In Too Deep (18 page)

Antonio raised one hand, signaling at the bartender. “The lady will have . . .” He turned to face her, his teeth glowing in his tanned face as he smiled. “What will you have?”

“A Negroni,” Mad said casually, as if she ordered them all the time. She’d heard some actress order one in an old movie from the sixties she saw on TV one night last spring when she couldn’t sleep. It always sounded good, but she had no fucking idea what, exactly, was in one—for all she knew it could be some revolting mix of peach schnapps and battery acid. Whatever—she’d deal. As long as she looked good while holding it, she could choke down anything—even if it ended up tasting like ass.

“You look gorgeous,
cara
, just perfect,” Antonio purred as he sipped his cocktail, his dark eyes traveling over the length of her body.

“Antonio, you say that every time I
see
you,” Madison said flirtatiously as the bartender set a brilliant red drink before her, ice cubes clinking against the tall glass.

“That is because it is true,” Antonio answered back, holding his drink up to hers. “A toast,” he said, staring into her eyes, “to the most beautiful girl on the Upper East Side—and soon,” he added, “the whole world.”

Madison’s stomach dropped as their glasses clinked, as much from the intensity of Antonio’s stare as the feeling that being a model wasn’t what she wanted after all. When she’d left Sam’s studio last week, all she’d wanted to do was hide under a rock until the next millennium. The whole experience had left such a bad taste in her mouth that she wasn’t sure she wanted to step in front of the camera ever again—much less become the modeling world’s next big thing. Forget the whole control thing—there was something distinctly cheap about the whole experience of being a model, and if Madison Macallister was anything at all, it
certainly
wasn’t cheap . . .

Antonio picked up a large white envelope from the bar in front of him, pulling out sheets of glossy, photographic paper. “I want to show you something,” he said gravely, tapping the sheets of paper against the bar for emphasis.

“Antonio, look,” Madison said, sweat beginning to break out under her arms, “Sam and I didn’t really—”

“Shhh . . .” Antonio said softly, pressing a finger to her lips. At the soft touch of his hand, Madison went as limp as a kitten. “It is not important,” he finished as she fell silent, leaning in to stroke her cheek with his fingers.
Goddamnit,
Madison thought with no small measure of annoyance,
what is going on? Will this guy kiss me already!
She leaned in slightly, parting her lips, waiting for the touch of his lips on hers. She was so close to his golden skin . . .

But just as she closed her eyes completely, she felt a rush of wind as Antonio slapped the contact sheets down on the bar in front of her with a harsh, thwacking sound. “Take a look at these,
cara.
They are magnificent, no?”

Madison warily opened her eyes, her annoyance fading completely as she stared down at the contact sheets. Each small frame of film held a miniature Madison in its center, her white-blond hair shining in the light. Her body looked long and lean, her limbs as sculpted as if she spent every day at the gym, subsisting on nothing but energy bars and air—which she definitely did
not
. Her eyes looked knowingly into the camera, and even in the shots where she was obviously uncomfortable there was something compelling about her stance, the determination in her green eyes slicing through the lens.

“I can’t believe that’s really
me
,” Madison murmured in disbelief, reaching out and tracing her own image with the tip of one finger, pulling the contact sheets closer to take a better look. “I thought it was a total disaster. I mean, Sam and I didn’t exactly become best friends or anything and—”

“What he thinks does not matter,” Antonio said, waving a hand dismissively. “What matters is what the
camera
thinks—and it is clearly in love with you.”

“I guess,” Madison stammered, “but I don’t really know
how
to model, and I’m just not really sure I want to do this after all.” Madison pushed the contact sheets away and took a deep breath, tapping her heel against the bar stool nervously. Before she walked into the restaurant, she’d all but convinced herself that she was going to turn Antonio down—the shoot was such a disaster and she didn’t relish the prospect of doing another one any time soon. So she’d managed to kick Sam where it hurt—so what? At the end of the day, there would always be some other photographer trying to get into her pants, some other random guy who thought that just because she was a model she was dumb and easy. Dumb—maybe sometimes. But easy? Never.
After all
, Madison thought, picking up her Negroni and making a face when the bitter liquor hit her tongue,
a girl’s got to draw the line somewhere . . .

“Listen to me,
cara.
” Antonio said, taking her hand in his own. When his hand touched hers, Madison felt herself go all limp—just like the alligator she saw on Animal Planet last week who rolled over, completely vegged-out and hypnotized because some animal expert rubbed its scaly belly in the right spot. If this is what it felt like when Antonio so much as touched her hand, she was definitely in real trouble if he ever so much as grazed her belly with
one
of his fingers. She’d probably fall into some kind of a lust-induced coma, only to wake in twenty years, first asking for Antonio—and then a Diet Coke . . .

“Madison,
cara
, you were
born
for this.” Antonio caressed her palm, shivers radiating from her hand all the way down to her spine—she felt like her vertebrae were melting right into her chair. “You must reconsider. What can I do to convince you?” he asked, his dark eyes sparkling.

“Well, I don’t know . . .” Madison demurred, sensing an opportunity to make Antonio an offer he couldn’t refuse—and why would he want to anyway? If she really was as gorgeous as everyone was telling her, he should be fairly panting to take things to the next level. But since the whole fiasco with Drew, Mad knew that her confidence just wasn’t what it had once been. Drew’s rejection hurt more than she would ever let on to anyone else—even admitting it to herself stung like a shaving nick, one that wouldn’t stop bleeding all over the place. . . . “My friend’s having a party at Marquee this Saturday night. Be my date and I’ll
think
about it.”

Antonio smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it softly before releasing her. “It would be my pleasure to accompany you,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I’m not promising anything, Antonio,” she warned, her face serious. “I
still
haven’t talked to my mother about all this,” she added, taking another tiny sip of the noxious Negroni and pushing it away, scowling like a pouty baby. It really wouldn’t hurt to string Antonio along a little longer, Mad told herself. And showing up at Sophie’s party with Antonio at her side would definitely rocket her reputation into the stratosphere—not that her reputation really needed any help in the first place . . .

“Perhaps she will be there Saturday night?” Antonio asked, downing the rest of his drink, which, for his sake, she hoped tasted a hell of a lot better than her own—and signaled the bartender for the check.

“Unfortunately,” Madison said, “but I can’t promise she’ll be, umm, particularly
coherent
or anything.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” Antonio said with a chuckle, placing a platinum Amex on top of the check and handing it to the bartender. “If she is anywhere as beautiful as you, I’m sure I will recognize her immediately.”

Madison snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, she’s all right—except she’s about a million years old!” Madison stood up, smoothing down her dress.

“I will pick you up in my car, yes?” Antonio asked, sliding his Burberry trench coat from the back of the chair and slinging it over one arm.

Yes, yes, yes
, Madison thought while nodding happily, unable to keep her eyes from noticing his perfectly square jaw, or the fact that his dark eyelashes were about a foot long.
Why do guys always have the longest lashes?
Madison pondered, trying to distract herself from thinking the usual lust-filled daydreaming that occupied her brain when she was around Antonio, pushing rational thoughts to a tiny, dust-filled corner in the back of her skull.

“Eight o’clock?” she asked as her cell phone began to buzz noisily. Madison reached into the pocket of her shearling coat and pulled out her cell, the word EDIE flashing across the tiny screen. Looking at her phone in undisguised annoyance, Madison switched off the ringer, throwing it back into her pocket. She’d wait until she was safely outside before calling her back—there was nothing worse than looking like an infant whose mother still kept tabs on her in front of a guy she was trying to impress. And, more than anything, Madison wanted Antonio to be impressed. Not only was he unbelievably gorgeous, but she knew that bringing him to Sophie’s party as her date would drive Drew completely over the edge. And then she’d have him right where she wanted him . . . completely tortured—a jealous, hormonally ridden, angsty nightmare of seething regret—which could only be seen as totally unattractive to a certain newly straightened Midwest moron . . .

“Until then,” Antonio said, leaning in and kissing her on both cheeks, his lips lingering just a touch too long on either side of her face, applying pressure that was both gentle and firm. Madison closed her eyes at his touch, already planning the drop-dead gorgeous outfit she’d surely find to wear on Saturday night . . .

that’s entertainment

Phoebe stepped into The Bramford’s first - floor entertain
- ment lounge, swinging the heavy oak door shut behind her and switching on the lights. The lounge had once been one of The Bram’s most popular amenities, featuring a giant movie screen, state-of-the-art popcorn machine, and an enormous, adjacent, sculptured outdoor garden that nannies mostly used for picnics in the summer months. But since most of the current tenants had apartments equipped with their
own
private screening rooms, and, being October, it was way too chilly for picnics anymore, the lounge was mostly deserted at this time of year—not to mention this late at night.

Phoebe flopped down on an enormous black leather couch. The fawn-colored Christian Louboutin knee-high boots she’d stolen from Madeline’s closet earlier were tucked into a pair of faded jeans. The room was empty and quiet, and Phoebe shivered, crossing her denim-clad legs, and pulling her black cardigan tighter around her body, the edges of a robin’s egg-blue camisole peeking out from the soft cashmere.

Phoebe looked around at the room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows covering one wall, and the plush red velvet curtains surrounding the movie screen. At least once a month, The Bram Clan had a slumber party—of sorts. They would drag a pile of
Sex and the City
and
Footballers’ Wives
DVDs down to the lounge and spend an entire evening watching one episode after another while painting each other’s nails—and gossiping furiously, of course. Phoebe sighed, her heart racing. She knew this was total madness—anyone could walk in at any time, even Sophie, although, as caught up as she was in planning her upcoming party, it was highly unlikely.
What am I doing here?
Phoebe moaned inwardly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the soft leather as the door opened with a creak.

Phoebe sat up, the blood thudding in her veins as Jared entered the room wearing a navy blue sweater that looked so soft she immediately wanted to bury her face in it, and a pair of baggy jeans he’d belted tightly so that the blue and green plaid of his boxers showed over the waistband. Jared grinned happily at the prospect of finding her already there, and walked across the room with long, loping strides before sitting down beside her, pushing his dark hair from his eyes, picking up her hand and enfolding it in his own.

“Wow,” he said, smiling. “You beat me here. You must’ve really wanted to see me.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes and dropped his hand. “You wish,” she snorted, looking away before the smile that was slowly creeping across her face completely took over. “I was just bored, so I came down here early.”

“Yeah, right,” Jared said, reaching over as lazily and calculated as a cat to take her hand once again. “And I changed my shirt seven times before coming down here because I was just
indecisive
.”

Phoebe laughed, turning to face him. When his blue eyes met hers, she knew that looking him straight in the face was definitely a bad idea—not to mention the obvious fact that within five minutes of walking into the room, he was holding her hand like he owned it. Looking at Jared was like being sucked into a spinning, dizzy vortex. If she looked at him for long enough, there was no telling what might happen. Did she really want to find out?

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Jared said quietly, reaching over and smoothing the dark hair from her face. “And I’m not sure I want to.” His lips moved closer and closer to hers, until she felt the warmth of them on her own, her mouth opening as she responded to his touch. As they continued to kiss, Phoebe felt herself falling backward until she was lying horizontally on the leather couch with Jared above her. Somehow, the weight of his body on hers, as delicious as it was, made her feel like things were moving too fast, spiraling out of control. She put her hands on his chest and pushed hard, sitting up and running a hand through her tangled hair.

“We can’t do this,” she said, breathing heavily and all at once overcome with fear. “It’s
wrong
. We’re wrong for doing it.”

“Does it
feel
wrong to you?” Jared asked, exhaling loudly and sitting up, his blue eyes glittering with impatience. “Because it doesn’t to me. When I’m with you I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Phoebe sat motionless, Jared’s words hanging in the air between them. It may have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her in her life—anyone with a penis, that is. But it didn’t change the fact that they were sneaking around, that despite her best intentions, she’d become nothing more than a carbon copy of her own mother: lying, orchestrating clandestine meetings, hurting the very people she was supposed to love. It had to stop—now. And if Jared wasn’t going to make it stop, then Phoebe knew it was all up to her.