Fashion Jungle Read online

  Only the briefest touches.

  All the other girls had gone wild that he was even on set.

  She hadn’t.

  She’d later found out that was why he’d approached.

  And then he’d said that he saw her legs. He was a man, after all.

  “Ronan,” she croaked. “Yes, hi.”

  “That’s all I get? ‘Yes, hi?’”

  She ground her teeth. “Actually, I’m kind of busy right now—”

  “Bull. I’m a politician, and you never could lie very well, Britt.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut at the use of her nickname. “Yeah, well, I’d like to think I’m better at it since I was exposed to it on a daily basis, compliments of you and your lovely mom. She didn’t manage to fall down the stairs last night or choke on a piece of shrimp, did she?”

  “She’s not that bad,” Ronan said defensively. “And you know she’s allergic to shrimp.”

  “Only more reason to feed it to her,” Brittany snapped.

  “And everyone thinks you’re so sweet…” He chuckled. “Look, I’m going to send you my schedule for the week. I figure we can do the interview over dinner.”

  “Lunch,” she found herself saying. “Dinner looks bad. You’re married, remember?”

  “Business dinners never look bad. Just try not to look too sexy, and it won’t be a problem.”

  “I love it when you ask for the impossible.”

  “I love it when you fight with me,” he fired back. “It’s dinner or nothing at all. And wear red, it’s patriotic.”

  She banged her head slowly against the desk and muttered, “Fine, just send me a”—her phone dinged—“text.”

  “Done. See you soon.”

  Brittany sighed.

  “Oh, and Britt?”

  “Yes?”

  “You looked beautiful at the gala. I would have told you had the man on your arm not looked ready to throat-punch me. New friend of yours? Bodyguard?”

  “Doctor.” She sat straight. “And that’s all you’ll get.”

  “Ah, working-class, good for you.”

  Could he be any more condescending?

  “Goodbye, Ronan.”

  “Goodbye for now, Britt.”

  She tapped end on the conversation and wrung her hands together as old feelings jumped to the surface.

  It wasn’t just that he was a beautiful man.

  He was a lot like Dane in the way he carried himself, powerful to his very core, and unapologetic about life in an addicting way.

  Funny how her parents had warned her about drugs before she moved to the big city—about addictions in every form.

  But the one drug nobody saw coming?

  Ronan Kampbell.

  “Who was that?” Everlee said in a sleepy voice. “You sounded angry, and you never sound that way. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice.” She pushed herself up on her elbows.

  “Ronan,” Brittany said, striving for an indifferent tone. “He’s just…”

  “A politician,” Everlee said in an annoyed voice. “Between him and Dane, the devil must be having a heyday.”

  Brittany let out a snort. “So… true.” But inside, all she kept thinking was, he wasn’t always like that.

  So controlled by his family.

  By his mother.

  It had happened slowly.

  And then the Ronan that she knew and loved had been replaced by a shiny new version compliments of Nancy and the image she wanted him to present. The woman told him he couldn’t get into acting, that it was beneath him. Flying his plane back and forth to Martha’s Vineyard? Too dangerous. The world needed him.

  She needed him.

  And the sick part? Maybe Nancy was right.

  Because as much as it made Brittany’s heart squeeze in her chest, she knew. He was a leader people would follow.

  And the world needed more individuals like that, those willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good.

  Just another reason Brittany had fallen for him in the first place. Ronan would sell his soul to save the world.

  Brittany just hadn’t thought he would give her up, as well.

  “Want lunch?” She stood, shoving the dark thoughts from her head and grabbing her Birkin bag just as Everlee moved to a seated position. “I’m buying.”

  “I would love lunch.” Everlee pushed to her feet and grabbed her purse.

  With a cursory knock on the door, Frederick walked in, took one look at her, and frowned.

  “Everlee?” He took two steps toward her. “Are you still feeling sick?”

  Brittany bit her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret while Everlee melted into her husband’s arms. “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t I call a car for you?”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’ll just wait in here. I really am tired.” She sent Brittany a relieved look and sat back on the leather couch.

  “I’ll take care of you,” Frederick said in a soft voice as he left the office. Brittany waved at Everlee and followed closely behind.

  The first thing the man did was pull out his phone and call a car. And the second? He took a left to where the models waited and wrapped an arm around Chrissy.

  Brittany kept walking, a frown on her face. When she finally made it out the door, she hailed a taxi, got in, and looked out the window just in time to see Frederick and Chrissy leaving the building.

  Together.

  Zoe stared at the bill.

  Took another long draw of her red wine.

  Then stared harder.

  She was still at her office.

  Blocks away from the loft Dane had purchased for her.

  Drinking alone.

  And wondering if she should shred the paper and then send him a screenshot of all the tiny pieces.

  There was only one problem.

  He was right.

  And as much as she wanted to throat-punch him, she was petrified. She didn’t own a gun, and now she felt trapped in her own office because she’d needed to work late.

  Chelsey was gone.

  The lights were low.

  And every single noise or flicker of light made her tense to a painful degree. Was Aaron here? Would he finish what he started? Was he a changed man? Still angry?

  Who was she kidding?

  His brother was dead.

  Dead.

  And he’d gone to prison for rape—they never could prove the premeditated murder.

  It had been too easy for her and Dane to fix. Too easy for her to report the story to the police the way Dane had asked her to.

  And she’d believed Dane when he said that it was the only way. She’d believed him when he said that he would take care of it all.

  And he had.

  Until now.

  Now, he had a freaking alarm clock dangling in front of her face with a diamond ring and loft attached to it.

  The sound of footsteps neared.

  She almost dove under her desk until Dane filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light, his head of gorgeous dark hair nearly kissing the top of the wood. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

  “Got that.” She sighed. “I lost track of time and trapped myself. Lucky me.”

  “You’re never trapped; not when you have me.” He took a step inside, then slowly shut the door behind him. The click was like a gunshot going off in the tense silence as his blue eyes locked on hers with such intensity that it was hard to breathe. Chest tight, she couldn’t move as he guided his massive body across the wood floor to stop directly in front of her chair.

  Without a word, his smooth hand moved to her chin, tilting it upward. “Be mine.”

  “If I say yes, I lose myself.”

  “I think you give me too much credit.”

  “I think humility looks awkward on you,” she said honestly in response to his cruel, beautiful smile as his head descended. He used his hand
s to grip her arms and pull her to her feet.

  It was happening.

  His web of darkness and deception was wrapping itself around her inch by inch, and in those moments—the brief seconds when her brain misfired and told her to stay rather than run—he owned a little bit more of her as his lips pressed against hers.

  She sucked in a breath at the first taste of him.

  Her body seemed stunned by how good it was.

  She’d purposely forced all good memories of Dane away. It made it easier to say no.

  But now, her body was saying yes without her vote.

  She stilled as his tongue slipped past her lower lip.

  And then he pulled back, his hands sliding down to her hips, holding her body in place without space between them as his breathing slowed. “I love you the only way I know how.”

  “By scaring me to death and threatening me?”

  “By protecting you.”

  “Protecting and owning are the same thing to you, Dane,” she said in a small voice. “And the last woman you tried to protect still died, didn’t she?”

  His nostrils flared with anger as his jaw clenched, and rage danced in his orbs. “I swore justice would be served. Trust me.”

  “That’s the thing. I can’t. Not when I know what you’re capable of.”

  Knew what he did.

  He nodded. “So, it’s come to that, has it?”

  Fear trickled down her spine. “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t answer, just held out his hand and said, “Let’s get you home.”

  She took the proffered palm because it was either him or the psycho from her past. With a huff, she grabbed her purse and followed him out of the building and into the waiting SUV.

  They were quiet the entire drive.

  It wasn’t lost on her that they were going in the wrong direction.

  Dread pooled in her belly as they pulled up to his Upper East Side apartment, one of the many he owned.

  “Come up with me.” He made it sound as if he were asking. He wasn’t. “We’ll talk.”

  Ha, talk. Right. They would talk.

  “So you can use my body in order to find your way to my heart?” she snapped.

  His face softened. “So I can make sure I don’t wake up and find out that the universe has lost another much-needed light.” He touched her face, his fingertips burning her skin. She wanted him, she always did, but he would never give himself to her that way.

  They would never have that life.

  The one she dreamed about.

  A family.

  A white picket fence in the suburbs.

  Laughter.

  His touch led to death, secrets, the limelight. His touch meant she was agreeing to sell her soul in the very same way he’d sold his.

  And, suddenly, she wished for Brittany.

  For her friend to be there with her ever-present Bible, thumping it over Dane’s head and telling him to stay away.

  Brittany knew how to keep the demons at bay.

  Zoe invited them in.

  She stared Dane down. “What do you want from me?”

  He was silent, and then he nipped her lips with a slow, persuasive kiss before he whispered against them. “Surrender.”

  Dane waited for Zoe to move.

  She very slowly took off her heels.

  And moved around the kitchen, then stood on her tiptoes to grab two wine glasses. She knew his kitchen well.

  If only she knew that he couldn’t stand being in that room without her walking around it. Well, tiptoeing was more like it since Danica had lived there with him the last time Zoe had treated it like home.

  The memories were too hard.

  Memories of laughter. Of the girls staying over, eating all of his food and then begging him to order pizza. He’d moved into the city a few years after Danica had started modeling so he could take care of her. He’d left Jersey on a whim, sold two of his estates, and made himself at home in the darkness of the underworld.

  And found a home he hadn’t realized he needed, playing chess with the demons in his head.

  “So…” Zoe’s voice snapped him out of his dark thoughts. “If I say no to you…” She handed him a glass and looked up into his eyes. Her mocha skin was flawless in the moonlight. He wanted to reach out, to lick a path down her neck, to kiss her and press his body against hers so tightly she’d have no choice but to touch him back. “Are you going to kill me?”

  He tried to hide his shock, and then he tilted her chin with his free hand. “That depends.”

  Her breath hitched. “On what?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  Her eyes betrayed her. The way they filled with tears that he knew she’d rather die than let spill down her perfectly sculpted cheeks. She suffered just as he did, but he was able to get the rage out.

  Zoe.

  Zoe let hers feed on her soul.

  Sadness pulsed between them as he set his glass down and gripped her shoulders with his hands. They slumped under the weight. “You aren’t her, Zoe.”

  “I could have been.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  “People said we were a lot alike,” she said in a small voice.

  “You were always stronger. You are stronger. Don’t let her death make you give up. Don’t make me the sort of monster who would kill you just because I love you enough to do whatever you ask.”

  She gulped.

  With a shake of his head, he nodded at her purse. “Text the girls, let them know you’re safe and that you’re with me tonight. Tell them Aaron’s out of jail, but nothing else.”

  “They should know what we did—”

  “Great idea, then they can testify in court,” Dane said sarcastically as he walked over to her purse and handed it to her. “Text them. They’ll comfort you like good friends do, and then you can stay in the guest room.”

  She took her purse and frowned. “But I thought—”

  “I’d rather not get a yes to your proposal minutes after you ask me to kill you. It completely ruins the moment, Zoe.” He winked, turned on his heel, and made his way toward the master bedroom. “You know where the towels are. Try not to eat all the Skittles in the pantry.”

  The door closed to her muffled laughter.

  God, he’d missed that sound.

  Too bad it was rarely directed at him or with him anymore.

  He leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut then fired off a text to Frederick. “Club tomorrow night?”

  Frederick texted back almost immediately. “Thank God.”

  Pieces were finally falling into place.

  After a year of investigating.

  A year of secrets.

  Dane would reveal the truth.

  The sound of the door slamming jolted Everlee up from her sleeping position on the couch. What time was it? She rubbed her eyes and stared at the blurry phone that she was still clutching in her hand. Midnight? Frederick was supposed to be home hours ago.

  She checked her phone and did a double-take. Zoe was with Dane? Dane-Dane? The one she wanted to murder half the time? The rest of the text mentioned Aaron. A sick feeling washed over Everlee as footsteps neared.

  “You look terrible.” Frederick’s chipper voice gave her pause. Slowly, she turned to stare him down. Everything looked normal. He was wearing black skinny jeans, a low V-neck vintage tee, and enough man jewelry to choke a person. His hair was brushed back, and he had a scarf wrapped around his neck. He put down his camera bag and then crossed his arms and stared at her. His eyes were cold, indifferent.

  Wasn’t home supposed to be different?

  She stretched her arms overhead. “Where have you been?”

  “You my keeper now?” He smirked as if he were kidding, but she heard the irritation in his voice. “You know how it is before Fashion Week.”

  Maybe for the models.

  She frowned as her stomach growled loudly. She pressed a hand against it. The baby inside was already rebe
lling against her poor diet. And while she knew she needed to eat more, she was petrified of what that meant for her, for Frederick, for the life they had. And for her career.

  Getting fat, regardless of whether it was because she was pregnant or not, wasn’t acceptable. Nine months of not working, of gaining weight, losing it again, of being exhausted and swollen…

  Her eyes filled with tears as Frederick made his way to the couch, sat down next to her, and grabbed the remote from the table.

  One bulky arm hung behind her, not touching, just there.

  “You still sick?” he asked, not looking at her.

  She gulped and then leaned into him, pressing a hand against his broad chest. He stiffened.

  What? When had he ever reacted that way?

  Hurt, she pulled her hand away as fresh tears blinded her line of vision. “Yeah, just a bug or something… I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s a relief.” He actually sounded relieved. Huh, maybe he really did care? “For a second there, I thought you could be pregnant.” He followed that with a laugh that felt like a million knives digging into her skin. “Can you imagine? At this point in your career? In mine? Kids.” He shuddered. “Not for us, baby.” He kissed the top of her forehead. “Besides, can you imagine stretch marks on that beautiful body?”

  The guy actually shuddered like the idea of a baby repulsed him so much that he needed to react physically. She recoiled even more as her stomach sank.

  And even then, with the disgusted look on his face followed by the loud laughter as he flipped to late-night TV, she knew it was a miracle that she was pregnant at all. Because it had been a secret wish for years until, finally, she realized it wasn’t going to happen. Not with Frederick. Ever.

  “You’re quiet.” He turned to her, finally, and reached for her hand. “Do you want me to draw you a bath?”

  Like he used to when he said he couldn’t get enough of her.

  When he said it was their little secret.

  When she wasn’t yet eighteen.

  And he wanted to see what was beneath the clothing.

  She shuddered. “No, I think I’m just going to bed.”

  “I’ll tuck you in.” He got up before she could protest, and then he walked with her back into their bedroom, turning the lights down and kissing her forehead like it was typical for him to be this gentle with her rather than coming home drunk and smelling like someone else’s perfume. He actually seemed… normal.