by Ella Brooke
But what keeps stopping me is knowing that she has plans. She wants her father to get out of this city. She wants to make a real run at her dream, and now she can. What kind of asshole would ask her to put her dreams on hold for him?
It feels like she’s already gone, and it’s killing me.
It hit me last night, holding her after we’d finally worn each other out, that I want that every night. The differences between her world and mine, all that shit that once made me so sure this couldn’t work…all of it fades away next to the prospect of losing her, of not having her sweet smile, her dark eyes, or the way she murmurs my name. She sees me, not for my money or connections, but for who I am. She doesn’t pull punches when I’m acting like an asshole, and she doesn’t let me tell her what to do. I never knew how much I needed someone like her.
And now she’s almost gone.
A good man would let her go, let her start her new life on her terms.
I’m not that good of a man.
As we make our rounds of the ballroom, I introduce her to friends and associates. She greets my father and Janet warmly, remembers my brother’s whining about his golf game and asks him about it.
I was an idiot to ever think she doesn’t fit in here.
I introduce her to people I want to work with for my charity foundation, and she listens closely to them as they prattle on about possibilities for funding and implementation. She seems genuinely interested, even asking them questions. It’s clear that they’re charmed by her, and I can’t blame them. Though if Donald Kramer doesn’t stop looking at her like that, I’m going to knock him out, no matter how much he’s promised to the foundation.
Across the room, I see a group of people I invited specifically with Samantha in mind. I excuse us, and we head through the crowd toward them.
“Samantha, this is Reginald Kirby. He’s—”
“You wrote ‘Distance,’” she says, naming a show that’s just opened to a ridiculous amount of good press. She sounds awestruck, and Reginald smiles at her.
“Have you seen the show?” he asks her.
Samantha shakes her head. “Not yet, but it’s on my bucket list,” she tells him with a smile.
“Dante tells me you’re a theater person,” Reginald says to her, and I nod. He’s an old acquaintance of mine, someone I fell out of touch with until I realized what a musical theater fan Samantha is. I’m grateful he agreed to not only show up tonight, but also to talk to Samantha.
“I’m trying to be,” she says with a smile. Reginald asks her about her acting experience, and then the whole group is in full-scale theater geek mode. I smile and see my father beckoning for me.
I lean in toward Samantha. “I need to go do something. Okay if I leave you here with Reginald for a little bit?”
“You couldn’t take her away if you tried,” Reginald says with a grin.
“I’ll be fine,” Samantha says.
I squeeze her hand gently and then walk over to my father and brother. I know what they want. They want to go over my speech again, and they want to make sure I mention the family business, as if I’d ever forget.
I need to make this quick. I need to tell her not to go.
***
Samantha
After I stop fangirling over Reginald and his associates and promise to audition for his next show, I recognize the couple Dante and I went to the theater with, and LeeAnn gestures me over. I take a seat next to her after hugging first her, then John, and we talk for a while about the show.
“I hope we’ll get to do that again,” LeeAnn says, and I plaster a smile to my face.
“That would be lovely.”
“Make sure you tell Dante how much we enjoyed that,” LeeAnn says, and I nod. She must see something in my expression, because her own manner becomes more subdued. “You are still seeing him, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I’m moving to L.A. soon. Family and work issues.”
She looks crestfallen. “But you’ll still be around, right?”
“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. I say it, still with hope burning in my heart that he’ll ask me to keep seeing him, not with money or contracts between us, but as a couple, as two people who have grown to care for each other. “But you never know,” I hear myself add, and LeeAnn smiles.
“That’s the truth,” she says.
I excuse myself and head to the ladies’ room. I’m at the mirror reapplying my lipstick when the door opens and a blonde walks in.
Not just any blonde. The one from the theater. Marlena. Model perfect, looking like a goddess in a long black dress. She sees me and smiles, and I know it’s no accident that she happens to be in here when I am.
“How are you tonight, Samantha?” she asks, checking her reflection.
I glance at her out of the side of my eye and take a deep breath. “Well, thank you,” I say, and I can hear the stiffness in my own voice. “How are you?”
She flashes me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lovely. I wanted to take a moment to thank you for taking such good care of Dante this month.” There’s a weird note to her words, a viciousness that doesn’t match the words themselves.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay silent. She turns to look at me.
“But I’m back now. And I’m all he really needs. I’ll take it from here.” She looks me up and down. “He won’t need your…services…anymore.” She flashes me another cold smile, wiggles her fingers at me, and walks out of the bathroom.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. She knows? Did Dante tell her about me and our arrangement?
And now, all at once, I feel like what I actually am: a paid escort. And of course, that’s all I am, right? He had the chance to tell me I was more.
But still. What the hell was her deal? Dante hasn’t said a word about her, ever. The only reason I know who she is is because of slimy Anton. I roll my eyes and check my reflection one more time before walking out of the bathroom.
I glance around and see that Dante is still huddled over in a corner with his father and brother, so I take my seat at LeeAnn and John’s table again. Someone walks onto the stage to test the mike on the podium, and conversation in the ballroom starts to die down. A few moments later, Marlena takes the stage, flashing a smile in the general direction of the audience, many of whom have now claimed seats at their tables. She rests her hands on the podium and waits for everyone to get settled.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. Not only will your generous donations make an impact on families and communities that need it, but I appreciate that you’re here to honor the good work of one of the best people I know.” She pauses, and her eyes flick over the crowd. It’s impossible to miss the way her gaze lands on me for just a moment.
“One of the best men I know. A model of generosity. And someone who, I have no doubt, will change the world for the better.” She lays out the general idea for his charity work, the same dream he told me about only a few nights ago. Ice settles into my stomach. She continues. “And it will be my honor to stand beside him through it all. Please welcome our guest this evening, my fiancé, Dante Knight.”
She turns, applauding, and the rest of the audience is clapping. Dante’s taking the stairs up to the stage, and then he’s kissing her cheek, but it feels like I’m watching it all from a million miles away.
Fiancé?
My heart feels like it’s being crushed, my stomach twists so hard I can barely breathe. I can’t breathe. I watch him, hoping for some sign he’s going to correct her or say that she’s joking…but no. He kisses her cheek and says a few quiet words to her, then steps up to the podium.
“Thank you, Marlena, for that lovely introduction,” he says.
No denial.
I stare at him.
Is this what she meant with the “I’ll take it from here” crack?
Well. I guess I know why he didn’t even mention the possibility of seeing me again.
A convenient fuck. A
placeholder. That was all I was to him. I was never more, and like an absolute idiot, I let myself dream of forever, let myself think he had feelings for me.
It was never more than a business arrangement to him.
Oh, god.
I feel like I’m going to puke or cry or faint, and I refuse to do any of it in front of Dante and Marlena. I can’t stand another second sitting there, hearing his voice, seeing him, knowing what an idiot I’ve been. I excuse myself and make my way to the exit as quickly as I can, Dante still speaking behind me as tears sting my eyes and blur my vision.
I rush out into the lobby, fumbling for my phone. Call a cab. Get the hell out of here.
Of course, it’s just my luck that I nearly run straight into one of the last people I want to see just now. Anton is there, smiling down at me with this predatory gleam in his eyes.
“I tried to tell you, sweetness,” he says in a voice that I guess is supposed to be soothing and seductive, but just makes my skin crawl. “You don’t need him. I’d love to put you to work. Hell, I’ll even match Dante’s rate. The month’s up, right? So you’re free.” He reaches out and runs his fingertips down my arm, and I jerk away.
***
Dante
“What the fuck did you say that for?” I hiss at Marlena after she introduces me.
“Because we’re not finished yet, handsome,” she murmurs back.
“Yes, we are,” I snarl, and she gives me a simpering little smile that makes me want to tell her exactly what I think of her and her little game.
I pull myself back together and take the podium. I thank Marlena. I glance around, looking for Samantha. I knew I saw her with LeeAnn…
And that’s when I see a flash of gold silk, dark hair. She’s walking out of the ballroom, quickly, determined, and she doesn’t look back.
Walking out of my life. My heart stops, and it feels like everything moves in slow motion.
There she is, walking away from me. She’s almost gone.
There’s Marlena, that cold little smirk on her face.
Everything I’ve ever wanted is leaving the ballroom with Samantha.
Fuck.
Not now.
I can’t lose her.
I mumble a few words and then fight my way through the crowd of well-wishers, trying to catch up with her.
No, no, no.
I give up trying to be subtle, and I run to the doors that lead into the lobby, bursting through and looking around.
I find her just in time to see fucking Anton with his hands on her. She jerks away, and he grabs her arm.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m charging him, and my fist connects with his face. The wet sound of his nose breaking satisfies me more than I’d like to admit, and the only thing that stops me from picking him up and hitting him again is seeing Samantha moving away from me again. She’s walking down the flight of stairs toward the exit, gold satin fluttering behind her, and I run after her. She’s outside and down the marble stairs before I finally catch up with her.
“Samantha!”
I see her shoulders tense, her head drop forward, and she slowly turns and looks at me.
The anguish in her eyes is enough to destroy me. Her mouth is clamped shut, and she crosses her arms over herself. It feels like she’s closing in, shutting herself away from the world.
Shutting herself away from me.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I murmur as I step closer to her. She takes a step back, and I freeze.
“No, Dante. He didn't hurt me,” she says in this empty, robotic voice that makes me want to hit something again. She emphasizes the word “he,” and it’s clear all of a sudden which of us actually did hurt her.
“Baby—”
“You should go back in there. You have people waiting for you,” she says.
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Well, your fiancée won’t be happy you’re out here.”
“Fucking Marlena. She’s not my fiancée,” I say forcefully, and she gives me this look like she thinks I’m full of shit. “We were engaged once upon a time. I broke it off. I don’t want a fucking trophy wife.”
“Yeah? Then why’d she say that?”
“Because she’s not over it, and she can’t believe there’s a man alive who doesn't want her,” I growl. “I sure the fuck don’t.”
“Well. She certainly seems to think everything is just great between you. And thanks for telling her that you were paying me. That was an especially nice touch,” she says bitterly.
I stare at her. “I never said a damn thing about our agreement.”
“Well, she made sure to let me know that she knows. So at least two of your little friends know that I’m nothing but a paid wh—”
“Don’t say it,” I growl. “What we agreed to is something separate from everything else. I’ve never thought of you that way, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “‘Don’t talk to anyone, Samantha.’ ‘Just smile and nod, Samantha,’” she mimics, and I open my mouth to argue.
She holds a hand up and shakes her head, and I close my mouth again. “It doesn’t matter. One thing is very clear. She fits here a hell of a lot better than I do.”
“Samantha, she’s crazy. She wants me back, but I’m not interested. I don’t want her. I want you.”
“Did you hear me, Dante?” she asks, her voice hard, angry. “It would never work. I don’t fit with…all of this,” she says, extending her arms and gesturing to everything around us: the venue, the line of limos, her evening gown. “This is your world, and I was never meant to be here.” Tears spill from her eyes, but she looks away from me, and it’s clear that she doesn’t want me to comfort her. She’s standing right here with me, but she’s already removed herself from my life.
My chest feels tight. “So that’s it? Just done?”
She looks down.
“Samantha,” I growl.
“Yes. Done. We said a month. The month is over. Or did you not notice that it’s midnight? Our contract is up.”
I stare at her in surprise and dread. She’s still got that anguished, torn look in her eyes, but her voice is so distant it feels like I’m a million miles away, even though I’m standing right in front of her.
“Samantha,” I repeat. “Don’t go.”
She lets out a sardonic huff of a laugh, a bitter sound that doesn’t suit her.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to decorate your arm and fuck you whenever you need it.”
“That’s not—”
“Bye, Dante. Thanks for the job.”
I stare at her as she takes one, two, three steps away from me. “You’re walking away from something amazing. You’ll miss what we have.”
She shakes her head. “Can’t miss something that never really existed at all. Take care of yourself.” She hails a cab and climbs into the back, and then she’s gone, and all I can do is watch the cab and its taillights until they disappear from view, taking away the one thing I know I don’t want to live without.
Chapter Twelve
Samantha
Six Months Later…
I walk out of the theater full of adrenaline. I know I goddamn nailed that audition. It’s a supporting role for a Broadway play one of Reginald’s friends is producing. The second he got wind of it, he called me and told me I should go for it.
It’s bittersweet, talking to Reginald. It’s impossible to do that without thinking of the man who introduced me to him. I almost didn’t go on the audition, telling Reginald that I don’t want special treatment because of who I know or anything, and he just laughed and assured me that his friend didn’t give a damn who I knew; all he would care about was whether I could act or not.
And I acted my ass off in that room.
I smile to myself as I walk out of the building. I can’t get my hopes up, but holy shit, I know I put everything into that.
I push the door open and turn toward
the end of the street where my car is parked.
“Hello, Ms. Day,” I hear a voice say behind me.
Not just any voice.
A voice I hear every damn night in my dreams. A voice that haunts me, breaking my heart over and over and over again. I turn slowly and there he is.
Dante’s standing there in jeans and a white t-shirt, holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers: pink dahlias. In the back of my mind, I’m surprised he even remembered that I liked them. I only mentioned it once in passing.
I take a breath, trying to settle the racing of my heart. “Dante. What are you doing here? And how did you know I was going to be here?”
He flashes me a smile, and my knees go weak. I swear he’s even more gorgeous now. How is that possible? “I live in L.A. now, Samantha. And I know a guy who knows a guy who told him you’d be here today.”
The last part of his explanation is a blur; the first part lodges itself in my mind. “You live here now?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“I’m overseeing a two-year project for my father. Something a little more up my alley. I actually just got back from Africa. I was there for the last five months overseeing the first project the foundation is funding. A school,” he adds, and I nod. He glances toward the theater. “So how did it go?”
“Okay, I think,” I answer. I’ve nearly forgotten how to form words, between my shock at seeing him and the swirl of emotions running through me. My heart has been a raw, empty thing since the night I walked away from him. Why the hell is he here? Is this my life now? Dante Knight, the man I’ll never be able to get over?
“Do you want to get coffee?” he asks.
“Why are you here, Dante?” I ask quietly.
He hands me the bouquet of pink dahlias. “There’s so much I want to say. Please have coffee with me, Samantha.” The plea in his voice reminds me so much of the last night we made love, the need in his voice, and even though I’m scared to death of doing more damage to my already-broken heart, I find myself saying yes.
