CHAPTER 5
~Reese~
THE GARDENS AROUND the hotel are lush, the room brightly decorated in florals, evoking the Southern Californian vibe. The French doors are wide open letting the sunshine in while I stand in front of the minibar debating if the rosé or the pinot grigio complements the swarm of butterflies that have invaded my stomach.
I was prepared. Hell, I planned the meeting. As soon as he entered that room earlier today, I discovered I wasn’t prepared at all.
Tall. So tall. I’d almost forgotten how he eclipsed the average man, burying them in his shadow. His smile brightens any room. Two small—and incredibly sexy—dimples that captured more than my imagination, they caught my heart. My thoughts were fuzzy under the warming gaze I hadn’t been privy to for far too long. His eyes were never just one shade of brown, but twenty shades from molasses to maple syrup. Even all these years later I discover in an LA office that caramel plays a part, instantly throwing all my insides into a complete tizzy as if I were still my twenty-year-old self.
With an enviable jawline covered with more than a night’s dusting of beard, he’s sexy in spades, and regret immediately fills my chest for thinking I ever stood a chance getting over that man. But his looks were never the issue.
It’s not right for him to look so damn good after all these years. Doesn’t he age like the rest of us? Surely whatever he’s doing to stay young, that hot, just like he did so long ago has to be black market. Me in my corporate black suit—Ugh! I’m so embarrassed.
The blue dress. I should have worn the blue dress. We’re in LA, not Manhattan. A glass of rosé is poured and I stand on the balcony, sipping, and looking out over the pool. The peace and serenity of the hotel doesn’t ease my regrets or whatever else this feeling that has invaded is—mortification? No, too strong. Shyness? No, too weak. I down another sip to douse the doubts creeping in. I’m caught in the middle of an emotional landslide when there’s a knock on my door. The glass has been emptied, so I set it down on my way to answer the door.
As soon as I open it, Vittori rushes in. “You’ve got to tell me everything. Everything. Every. Last. Detail.” His accent seems to have slipped away and a New York dialect has replaced it.
“C’mon in,” I say, waving my arm like I’m rolling out the red carpet, though he’s already passed me.
He walks right for the balcony and looks out. When he turns around, he looks satisfied, and says, “Nice view.” He shrugs. “Mine’s better. I’m over the garden and apparently some nearby neighbors have decided to have a pool party. The guests are naked and playing with their balls.”
“What?” The door slams shut behind me and I stand there with wide eyes staring at him.
“Beach balls, dear Reese. My, your innocence is charming.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk to the bed and sit on the edge. “Did you want to discuss the campaign?” I have no idea why he’s here.
“No,” he replies sitting down next to me. With his hand patting my leg, he looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “I want to discuss that hunk of man that couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“So you’re not really Italian?”
“No.” He swooshes his hand in the air. “Pfft. Of course not. As an Italian from Brooklyn I couldn’t get the internships I wanted at the big fashion houses in Manhattan. They have stereotypes in the industry and I didn’t fit what they were looking for back then, so I created it.” Standing in flourish, he spins around before landing heavily back down next to me. “But keep that our secret.”
“If it’s a secret, why are you telling me?”
Another shrug is followed by his arm cradling me to him. “Because I like you. I think you’re wonderful.”
“You don’t really know me.”
“I know you enough to see we’re cut from the same cloth.”
“Nice fashion reference there,” I say sitting up. “But I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.” Standing he walks to the minibar and looks in. “We need champagne.”
He’s a whirling dervish of frivolity. I love his energy, but I’m shocked by this whole new side of him. “Go on. Order the champers.”
“Okay, fancy pants. Settle down.” I pick up the phone and order a bottle of Veuve from room service, then join him on the balcony. “Ordered. I think your view sounded more interesting.”
Perking up, his smile grows. “Yes, send the champagne to my room.” He hooks his arm in mine and says, “Lots of good eye-candy there. Let’s go.”
I call and have the champagne sent there instead and we head to his room. The champagne arrives when we do. I watch Vittori eyeing the cute delivery guy who is popping the bottle open and pouring it for us. He tips the guy big lingering his hand in his until the guy smiles and thanks him. The delivery guy is obviously straight since he seems completely clueless to the major come on, but it is amusing to watch.
His room is larger than mine and has a balcony with lounge chairs. We take up our positions, pretending to get some rays when we are both enjoying watching the pool party over the large hedge and brick wall.
Vittori clinks his glass to mine and says, “My real name is Vincent. My mom calls me Vinnie. You don’t have to call me Mr. Vittori.”
“Can I call you Vinnie?”
He nods. “Vinnie it is. Now that I’ve let my hair down for you, I want to hear about Model Danny.”
Bubbles clog in my throat and I spew the champagne. Hacking. Coughing. Grabbing my throat, I cough again to clear it. My voice is jagged, not sounding like me at all when I try to speak, “Excuse me?” I cough again and try taking a deep breath to relax my throat to get control of my breathing.
He’s laughing. At me. “I rest my case.” Sipping his champagne, I see one perfectly styled eyebrow rise in a clear, I told you so arch.
When my breathing evens out, I say, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You sure about that, Candy?”
“Candy?”
“I see beneath that hard sugar coating of yours. I get vibes from people and yours are good. A little damaged, but whose aren’t, so let’s drop the deep and dive into the shallow. The sparks flew between you two. I stepped back to make sure I didn’t get burned.”
I scoff and turn so I’m facing forward, unable to hold eye contact with him. Anyway, he’ll see right through me if I don’t. “We barely said two words to each other.”
“No words would have sufficed. Fire I’m telling you. On fire! So this whole campaign is just a ruse? You know, to get the man?”
“No,” comes rushing from my mouth. “I would never do that.”
“Oh, calm down, Candy.” He waves me off. “I’m teasing about the set up. I’ve seen you in action for months now working on this project. I know how dedicated you are to the finished product.” Eyeing me devilishly, he smacks my arm playfully and leans in. “But he was hot, right?”
“So hot.” Fine. I admit it. Danny Weston is hot.
Refilling my glass, he looks up. “Super hot. Now I understand why he’s a supermodel.”
“I think he’s going to make the menswear line look amazing. Not that it’s not amazing on its own, but on his body…” I swoon a little inside. Damn him and his incredible body. My mouth dries as I try to remember if his shoulders were that broad in college, but I struggle to push down the pain that comes with the memories.
“You can keep trying to change the subject, but I’m really great at dragging us right back to Danny and your connection. You felt one, right? It looked like you did.”
The speed of his words, mixed with thoughts of Danny, make my head spin. Maybe it’s my emotions that feel like they’re spinning out of control. The story of us… “Not all fairy tales end with a happily ever after.”
“Tell me more.”
Drunk.
This is what drunk feels like, though I’ve only had the two glasses. “I’m not feeling well.” I put one foot down to ground me and then level my eyes on something still—my Fitbit.
Hooting and hollering distracts him and Vinnie rushes to the railing to get a better look at the men at the party next door. As he fans himself, he proclaims, “Good Lord, have mercy on my soul, this is what fantasies are made of.”
“Maybe you should join the party,” I suggest, enjoying his reaction to the buff men. Until I sit up and get a better gander. “Whoa!” I stand and join him at the railing. “I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention. My oh my.”
“My oh my is right.”
Another minute passes, then he turns to look at me, lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head, and really looks at me. “You’re really pretty.”
A blush floods my cheeks from the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.”
“What are you wearing to dinner?”
Ten minutes later I walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, and then twirl for him. “I only have this dress with me.”
“I love it. Fits you perfectly. But I don’t want you dressing for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This dress is great for functions—business, cocktail parties even, the theater,” he says, switching his accent to mimic upper social circles of Manhattan. “I want you to dress to knock socks off.”
With a hand to my hip and a look that backs my attitude, I say, “And let me guess. You have just the someone in mind that you want me to knock the socks off of?”
He nods enthusiastically, and answers with a huge grin, “Danny.”
“I don’t think that’s in the cards.”
“Sparks. Fireworks. You two have them. The chemistry between you is so combustible it’s hot.”
Combustible—a truer word never spoken. But deep down, I can’t help but want to look amazing in front of him. Make him regret what he let go. “Help me look my best?”
“You got it, babe. Meet me tomorrow at four sharp.”
Standing there a minute longer, a debate rages inside. As much as I find Danny attractive, still find him attractive, we were never meant to be or we would be together now. Damn those broad shoulders and the strong hands that used to hold me.
There is so much to handle back in New York, him to deal with. I’m in no position to even think about a relationship, much less one with Danny Weston.
Vinnie pushes me playfully toward the bathroom, and demands, “Go change out of that dress and let’s go back to my room with the hot boy view.”
The next day it’s T-minus two hours to dinner and I’m standing on a pedestal in the middle of the Vittori on Rodeo showroom with no less than four salesclerks critiquing me in an over-the-top design. I shift uncomfortably under the stiff satin and knock the large flower on my shoulder to the side so it doesn’t hit my face. “I’m thinking this might be a little much for dinner.”
“Oh darling,” a tall woman with jet-black hair slicked back into a tight bun says, “it’s Spago. You only go to Spago to be seen, so if you’re going to be seen, you might as well look fabulous.”
Vinnie agrees, his Italian accent back in play while he rubs his chin. “It is divine on you. But it’s not right for you tonight. Try on the black skirt and shirt ensemble.”
All five of them relax and start drinking their champagne as I step down and disappear into the dressing room. A shorter, but super tiny salesclerk shows up just as I slip the skirt on and adjust it into place. She zips the back up and smiles. “Yes, this is the outfit. Whoever this outfit is intended for doesn’t stand a chance.”
“It’s for me,” I quickly correct, refusing to acknowledge that Danny has anything to do with my choice of attire.
One side of her lips rises. “Okay.”
There’s no point arguing, so I walk out and the voyeurs of the showroom break into applause.
Vinnie runs over and hands me a pair of black strappy heels. “Try these.”
As I sit and slip on the shoes, buckling them at the ankle, he says, “You have legs forever. Why do you hide all this? Your assets sell, Candy.”
“I’m not trying to sell myself. I’m all about selling other products, like yours. My assets don’t come into play.”
“I beg to differ, but now I understand why Keaton is all over you. Or should I say not over you?”
When I look up, my eyes meet his. “What do you not know about me?”
“I’m just observant.” He offers me a hand up and I’m a good three inches taller than him now, even with his bouffant reaching full height. “He’s all wrong for you, you know?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Yes, wise. Let’s focus on Model Danny instead,” he merrily chirps.
Rolling my eyes, I add, “How about we don’t talk about either? Tonight is technically a business meeting and you’re treating it like it’s a double date.”
“Mark’s cute,” he says offhandedly, “but not my type. Now Danny on the other hand.”
“Then you go for him and leave me out of your matchmaking scheme.”
“Fine. I’ll stop pestering you, but promise me you’ll wear this Vittori stunner. It was made for your body and it’s my gift to you.”
Smiling, I walk to the mirror among a sales team of oohs and ahs. I can’t deny his talents. The outfit is amazing. And with a little tilt of my head, I have to give it to him. I look incredible in it. Leaning forward, I kiss him on each cheek. “It’s amazing.”
“You’re amazing.”
And just like that I have a most unexpected ally, a new friend who wants the best for me when I was beginning to believe I didn’t deserve it. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We need to go. You have a hair appointment for a blow out with a good friend of mine a few blocks from here and I don’t want to be late.”
“My hair too?”
“Well of course, darling. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to have everyone drooling over you.” His natural accent reappears and he whispers, “And besides that, you’re with me. I can’t have stick-straight hair when you’re in one of my creations. My clothes ooze sex and you’ve already got the appeal, so let’s put them together. And make sex appeal happen.”
“You’re lucky this outfit is so stunning or I’d argue my hair is fine.”
“Yes, your hair is great, but it’s so New York. Let’s be LA. LA is all about body,” he states, pointing to my head and then down my body to make his point. “Now get that ass in gear.”
Feeling sassy, I shake my ass just for him. “Oh, it’s in gear. C’mon, let’s go. I have hot dates tonight and don’t want to be late.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Hey, Vinnie, don’t let me drink too much. I don’t do yellow. I go straight from green to red in an instant. It’s weird. I’ve never been able to hold my liquor.” I lose control of my better judgment, especially around sexy Danny Weston. “Four drinks and I’m done. Okay?”
“Four it is.”