Danny (Models On Top #1) (8 page)

“The fuck you won’t. She’s with me. Keep your eyes and your hands off, punk.”

Stiffening, the kid’s spine jets upright under the scolding and his eyes go wide. “I’m so sorry, sir. I had no idea. My apologies.” He rushes off to wherever valets go to hide when you don’t need them.

I march back inside, pissed, and right up to her. She’s alone. Vittori has disappeared, giving me the perfect opportunity to confront her. She sees me and now her eyes go wide. As soon as I reach her, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” I whisper so only she can hear, taking her by the arm and pulling us closer.

“What happened?” she asks worried, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
Pfft. I call BS.

“You. This. What the fuck is going on?”

Her whole stance softens under my hands as well as her expression. “I shouldn’t have presented you to Vittori. I knew he’d love you. I… I hoped we were past our past, our history, but I can see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, Danny.”

As I stare at her, listen to her words as they float out in shame, I realize she’s misunderstood what I meant. “No, the job’s good. It’s great actually. Thanks for that, but I’m talking about what you’re wearing.”

Her head jerks back, then her hands run down her skirt, an innocence appearing in her blue eyes—almost like she doesn’t know how hot she looks. “My outfit?”

“Yes, the outfit.” I run my hand through my hair. “Damn, Reese. How am I supposed to act professional with you dressed like this?” Shaking my head at myself, I realize what an ass I sound like. A jealous ass at that.

A smile instantly covers her face. Her gaze drags over my body, lingering on certain parts, before reaching my eyes again and flirting. “Thanks. You look good, too.”

She laughs and it’s like the sound never left, stayed with me all of these years, recalling the fondest of memories. Her hand covers mine that has remained on her arm. “I’m thinking we need to catch up soon.”

“I’m thinking the same. In the meantime, we don’t know each other?”

Sighing, she says, “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed easier to pretend we didn’t at the time. What do you think?”

I’d like to answer her, but her hand is still on mine, almost holding me there. The heat is getting to me, making me want to touch her in other ways. I reluctantly pull my hand back and tug at my collar. She’s distracting. Too distracting. The close proximity. The short black leather skirt. The valet making comments about her. Tonight I need to think with my head, not my dick. I’m not her boyfriend. I’m working with her, which I remind myself, puts her in the “no hit-on” category.

I step back, putting distance between us. “I think we should stick to business.”

Her head moves the slightest and her tone lowers, sounding disappointed. “You’re right.”

I’m disappointed too. I feel the twist in my stomach. “Can I get you a drink?”
I sure as hell need one.

“I have a glass of wine. Thanks.” She picks it up from the bar and takes a long swallow. I can’t help but stare at her throat as she does.
Fuck, that’s hot.
I need that drink. I ramble up to the bar, bumping a guy by accident. “A bourbon. On the rocks.” Just as the bartender catches the order, I catch a glimpse of Reese adjusting the strap around her ankle. Seeing that ass, that body, those legs… I clear my throat, and anxiously add, “Make it a double.”

“Scotch on the rocks,” I hear called over my shoulder.

I drop my head down, recognizing Mark’s voice. I swallow down my ridiculous emotions and turn to him composed. “You’re late.”

“You’re one to talk.” We shake hands. “How’s…” He glances over at Reese. Vittori has rejoined her and they’re talking away. “Ms. Carmichael and Vittori?”

“Distracting.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

“Distracting? Don’t lose this gig for us, Weston.”

I hand his drink to him and take mine, tapping the thick lowball glasses together. “Don’t worry. My eyes are on the prize,” I say, eyeing the brunette that looks dangerously delectable tonight.

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He steps away, and host of the year kicks in with his greeting. “Mr. Vittori. Ms. Carmichael. So good to see you both again. Seems our table is ready if you are.”

We drop into two pairs as Mark’s hand rests on Reese’s lower back guiding her forward as we walk. Jealousy begins to brew when I realize he’s allowed to do that and I’m not, and never will be.

“Beautiful. Don’t you think?”

Who am I kidding?
I’ll never be able to keep it professional between us. Checking out Reese’s ass, I easily admit, “Sure is.”

“I meant the ensemble. It’s from my new line. But she’s quite the beauty too.”

I glance down at him. A glint of something is caught in his eyes and we exchange a brief, knowing look. We’re led to a table for four and I pull out Reese’s chair for her before sitting directly across from her. “Thank you, Danny.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This is cozy,” Mark says, scanning the room.

Briefly looking around, I spot a few A-listers scattered about the room, C-listers near the window, and three Lakers. At tables too close for comfort to the one we’re led to are two women I would prefer not to catch up with. I’ve slept with both—one actress when she was just a starlet before the fame hit big, and one model. I regret both, but don’t dwell on regrets, except one and that would include the woman sitting at the table across from me. I lower my head, hoping they don’t see me.

Wine is ordered for the table. I order another bourbon, having finished my first one before we left the bar. As soon as the waiter leaves, Reese says, “We’ve confirmed the studio and two locations for the New York photo shoot. We’re still waiting on foreign. We visited Paris four days ago, but the photographer wasn’t sold on the early scouted sites.”

Vittori interjects, “I read that Danny does shoot scouting.”

“I do. I have. I’ve even done some professional photography. Just in case this whole modeling thing doesn’t work out.”

Reese says, “Was there ever any doubt?” Her tone is more serious than it has been, a heaviness coating her words.

Mark says, “I think it’s working out just fine, better than ever. Danny, here, has always been a working model, but his name, good reputation, place in the industry has grown exponentially over the last five years.”

“As has his paycheck.” Vittori smiles as the wine is poured.

Mark adds, “His return in value well exceeds his pay.”

“I have no doubt. I’m more than happy to pay his fee. My clothes are the best, and so it’s only natural to team with the best.” Holding up his glass, he says, “Here’s to a fruitful relationship.”

After we toast, Reese adds, “We’ve hired Rebecca Lange to handle wardrobe and to hire makeup. We’ve worked with her before and we know she has worked with you several times. We thought it might make the photo shoots more comfortable with familiar faces.”

“I just wrapped a job with her,” I say. “She’s great to work with.”

Reese and Vittori look pleased, and she replies, “That’s good to hear.”

We go through three courses and I struggle to keep my gaze off her. Her lips. I remember kissing them like it was this morning. Her hair. Shades of auburn and gold were highlighted in the sunlight when she would walk across campus just to see me. Her breasts. They’re larger. I remember how good they felt in my hands. When she excuses herself to the ladies’ room, I watch her walk away. Her legs were great back when we were together. She was a runner. By the look of them now, she’s stayed fit.

When I catch her eyes on me, I don’t smile. I can’t. I don’t understand what this unsettling feeling is inside. It’s unnerving and throwing me off my game.

“Danny Weston.”

My attention is drawn to the right, following my name. Shit. This could go very badly. “Cherry Menger.” I stand and we do the fake-kiss Hollywood thing, or so I thought until her signature cherry-red lips press hard to mine. I’d prefer the fake to those lips touching me again. “It’s been a while.”

“Restraining orders tend to do that.”

“I dropped it,” replying; I keep my tone light and friendly. I don’t want a scene, especially not in the middle of Spago. That would go viral before we’re served dessert.

Her hands hold on to me. Her grip tightens, trapping me in place. When she zeroes in on my dinner guests, she says, “Sorry for interrupting. I just had to come say hello to Danny. It really has been too long. We should get together?” She looks hopeful, but her eyes glance to Reese when she returns to the table, and then back to me. Her tone lowers. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” Recognition dawns on her face and she squeals. “Oh my God. You’re Mr. Vittori. I adore your clothes and I wear your perfume.”

She starts to lean down, but he stands up and they fake kiss. I catch Reese’s eyes on Cherry before she looks down rearranging her napkin in her lap. The whole scenario reminds me of why we broke up.

Dessert is served and I use it as an opportunity. “If you’ll excuse us, this is a business dinner.”

Dramatically, her hand flies to her chest. “Oh yes, I’m so sorry. Mr. Vittori I would love to wear one of your gowns to the Oscars this year.”

“If you’re invited, please contact me. It would be an honor.”

Ouch!

Taken aback, she replies, “Of course I will be. I have three new films coming out.”

“Fantastic. Please have your people call my people.”

She thanks him, though I can see the irritation on her face when she turns toward me. Kissing me on the cheek again, she says, “It was good to see you again. Call me sometime.”

I sit when she walks away after not agreeing to have anything to do with her. I’m not that crazy. Overemotional actresses aren’t my bag. Glancing up, Reese has eaten half of the slice of chocolate cake in front of her before I’ve taken my first bite. “How is it?”

“Good,” she replies flatly, not looking up.

I take a bite, but I know I shouldn’t eat it. Not with the Vargo shoot in two days. Pushing it away, I choose the bourbon instead. I know this woman. Well, I knew the girl. Her jealousy is showing. And I’m absolutely fascinated by her reaction considering she’s the one who left. She moved on with no problem, so I need to play this right. I can move on myself now or figure out why I’m so damn attracted to her still.

Looking back at Reese, she seems to be searching for answers of her own by the way she’s digging into her dessert. “Reese?”

She looks up, fork in hand, almost to her mouth. “Yes?”

I need to think fast. My need to make her feel better, to ease her stress over the Cherry situation made me open my big mouth and draw unwanted attention from Mark and Vittori. As all three of them stare at me, I blurt, “Your glass is empty and Mark mentioned wanting to speak to Mr. Vittori about something… umm… to do with the thing.” I cough and stand up abruptly. “Would you like to join me at the bar?”

Her shoulders straighten and she sets her fork down gently. “Oh, okay. Yes, we can give them some privacy.” Looking to Vittori, she says, “And then you can join us at the bar.”

Vittori smiles. “Yes, we’ll be here… to talk. You two run along now.”

Mark is scowling at me until Vittori and Reese look his way. That frown turns upside down, and a half-smile replaces it. “Sure. Give us a few. We’ll be right over.”

I help Reese up by pulling out her chair, and remark, “Great.”

As we walk away, Reese whispers to me over her shoulder, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it better be good, Weston.”

“It was always good. You’ve just forgotten.”

“Please remind me then,” she challenges.

With my hand on her back, I lean down, really close to her ear and whisper, “Believe me, I intend to.”

HE’S A PERFECT
gentleman, maybe even more so than when he was in college. Danny helps me onto my barstool and then sits on the one next to me. After we place our order, an awkward silence creeps in.

Then he goes first, trying for casual chitchat like we don’t have a huge pink elephant of ten years sitting right between us. “How are you liking your visit to LA?”

I volley back with a polite and boring answer. “I’ve been several times over the years, and every time it’s a breath of fresh air from my gray Manhattan life.” When my eyes meet his, I see a concern that he must mean to hide. There’s no mistaking how he let Cherry Menger mark him with her red lips despite how flirty he’s been with me. His dislike of me will likely overpower all other emotions he’s capable of. Revenge is sweet and apparently he’s got a sweet tooth tonight. Sitting up straighter, I add, “I don’t mean to sound sullen. I think I’m tired from the travel. Europe, New York, and Los Angeles in four days wore me down.”

I watch him as he speaks, the way his lips form the words, and remember how they used to feel against mine. “That’s a lot of travel. I’m still not used to it and I travel all the time.”

Taking a sip of my drink, I let it hold my attention long enough to rethink what I’m doing, what we’re doing. I can’t pretend when we’re alone. Too much truth—of everything—exists between us to pretend it doesn’t. Is he trying to torture me by his hot and cold attitude? His eyes veer to my cleavage, then back up, and suddenly I’m very aware of every little innuendo between us. I touch the fabric, and now wonder if deep down, I wore it for him.
Do I want his attention?
God, am I that desperate to think I could get it even if I did? He’s got millions of female fans.
What would he want with the girl who walked away?
But he’s staring at me again like he might have forgiven me. I’m so confused. I shake my head and say, “You’ve done well, Danny. Congratulations on your success. It’s what you always wanted.”