“He’s marrying Phoebe Powell,” Brody adds. “The talk show girl.”
“Phoebe Powell?” Avery questions. “From Verbal Provisions? And her friend is Chloe Channing Cruz?”
“Yes. Why?” I ask, wondering where she’s going with the connection.
“This world is getting smaller and smaller . . . Twenty percent of the proceeds from the show are being donated to one of Chloe’s chapters located here in Los Angeles.”
“Are Phoebe and Chloe here too?” I crane my neck up and around to peek through the crowd. “I didn’t see them.”
“No. They couldn’t make it. When I spoke with Phoebe, she told me she didn’t want to risk coming to the show since her due date is very soon. And Chloe didn’t want to miss the birth of her firstborn.” Avery nods at the same bald man across the room. “If you will excuse me, I need to say hello to a few other people . . . see you at the after-party,” she adds before leaving us.
When she walks away, Jackson and Brody step to the side. From their serious expressions and hushed voices, I can only assume they’re talking about work or pretending to ignore the many models prancing around them.
Catherine laughs as she sees a couple of models checking out Brody and Jackson. “We have some good-looking men, don’t we, Delilah?”
I bite my bottom lip, smile, and nod in agreement. “We sure do.”
“Will you two be coming to the after-party?” Catherine asks as she straightens the strap on her shoulder.
I look over at the one man that’s stolen my heart, not only with his blazing good looks and his pull at every fiber of my libido, but with the way he makes my heart feel. Loved, adored, and worshiped. And as much as I want to be alone with him, I think it’s best we attend.
“Yes,” I reply.
Catherine looks over my shoulder as someone calls her name. “Duty calls. I may be here for fun, but I have work to do as well. Excuse me, Delilah . . . I will see you later at the party.” Catherine calls for Jackson and they both disappear in the crowd.
Just as I take a step to meet with Brody, I hear a woman call his name. I stop in my tracks, watching the exchange from a short distance as people pass between us.
“Saint Clair.” The woman’s voice is sultry and smoky. And I can’t help but stare. She was one of the models and the same woman with Brody in the pictures from the article I read weeks ago. Sophia.
She’s tall, slim, fit, and I suddenly regret eating the fries I had for lunch today. Her black hair is pulled up in a perfect bun, flashy chandelier earrings hang from her ears, and a low-cut dress shows off her cleavage. When she turns, the back of her emerald dress replicates the front, except the scoop meets the nape of her spine. And all I see is her flesh getting closer to Brody.
“Sophia,” Brody greets her. My imagination gets the best of me as jealousy stings my thoughts when she presses a drawn-out kiss on Brody’s cheek.
“It’s been a while. How have you been?” She slaps his arm playfully, then picks imaginary lint from his lapel.
“You look good,” he says. “And great show.” Is he smiling at Sophia in the same way he smiles at me?
A few ladies squeal standing next to me, making it hard to hear Sophia and Brody’s conversation. I regain my hearing and refocus back on them.
“Which bikini was your favorite?” Her eyes are smoldering as she bites her bottom lip, fingers playing with the top button of his dress shirt.
My blood boils. Did she really just ask that?
I’m dwarfed by all the people around me and I’m not sure if he realizes I’m standing a few feet away. And here I thought it was over between them.
I can barely breathe as I take a few steps back, not wanting to watch anymore, knowing they share a past. I acknowledge I don’t have a leg to stand on and can’t compete against a woman like her.
No longer can I hear their conversation as the hum of the crowd grows between us, it overwhelms my senses and clouds my vision. With each step I take, distancing myself, my heart shatters.
My self-consciousness mounts, and I fiddle with the charm of my necklace between my fingers. I should be next to him. In his arms. Kissing his cheek. Playing with his buttons. So why aren’t I?
Get a grip, Dee. Go back over there and claim your man.
But I can’t because I’m a chickenshit. I pull out my cell phone and press a few buttons to order an Uber.
I’m clear across the room, near one of the many exits, with a sea of people separating us. With my back against the door, I press the bar and it slowly opens.
I quickly walk down the dimly lit corridor, the red exit sign illuminating my path just ahead. I need to get out, walls surrounding me make me feel claustrophobic. I need the fresh air.
I push another set of handlebars and the door swings open. Shit, I’m in another hallway and I’m completely lost in the maze of this building.
To my right, another exit sign.
I swing the door open and finally I’m outside and can see the street from the alley I have just stepped into.
It smells like urine and garbage as I note the dumpster behind me. Trying to encompass my bearings and where I’m at, I walk down the alleyway and see the valet near the main entrance in the distance.
Someone grabs my elbow, jerking me around and a heavy hand presses against my mouth. My feet stumble as I’m forced back toward the direction I just came from—deeper into the dark alley behind the dumpster, obstructing my view of the few people passing by. Whoever it is, he’s strong and has the front of my body pinned to the cold brick wall.
The feel of cold metal skims against my cheek, down to my neck, and I know it’s a gun.
Fear coats my skin. My throat goes dry. My entire body freezes except for my heart beating erratically.
A whimper escapes from the back of my throat. No one can see me or hear me.
Stay calm, Dee.
I wish I was strong so I can turn around and knee him in the balls. But his body is too heavy as he presses me harder against the wall.
His mouth is near my ear. I hear him breathing heavily. The scent of cigarettes lingers on his breath and fills my nose.
“You are so fucking beautiful.” His words may be flattering but his tone matches the cold steel of the gun. I shiver at the thought of what’s coming as panic and pain radiate throughout my body.
I take a deep breath. My heart is pounding erratically in my chest, and I swallow the bile creeping up my throat. I think of my family, my friends, Brody, and all the memories that give me strength. They are the lifeline I need to grasp onto.
I shake my head, loosening his grip over my mouth. “What do you want from me?” I murmur.
His silence is deafening, and I can’t take it anymore. I bite his fingers still pressed against my mouth.
“Fucking bitch!”
Before I can identify his voice, he spins me around, and the gun in his hand slams against my face and propels me to the ground. I land with a thud on the wet concrete and all I see is white fuzziness and his dark silhouette as he gets closer to me.
The fear is no longer there, it’s overshadowed by the pain from the blow. Although my arms and legs feel weak, I try to scramble away, but he’s on me in a flash, straddling my waist. I take one last look at him as the needle enters my arm and then everything fades to black.