Tennessee, to defend the would-be criminal. At the time, Vivian had thought she’d received the boon of a lifetime, theorizing this was a wonderful sign of the confidence the company had placed in her. Personally, Sami had thought it to be a kind of malicious hazing ritual, dumping the problematic client on the new girl.
Any which way Sami sliced the pie, it had still been months since Viv had been home. Instead, her friend had been sequestered in this so-called Paradise for the last several months. The good news was that according to the last phone call from Vivian over a week ago, the attorney had finally wrapped up that pesky Diego Fuentes case with a win for the home team. The word was still out if Vivian had gotten around to bedding the sexy Mexican hombre she’d been defending, but knowing her goody-two-shoes bestie, the answer was most probably no.
Which meant her bestie should have bolted from her Paradise prison and been back in their native Atlanta, Georgia, by now.
That hadn’t happened, however.
Neither Samantha nor their other two friends, Armando or Molly, had heard from Vivian in the last several days. Unusual, since their pack traded phone calls as often as most folks changed their underwear, but for seven days and nights there had been radio silence.
Hence, Sami’s decision to embark on this doomed road trip from Hell.
It totally had nothing to do with the fact she’d also felt the burning need to run away from home as fast as these luxury tires could carry her. Especially after the week she’d had. After losing her last modeling gig because the director of the high-end fashion show had evidently lost his glasses (and apparently his mind, too) and deemed her too mature for the clothing line they were showcasing, Samantha had been at her wit’s end. Torn between committing either mayhem or murder, she’d had to be escorted off the premises by one of the geriatric security guards after she’d hurled one too many oranges at that moronic director’s oversized head. Who knew fruit could prove nearly fatal? Certainly not her.
Not that she was too worried about her temper tantrum. Those were the gold standard when dealing with half-starved, neurotic women who connected their waist size to their sense of self-worth. Not that she had that problem…nope, not her! She was perfect, damn it. She didn’t care what that blind bastard had said between dodging navel oranges aimed at his oversized head. That baby-faced brat of a director obviously needed new glasses if he thought she was too mature to model bootie shorts and crop tops. Ha! Of course she would have looked old to a frickin’ twelve year old! Everyone did, she reasoned. Because honestly, if that asshat she’d been working for had been a day over twenty- two, she’d eat her favorite Gucci purse! Too mature, he’d said. What an imbecile! Everyone in the business knew well and good that was just the industry’s fancy-ass way of calling her too damned old!
And that wasn’t even the worst part of all. No, the worst part was this hadn’t been the first – or even the fourth – time she’d heard that very criticism this month.
Hell, why couldn’t her problems be simple? Like being too fat or too thin. A few more hours with her personal trainer would trim any excess inches that snuck up on her or stack on a little extra muscle when she needed it. Too blonde or too brunette? No stinkin’ problem! A bottle of dye and a couple of hours in her hair stylist’s chair, and she’d be all good. Those things were repairable! She could fix something like THAT. But, no, there wasn’t an effing thing she could do to subtract years from her age! Well, maybe she could counterfeit a birth certificate, but she didn’t relish the thought of serving time in a federal prison if she was ever caught.
Soooo, at the ancient age of twenty-seven, it appeared she, Samantha “The Body” Dixon, had been deemed “over” in every fashion house and modeling circuit that mattered. It didn’t seem to matter she still had contracts with two cosmetic companies and was a rep for a popular skin care product line. Nope, they were all more than willing to pay her to sit on her ass for the remainder of her contract while they got some teenager with stars in her eyes to pimp their wares.
It was ageism! That’s what it was! It had to be. And while she wasn’t the most educated woman in the world, she was still pretty sure it was illegal. Sometimes having a lawyer for a best friend came in handy.
Also, it was yet another reason she needed to locate her errant attorney ASAP! She was suing the Cordova Agency for every red cent they had just as soon as she managed to find her missing friend. With Viv’s help, she’d be running Cordova inside of a year and then she fire every model under the age of twenty-five!
God, she needed a cocktail. Preferably one served by a half-naked, well-hung stud while she rested by a large body of water in a bikini. Sadly, however, she wasn’t likely to find HIM up here in the sticks anytime soon. Not unless her imaginary hunk was named Bubba and had a penchant for flannel speedos.
BUT she was going to find Vivian. Together, they would brainstorm ways to get her life and modeling career back on track or, at the very least, figure out a way to enact a hostile takeover of the Cordova Agency using a butter knife and can of hairspray! They were capable women. They could make things happen.
Glancing up to catch her reflection in the rearview mirror, she shook her head unhappily at the woman she saw looking back at her. She didn’t look too old. Her slender face still remained unlined and without blemishes. Her eyes were still bright and sparkly with no obvious crow’s feet or wrinkles to mar their perfection. Her long ash blonde hair was still as healthy and vibrant as the first time she’d stepped in front of the camera. Dropping her gaze to her low cut silk blouse draped over her chest, she nodded as she eyed the still perky C cups that God had given her – no surgery for her, thank you very much! And she was proud to say she hadn’t gained a single pound in the last seven years, proudly keeping her weight at a willowy 125 pounds. At five feet, eight inches, that was no easy feat, but with determination, devotion, and a strict Nazi-like commander for a nutritionist she’d done it!
Damn it, she was still “The Body, wasn’t she? Of course she was!! By God, she had an ass that could make a grown man weep and tits that continued to defy gravity on a daily basis! And thanks to a workout which included a daily dose of Kiegels, she made sure to have the lady bits of a born-again virgin!
At least that’s what the last tender of her secret garden had told her … and that sawbones had better be right with the obscene amounts she shelled out for his co-pays!
And yet in spite of all she had going for her, her career as a much demanded print and runway model was effectively over. Even her so-called manager had told her so. With her big 3–0 looming in the not-so-distant future, it would seem that just like those cows she’d passed a few miles back, she, too, was now out to pasture.
It wasn’t even a little bit fair! Guys didn’t have this kind of problem. Her budd
y, Armando, could still book gigs right and left if he wanted, and he was nearer to thirty-five than thirty. But unlike men, women didn’t get better with age. They just got… well… old.
Luckily, Samantha had been frugal, religiously saving almost every penny she’d made throughout the years. Thanks to her hefty nest egg and the residuals from some of her bigger ad campaigns, she’d never have to work another day in her life if she didn’t want to. But that wasn’t for her. A life of leisure wasn’t anywhere close to what she imagined for herself. She was a worker bee, happy to hum along and do her bit for God, commerce, and country. She had to do something. She just wasn’t exactly sure what that something was going to be yet. She needed a plan.
Which was why she needed at least one of her saner best friends to be accessible to her. She needed a voice of reason. A sounding board. A friendly freaking ear. Someone to keep her on the path to sanity rather than the express train to Hell. Especially when it felt as though her world was blowing up around her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have other friends. Because she did. She really did. But, all of her closest pals had families and problems of their own to contend with. For instance, her friend Molly had her husband Devil and their daughter Devlynn to take care of. And honestly, while she loved Mols like a sister and would give the woman a kidney if she needed it, the woman’s idea of a good time since becoming a wife and mom was to spend Friday nights eating takeout pizza and watching a marathon of Lifetime movies. Hell, if Sami had to endure one more such weekend, she was going to gouge out her eyes with one of her stilettos. And while her buddy, Armando had agreed to accompany her on her little jaunt into the mountains, usually he, too, was consumed with obligations both to his husband, Nick, and working as the personal assistant to Molly’s husband, Devil. And as much as she loved her some Mannie time, he wasn’t exactly the voice of reason in their group of friends. He was more the voice of, “Let’s order another round of shots and see where the night takes us!”
Paradise Found Page 3
