“She’s recently divorced, and she’s got a baby—”
“A two-year-old,” Rowan corrected.
“—and she doesn’t need any complications.”
“Actually, she’s got complications aplenty. She thinks I’m an escort, but she still agreed to a second date.”
“What!” Iris actually dropped the spatula. “You didn’t tell her?”
Brad’s laughter boomed through the kitchen. “An escort? Man, that’s awesome.” He high-fived Rowan.
Iris glared at her husband. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s really funny,” Brad told her. “Probably just a guy thing though,” he amended when her glare included a scowl.
“Definitely just a guy thing,” Iris said. “Rowan, you call her and you tell her right now.”
“No, just leave it alone for now,” Rowan said.
“Why would you lie to her?”
“Because most people look at me and see Rowan Forrester, supermodel, with all the social status and dollar signs that accompany my job. Vera looks at me and sees an escort with no social status and no dollar signs, and she still wants to go out with me. That says something about her—that she’s amazing—and maybe something about me—that I’m more than a pretty face and hard body.”
Brad winced. “Ouch. I didn’t need to hear that.”
Iris’s expression softened. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
Rowan had lost count of his failed relationships because his partner had wanted fame and all he had wanted was a lover and a life-partner. Was that the price of success? He shook his head, the gesture sharp and dismissive. “I shouldn’t complain. I have no right to.”
“You have every right to want a real relationship,” Iris said. “I’m sorry I hassled you. You take all the teasing about your job with such good humor that I forget sometimes you might need support, just like the rest of us. So, when do you see Vera again?”
“Next Friday.”
Iris smiled thinly. “Guess you’ll be racking up those frequent flier miles.”
Rowan looked away. “Only for as long as she keeps saying yes.” He stifled the sigh. Even his sister disapproved of the relationship, but what was he supposed to do? Give up on the one person who had captured his imagination and sympathy? Her visceral reaction to something as fundamental as simple attention and respect had startled him. He wanted to help her; God knew he could reignite her confidence in dating men once more.
Deep down, he knew they probably had no future together. Vera did not look like a person who would settle for a model, let alone an escort. But until she made up her mind, he would have the pleasure of her delightful, unassuming company.
It would have to be enough, because he knew it was all he could ever hope to have.
Chapter 4
Vera’s Monday at Pediatric Associates started at 7 a.m. with her favorite clients—the newborns and infants under three months of age. The older children came in later, and by noon, the clinic was bustling. She walked out of an examination room and stopped by the nurse’s station to drop off her patient’s file. “Micah comes back in four weeks for a follow-up.”
Sharon, the appointment specialist, nodded. “Got it. By the way—” She jerked her head at an arrangement of black and white calla lilies. “These just arrived for you.”
“What?” Vera reached for the card attached to the vase. The note, written in a strong, male hand, was short and to the point. Vera, thank you for an amazing evening. Rowan.
A smile crept across her face as she picked up the vase. The soft cream-colored centers of the white calla lilies glowed beneath the clinic lights, and the black calla lilies, dazzling in contrast, were actually a deep purple color and fringed with crimson. No one had ever sent her such beautiful flowers before.
She set the vase down on her desk and shut her office door before reaching for her phone.
Several moments later, Rowan picked up the call on the other end. “Vera.”
She could hear the smile in his voice—his brilliant smile, the one that could almost melt iron. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“The contrasts remind me of you.”
“Really?” Vera stared at the bouquet. She had never thought of herself as complex or as exotic as the black and white calla lilies seemed to suggest, but Rowan’s flattering comparison coaxed a smile to her lips.
On the other end, she heard a man shout, “Hey, Rowan, the crew’s all set up.”
“Five minutes,” Rowan shouted back. “Sorry about that,” he said to her.
“No problem. When did you get back to New York?”
“Late last night. Caught the last flight out of Fort Lauderdale. How was your work at the clinic yesterday? Meet any gorgeous people?”
She laughed. “None as gorgeous as you.”
“Good. I hate competition.”
The other man shouted again. “Rowan, come on, man. We’re burning hundreds of dollars a minute. We gotta get started.”
Rowan sighed. “It’s just the usual Monday morning chaos over here.”
“I can identify with that,” she said. Could she though? What was happening on the other end? Something about crew and money. Was it a porn shoot? Rowan had not said anything about porn. Vera pressed her lips together to suppress the coldness radiating from inside her. Oh, God, what was she doing, dating an escort? Nothing good could possibly come out of it. She had to tell him not to come on Friday. She opened her mouth. “Rowan?”
“Yeah?”
“I…” The memory of his kindness came back to her. No one had ever treated her with such attentiveness and care before. To hell with whatever people said. She deserved to be treasured. She deserved Rowan. One more date, she told herself. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him once more. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call you when I arrive in Fort Lauderdale. Have a great week, Vera.” He hung up.
Vera set the phone down. She stared at the magnificent flower arrangement for several minutes until the glow of delight it engendered drove away the chill of doubt over the wisdom of seeing Rowan again.
One date at a time. Surely she could take life one date at a time.
Rowan slipped the cell phone back into his pocket and turned to face the camera crew.
“About time, man,” Greg Carson, the photo shoot director, said.
“You could have done Lauren’s shots first.”
“We’re not that masochistic.” Greg laughed and waved Rowan over. “Come on. We’ll do the one with the jacket first, then the casual shoot with the loosened tie and jacket over your shoulder.”
Rowan shrugged into the Versace jacket and moved to stand beneath the studio lights.
Greg called out instructions as they worked on that day’s assignments, but not many. Rowan and Greg had partnered on enough photo shoots to know each other’s style. The cameraman clicked away as Rowan shifted fluidly, angling his body or his face based on Greg’s direction.
Finally, Greg grinned. “And that’s a wrap.” He pushed off his chair and walked over to shake Rowan’s hand. “Lots of great shots. Don’t know many people who can pull off the billionaire at work and the billionaire at play look as well as you.”