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 buddy, 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!”

So, that only left Samantha with Vivian.  Dependable, stable, sane Vivian.  Vivian, who until now had always been the one to talk her down from the ledge when times get rough.

Only now her errant lawyer lady pal was currently MIA in this backwoods community called Paradise.

Sami’s irritated gaze scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization as she took a shallow breath, feeling her panic begin to rise.  Where the hell was everybody?  She and Armando hadn’t even passed as much as a gas station in the last sixty miles!  Even country bumpkins had to fuel their redneckmobiles, right? 

“Seriously, did we take a wrong turn somewhere, Armando?” she asked her well-dressed travel partner as he twisted in his seat, holding up his iPhone to shoot yet another picture of a barn or a cow or something equally hideous.  Ever since they’d reached the Tennessee border, the man had been enthralled by their country surroundings, gawking at every farm they’d driven past… and there’d been a lot of farms along the way.  “Hello!  Earth to Mannie!” she called impatiently, snapping her fingers at him.  “Could you please pull your attention away from the frickin’ braying ass on the side of the road?” she demanded as they passed a buggy being pulled by a duo of donkeys.  “Pay attention to me!”

“You mean forget about the gorgeous scenery and pay attention to the whiny bitch in the car with me, you mean?  You know I’m married, right?  I can listen to my significant other gripe at home,” the sexy man beside her drawled, shooting her a knowing look as he shifted in his seat. Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans, a tailored bright red silk shirt he’d paired with an emerald green tie and matching fedora, Armando Savage huffed dramatically as he dropped his cell phone back in his lap and glared at Samantha.  “And doing THAT won’t leave wrinkles in my favorite outfit,” he pointed out petulantly, picking at the misaligned pleats in his billowy shirt.  “This shirt will never drape right again, I’ll have you know.  You already owe me, Samantha, and your debt keeps growing.”

“So sorry for your current fashion conundrum,” Sami sneered sweetly as she glanced over at Armando.  “But it isn’t like red is really your color anyway.  You look like an overripe tomato in that getup.  What happened to that Black Valentino I sent you last week?”

“Black is boring, bitch!” Armando gasped, pressing a hand to his heart as he glared at her.  “Scarlet is THE color of the season and I look hot!  My Nicky said so right before I left,” he huffed.

Sami snickered as she shot a wicked grin at her fellow traveler.  “Your husband just wanted a bon voyage blowie in the bathroom and would have said anything to get it and you know it.”

Armando sniffed dramatically, tossing his head as he turned to look out the window.  “Well, my blowies are the bomb, but that isn’t enough to make my baby lie to me about something so important.    You’re just pissed you can’t rock the runway in this kind of red!” he insisted, plucking at his shirt.

“Yeah, your choice of fashion faux paus is at the top of my list of problems,” Sami retorted glumly.

Clicking his tongue, Armando shook his head as he winked at her.  “Chica,” the handsome Latino man chided, “You need to learn how to relax and live a little.  Enjoy this gorgeous scenery.  Let it soothe that seething inner bitch who seems to have taken over your body,” he urged, gesturing out the window.    “Seriously, I don’t think you just have a stick up that luscious ass of yours.  I’m fairly certain you’ve got the whole tree up there.” 

“My ass is just fine, thank you very much,” Sami snapped.  “It’s still high, tight and firm and that’s all that matters!  Besides, this isn’t a vacation, Mannie.  You and I are on a strict search and recovery mission, remember?” Samantha pointed out as she gripped the steering wheel more tightly.  “We need to find Viv, snatch her up, and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.  I think all the serene surroundings might have numbed her brain or something,” she worried aloud as she looked out the window at the admittedly pretty countryside.  “The fresh air has obviously caused an aneurysm.  What other reason could she wanna linger out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Sure, it was pretty, she thought with a look out her side window.  Of course, pretty was all it was.  In the last hundred miles, she’d passed exactly seven barns and four houses.  That was it!  No cities.  No towns.  Not even a freaking Dairy Queen.  The lack of civilization was severely disturbing to her psyche.  And she either needed a very dry martini or a mocha latte.  At this point, she’d happily sell her soul for either one.

Mannie snorted and rolled his eyes.  “Can’t you just take a second and appreciate our gorgeous surroundings, Sami?  You’re a model.  If anybody should be able to appreciate the beauty of this kind of view, it’s you,” he remarked as he returned his gaze to his own window.

“As you well know, I’m now a former model, Armando,” she reminded him caustically.  “Or have you forgotten even my manager of the past decade agrees that I’m now oh-fficially a has-been.”

“Your manager is a pendejo, carina, and the Cordova Agency’s reputation isn’t what it used to be.  I’ve said that you should be searching for a new agency for years.  Plus, I think that sleazy agent of yours sheds his balls like a snake sheds its skin whenever he’s expected to negotiate for you.  You can do better,” Mannie growled, pursing his lips in a way that should have looked feminine, but totally didn’t.  That was Mannie, though.  He could pull off the impossible – which was one of the reasons she adored him.  “You are no has-been, Samantha Dixon.  If you truly still want to work in front of the camera, I’ll hook you up with my old agent.  I might not have stood in front of the camera for years, but I’ve still got connections.  I know I could hook you up with somebody that would see you as more than a dollar sign with legs.”

Smiling, Samantha shook her head at Mannie’s offer.  “I don’t wanna model any more.  Not really.  The whole industry has turned into a nightmare and, if I’m honest about it, I’ve kinda lost my taste for the limelight.  I guess the problem I’m having is that I just always imagined leaving the industry on my terms, you know?  To be told that I’m too old?  I can’t lie,” she whispered as she rubbed a hand over the ache developing in the center of her chest.  “That fucking stings.”

“They didn’t call you old, princessa,” Mannie reminded gently as he ran a finger underneath his inky black bangs, moving them out of his eyes.

“Fine,” Sami snapped impatiently.  “Too mature then,” she drawled, mimicking the English stick-up-his-ass director who had dissed her.  “It’s all the same freaking thing, Mannie, and you know it.  The funny thing is I don’t feel old.  Well, not most days anyway.  I mean, yes, I have to go to bed a few hours earlier than I used to if I don’t wanna be a complete zombie in the morning.  And no, I can’t exactly party like I could ten years ago.  But, hell, that’s got more to do with the company I’m forced to keep at those little soirees the agency insists we attend than it does with my age.  I swear to God, if you don’t know which Kardashian is in fashion this thirty seconds, you just aren’t worth knowing in the modeling industry any longer.”

“I hear you, sweets,” Armando agreed with a nod.  “Why do you think I got out of that rat race years ago?”  Shooting her a grin, he shrugged.  “The people we were ten years ago is nothing like who we are today.  Look at me.  Ten years ago I thought I was just a straight guy with amazing fashion sense,” he declared with a horrified shudder.  “What was I thinking?”

Unable to escape the bubble of laughter rising up her throat, Sami didn’t fight it.  She rolled with it.  And as giggles began to fill the cab of their vehicle, she began to feel more like herself than she had in weeks.  Months, even.

Grinning at her, Armando’s dark eyes brightened.  “Ah!  There’s la nina bonita.  I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching out to pat her cheek. 

“I’ve missed me, too, Mannie,” she offered truthfully, as she wiped at her eyes.   “It feels like I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to be somebody else,” she admitted softly, steering the vehicle toward the sun as she adjusted her sunglasses with one hand.

“That’s because you have.  You’ve been killing yourself trying to pretend like you’re still eighteen and keep up with all those little chippies you work alongside.  Those chicas are driving you loco,” he clucked, waving his hand dramatically at her.  “Instead of the lioness, you’ve been the gazelle, letting the hunters rip you apart.   No more, I say,” he whined, his accent growing thicker as he shook his head.  “You are a rich, beautiful, talented woman.  You don’t need those vultures or their money.  Walk away, bambina.  Walk away before they take a part of your soul you can’t get back,” he advised grimly.

“Honey, I don’t have to walk away; they fired me.  My fault, I guess.  After all, I am the idiot who thought I still actually looked good to stand in front of a camera in next to nothing,” she lamented sadly, feeling the weight of failure and depression begin to settle over her again.

“No!  They are the fools who aren’t interested in what a true beauty looks like.  They think being a stick is sexy.  Think about this, Sami.  These morons are still paying you to sit on your gorgeous ass and look gorgeous, yes?  How do you Americans say it?  Money for nothing?  I’d say that makes them los idiotas, yes?”

“You are as American as I am, Arthur,” Sami reminded him, using his real name.  Only a select and special few knew the flamboyant man beside her was actually born Arthur Smith, a third generation Latino American born and raised in Buffalo, New York.  It was a closely guarded secret Armando would happily take with him to the grave.

Narrowing his dark eyes, Armando pursed his lips.  “Why must you always remind me of that?” he asked with a pretty pout as he dropped the accent and threw his head back against the leather headrest.  “You know I hate it.”

“It keeps you humble,” Sami replied agilely, lifting one shoulder and blowing him a kiss over it.

“You know, you are one seriously catty bitch,” Armando sulked, tossing his dark head dramatically.  “You should really see somebody about all that venom you’re carrying around inside you.  One day it might poison that pretty face of yours.”

“So says the most theatrical diva to ever sashay his way out of Atlanta,” Sami insulted him right back, knowing by the twitching of Mannie’s lips he was on the verge of his own laugh-fest.

“I might be un poco dramatica, chica, but you have been struggling to keep up with those fashionistas you work with for months.  Personally, I think it’s a good thing you’re being forced to slow down.  Maybe you can take this time away from the city to begin figuring out what you want to do with that amazing brain of yours,” Mannie suggested.  “You are so much more than a pretty face, Samantha.  You always have been.”

“Oh, please,” Sami snorted dismissively she pressed a button on the door to lower the window a few inches and let in a little air to the stuffy vehicle.  “The only thing I’m really qualified to do is walk up and down a runway, Mannie.  Or are you forgetting that I, too, came from a rather inauspicious beginning?”

“Ay!  Did you catch a whiff of that nasty smell?” Mannie asked as he coughed delicately and fanned his face. 

“I think they call it fresh air, Mannie?” Sami replied dryly as her eyes skittered from the road to her over-the-top friend.

“No, not that!  I think it’s a scent called Eau de Bullshit,” he drawled.  “Because it stinks of straight up ca-ca in this car, amiga.  Who do you think you’re kidding with this all-I-can-be-is-a-pretty-face-and-sexy-body bullshit?  I remember how hard you worked to get that business degree you never talk about.  As I remember it, you nearly killed yourself for four years modeling every weekend and bartending at night to earn that diploma.”

“I wanted a fallback plan,” she mumbled.

“And you got one.  You graduated with honors.  And we both know that isn’t the end of your talents.  You’re also forgetting I’ve seen all those doodle books full of designs you keep stashed all over your apartment, Samantha.  I know all about your hidden abilities.  You’ve got a gift, chica.”

Jerking her eyes from the road to the man beside her, Sami’s jaw dropped in surprise.  “How the hell do you know dick about my doodles?” she finally managed to shriek, her high-pitched voice laced with panic.   She’d always kept her drawings to herself lest she be laughed at for her severe lack of talent.  And now to find out one of her best friends had known about her hobby for God knows how long?  It was humiliating.

“Sami, relax.  I saw your designs last month when I was house-sitting while you were away doing that Versace show in Paris,” Armando urged, his face softening as he saw her genuine distress.  “Nicky and I came over to pick up your mail and check on your condo and I noticed you’d left one of your sketch pads on the coffee table.  I couldn’t help looking, chica!  Those dresses you drew were divine!  True works of art.  Those weren’t doodles, mi novio!  Those were priceless designs any fashion house would pay a fortune to have in their show.”

“I can’t believe you went through my designs,” Sami whispered, her gut burning with betrayal.  “Those were private, Armando!”

Flushing guiltily underneath his tan skin, Mannie fidgeted in his seat.  “Nicky said you’d be pissed when you found out I’d snooped,” he admitted under his breath.

“That’s because your husband actually respects other people’s boundaries,” Sami snapped angrily, pushing her foot down on the accelerator as her desire to reach their destination skyrocketed.  She was afraid if they didn’t get there soon, she was going to give into her sudden, but overwhelming need to murder one of her closest friends in cold blood.

“I respect boundaries,” Armando huffed.  “It’s just I sometimes I see them too late to actually remember not to step over them.  Besides, you left your drawings on the table for anyone to see.  How was I supposed to know they were a closely guarded Sami-secret?”

Frowning, she had to admit Mannie had a point.  It’s not as if she had a big ol’ ‘Keep Out’ sticker on her notebook or anything.  And she had left it in plain sight for anyone to stumble on.  “Okay, okay,” she mumbled.  “Maybe you have a point.  I just don’t like people looking at my doodles.”

“Why?” Mannie asked, his deep voice practically a whine now.  “They’re good, amiga.  Really, really good.  Those designs should be strutting down runways all over the world, not hidden away in a sketch pad.  You’ve got a God-given gift, mi cielo.  Seize it!  Savor it!  Celebrate it!  But for God’s sake, don’t squander it.”

Sami felt her cheeks warming as Mannie praised her.  In her whole life, only one other man had ever believed in her the way Armando did.   “You sound just like Ben used to,” she remarked quietly, memories of her one-time love of her life suffusing her.  God, thinking of him still produced the sweetest kind of pain.

Stilling beside her, Armando shot Sami a soft look of understanding.  “You still miss him, don’t you?” he questioned softly.

“Every single day of my life, Mannie.  He was The One, y’know?” she acknowledged in a soft, sad voice, the confession painful to admit even after all this time.  “But some things just aren’t meant to be.”  And Ben Atkins – in addition to being one very special, one-of-a-kind man – was definitely one of those things that weren’t meant to be.  At least not for someone like her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him.  She had.  She did.  Her love for him had been pure… so pure that she’d never been able to move on.  The truth was the memories she had of their doomed love affair was what she held onto during the long, lonely nights.  The idea of trying to find and create something like what they’d shared together was laughable.  She’d never find another man as perfect for her as Ben had been so she’d never bothered trying.   She wouldn’t allow another man into her bed or her heart.  She couldn’t let another person taint the memory of what she’d had with him.  Nobody could ever know her as well as he did or touch her the way he had.  And no one would ever love her as completely.

Catching her breath as precious memories from her past collided with the harsh reality of her present, Samantha tried to ignore the burn of tears behind her eyelids.  Lord knows, she’d cried enough tears to fill a river since they’d broken up.  But who could blame her?  Ben had been everything any sane woman could ever desire in a man.  Tall.  Solid.  Honest. Strong.  Dedicated. Passionate. He was the type of guy any woman would have fought to hold onto with both hands and her very last breath.

Unfortunately for her, while Samantha Joy Dixon possessed a beauty that could make a man ache with need, she’d always been a little too crazy for any rational male’s comfort level … even a man as patient and kind as her Ben had been.

At the time, she’d thought he’d been as close to perfect as any man she’d ever met, quickly becoming the gold standard by which she measured all men.  Over time, she’d learned that while he was wonderful, he also wasn’t without his faults (he snored loudly and constantly forgot to put the seat back down in the bathroom).  Minor flaws aside, however, there had been absolutely no doubt for her that her man had been perfect for her.  In her mind, she could still see him as he was when they’d been happy.  Every glorious inch of him.  He’d been over six feet of lean, muscled hunk.  With thick black hair peppered with a few streaks of gray, a neatly manicured beard and mustache and piercing grayish blue eyes that got darker when he got angry or aroused, Ben had possessed a face that could both break hearts and melt panties, a perfect blend of both saint and sinner.  He’d been a little over a decade older than her, but it hadn’t mattered.  His crooked smile had always made her heart skip a beat – especially when he’d directed that killer grin at her.  But while his physical looks had been what she’d initially noticed, it wasn’t what had held her heart hostage and kept her locked in his thrall. 

Ben had done that all on his own - mostly because he had been so different from any other man she’d met.  Despite the fact he’d achieved immeasurable fame and fortune by taking pictures of the rich, chic and famous, often achieving impossible shots for far beyond demanding clients, Ben had managed to remain unaffected by his success, remaining down to earth and humble.  In short, he’d been a normal man that had wanted all the normal things out of life.  And he’d unwisely chosen to want them all with her.

Letting Ben go had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.  Because he knew her.  All about her. 

Her dreams.  Her secrets.  Everything.

He’d been the only one to know she’d fiddled around on the side, designing clothes in the privacy of her own home.  Nobody had ever known about her hobby except Ben.  And at one time, he’d had been as vocal about her talent as Armando now was, encouraging her almost daily to embrace her artistic talent and make a break from modeling to pursue a career in design.  He’d offered to help her, begged her to walk away from a career he swore was sucking the soul from the marrow in her bones.  And for a man that had made a pretty penny photographing models, he made it pretty clear he despised her career choice.  They spent months arguing over their relationship, each of them growing more and more bitter as time went on until finally Ben issued Samantha a final ultimatum.

She could have him and the life and love he wanted to share with her, or she could have a lonely career prancing up and down runways all over the world without him.

The truth was, deep down, she would have given anything to give Ben what he wanted, but she hadn’t had it in her.  No matter how many doctors she snuck away to see, none of them could see a way around her infertility.  And that had made her decision easy.  Ben deserved to be a daddy.

It had been an ugly break-up that had left more than one scar on Sami’s young heart.  And both she and Ben had barely hobbled away from the ashes of their trashed relationship, both of them victims of that faceless bitch known as karma.

Taking a deep breath, she realized she hadn’t thought about that day in years.  She’d long ago made it a rule to never mention him in her presence and because her friends loved her, they’d respected her wishes.  Armando, Viv, Molly, and Devil had all witnessed, first-hand, how devastating losing Ben had been to her.  They’d known and liked him, too.   Hell, Devil had known Ben before he’d ever met Sami, having gone to college with him when they’d been younger men.  But when her relationship with Ben had fallen apart, her friends had rallied around her, propping her up and helping her through the crippling pain.  None had understood why she’d made her decisions, but they’d stood by her anyway, propping her up when the weight of loss drug her down into the dark abyss of depression.  And for that, Samantha would always be grateful.

“Sami, I think there’s something I should tell you about this whole trip,” Armando said slowly as he nervously picked at invisible lint on his trousers, his slightly accented voice breaking into her thoughts and pulling her attention back to him.. 

Unfortunately, as she turned her head to look toward Mannie, the steering wheel suddenly jerked in her hands and the sound of a loud pop vibrated through the SUV.  It seemed as if her walk down memory lane had come to an abrupt and jarring conclusion.