Fashion Jungle Read online

  Heat flooded Brittany’s face. She’d never quite been able to navigate how someone she loved so much was so continually inappropriate. She could no longer keep track of the times there had been incidents or comments. She wasn’t judging, but she quickly moved into apology mode.

  “I’m sorry he—”

  “Miss…?” The surgeon seemed to be waiting for her to say her name, strange since it was so rare people didn’t know who she was.

  “Brittany,” She rasped, “Please, call me Brittany, everyone does.” She found her gaze lingering on him again.

  “Brittany,” he continued, all business. “I wasn’t offended. I, for one, thought it was funny. He’s quite… chatty about his girls.” His smile was warm, sexy. “However, not everyone shares your friend’s sense of humor. The one thing I do know is that he cares about you and loves you so much more than he’s able to love himself. Maybe his humor, his double entendres are a way to keep everyone laughing so that, hopefully, they won’t notice the pain.”

  She let out a brief sigh and smiled. “You sure you’re a surgeon and not a shrink?”

  His soft, answering chuckle warmed her clear down to her toes. She sighed again, falling into easy conversation, even though he was towering over her and smiling at her the way men did when they were about to ask her out. She’d naturally tell them what she did for a living, they’d connect her to the family that shall not be named, and that would be that.

  Because there was one true thing about the so-called American Dream.

  You didn’t go up against those who built it from the ground up.

  She had.

  And she had the scars to prove it.

  Throat dry, she pressed a hand to her stomach. The movement was brief, the pain not so much as she was yet again reminded—it was empty.

  “Ah, right here.” He grabbed the chart from the door and pushed it open. “Mr. Maxwell?”

  “Back for seconds, Doctor?” Roger said in a teasing tone that had Brittany exhaling a sigh of relief and speed-walking toward the side of the bed.

  She reached for his hand.

  Roger tsked. “Too much champagne last night?”

  “Mind reader,” she grumbled, not wanting to talk about the anniversary of what had happened or the fact that she could never make it through the day sober. “How are you feeling?”

  “Who, me?” He grinned and ran a hand over his bald head. “Incredible. I’m on drugs. They gave me a button but then took it away.” His mouth narrowed into a pout.

  “Monsters.” Brittany laughed.

  “Exactly what I said. And then they refused to give me red Jell-O. You know how I rely on red Jell-O to get through the day.”

  “Weird, since yesterday it was chocolate pudding.”

  “She exaggerates.” Roger waved her off and eyed the doctor. “She’s pretty, though, so I keep her around.”

  “Yes.” The doctor cleared his throat, his eyes burning a hole through her. “She really is.”

  Alrighty, then!

  “So.” Brittany squeezed Roger’s hand. “Ready for me to break you out of this prison?”

  Roger gave her a saucy grin. “What if I like my jailer?”

  She gave him a look that said, “set me up, and I leave you here without Jell-O, drugs, or your favorite slippers I stuffed in my bag.”

  With a sigh, he leaned up. “Fine, take me back to my lonely apartment.”

  “Penthouse,” she corrected. “And you know you hate hospitals. You say they make you feel like you’re one bad decision away from death.”

  The doctor let out a low chuckle behind her.

  She locked eyes with Roger.

  A warning look.

  “So.” Roger completely ignored her and peered around her body. “No wedding ring, right, Doc?”

  “That’s right.” The surgeon held the clipboard close to his chest. Ah, a shield. Nice. He was figuratively protecting himself from what was coming next.

  Would he see if she kicked Roger’s bed? Held a pillow over his face? Pulled the fire alarm?

  “Me, too,” Roger said a few beats later. “This one…” Apparently, she was this one now. He squeezed her hand, making it impossible for her to hide under the bed or beat him with her new Chloe bag. “…lives all by herself, too. Won’t even adopt a cat—”

  “Okay!” Brittany interrupted loudly. “So, is there anything I need to sign to get him out of here?” Far, far away from the attractive doctor with his knee-buckling laugh and dimple. At this point, she’d sacrifice a kidney. Her love life had been the one thing she kept to herself.

  Until him.

  And then it became the only thing people wanted to discuss, and it still haunted her, everywhere she looked, no matter what she did. It never went away, and it probably never would.

  “Yeah.” The doctor stepped forward. “My nurse will be by with his discharge papers, but the only way to get him out of here is to go to dinner with me.”

  Brittany’s eyes bulged as panic set in. “Um…”

  “She’d love to!” Roger beamed as if he hadn’t just tossed her under the bus and waved goodbye at the same time. “Though her schedule’s a bit messy tomorrow. Plus, I think you have drinks with the girls tonight, right?” Of course, he had her schedule memorized; it was probably what he had done pre-op. Roger’s light reading was work. Always would be. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if he’d solved world hunger during surgery.

  While high on drugs.

  Sleeping.

  “She’s right here.” Brittany waved her hand in the air. “And I actually have that gala tomorrow night with—”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Roger’s eyes narrowed. And then the bastard coughed.

  Heaven help her.

  “Sorry, I think maybe all this talking has been bad for my lungs.” He grabbed his throat.

  Brittany internally rolled her eyes, dirty little liar.

  A confused Roger lowered his hand to his chest and nodded. “I knew they were here, poor lungs. Like I said, drugs. I can’t be trusted to be in civilized company in less than twenty-four hours. So, for that very reason, I’m volunteering to stay home so you kids can have a nice meal, dance under the stars…”

  Was he still speaking?

  The doctor smiled over at her. “He really is always like this?”

  “Exhausting, isn’t it?” she said through clenched teeth, though Roger didn’t seem to notice.

  “You don’t have to take me.” Doctor GQ moved closer. He smelled like a mixture of good and bad choices, all wrapped up into one enticing yet forbidden package. Lovely.

  “No, I um, that would be…” Perfect. Because at least he’d see her in her element and that would be that. No awkward: Oh, yeah, so the president’s son, he saw me naked! Spoiler alert: it wasn’t enough for him to stay. Oh, yes, that’s his new wife. They were sleeping together six months into our relationship.

  Compliments of his mother.

  Oh, look. She’s here, too.

  Kill me now.

  “So?” Roger cleared his throat.

  Had he really been talking that entire time?

  She really needed coffee. Fast.

  “So…” Brittany flashed a smile. “Give me your number, and we can just meet there.”

  Roger groaned into his pillow.

  She helpfully shoved it over his face while he kicked his legs up in the air as if he were dying.

  “You’ll live,” she hissed under her breath as the hot doctor laughed and walked over.

  And in true meet-cute Hollywood style, he grabbed a pen from the front pocket of his scrubs and very slowly wrote his name and number across the back of her hand.

  Was she shaking?

  Was it him?

  Why did it feel like a sauna in there?

  She gulped when he blew on the ink, his thumb caressing where he’d just touched, his eyes meeting hers in a way that didn’t allow a person to look down but see right through.

  “It’s a date,” he w
hispered.

  “I’m hungry.” This from Roger, who apparently, was done setting her up now that he remembered that he wanted his red Jell-O.

  Hot doctor dropped her hand. “See you tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah… see… you,” she said a bit breathlessly.

  He left the room.

  She exhaled, earning a stern stare from Roger. “What?”

  “You need to get out more,” he grumbled. “I want a burger.”

  “Seconds ago, you wanted Jell-O. You’ll eat what they tell you to eat, and why are you still looking at me like you’re disappointed in me?”

  He sighed dramatically and put his hands behind his head. “You don’t even know his name.”

  “Of course, I do. It’s Doctor…” She nodded and wanted to smack herself with the hand that had his name written on it, Roger would see so she just waved him off. “There was a name tag, right?”

  Roger shook his head slowly, and then pointed to the whiteboard. “Lucky for you, I knew it was written down on both the chart and your hand, good thing I intervened. By the way, he gave me two smiley faces on my pain board. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “True love.” She rolled her eyes. “Imagine if he had given you three?”

  He put his hand on his chest over his heart. “Don’t toy with me. I sacrificed myself on the altar of friendship so you could at least go to one of those magazine parties without a gay man on your arm.”

  Brittany sighed and sat down on the hospital bed. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

  “I’m single. I see everything wrong with that.” He patted her hand and then leaned in. “So, where are we on the whole food situation?”

  With a laugh, she bent down and hugged him, held him close and relished the smell of him, distinctly Roger; no matter what he always smelled like Dior, and his skin was a perfect mocha color that reminded her of warm autumn days and walks in Central Park.

  Without him, she was nothing.

  But everyone had their secrets.

  Why did she feel it was only a matter of time before hers were out, and the looks he gave her weren’t ones of admiration but disappointment?

  “Something wrong?” He patted her head.

  “No. Everything’s fine.” Smile back in place, she pulled away then stood. Happiest girl in the world.

  Just… the happiest.

  And possibly, the emptiest.

  The music pumped in cadence with his heart, the aggression of blood pumping through his veins, of the company he kept, the men who sat around him while he snapped his fingers in the air.

  It was seconds before someone brought him a drink.

  Three to be exact.

  His club had been one of the hottest tickets in the City since opening, with its dark, intimate atmosphere and mostly VIP seating with splashes of red, the pillows etched with a single D—a personal touch to remind the patrons that he was the dealer of the darkness they would partake in. The devil himself.

  And they were surrounded by beautiful women. Women who would make them forget. Women who would help Dane get answers.

  “Have I told you how much I love this place?” Frederick sent Dane a smug grin. “Like Heaven and Hell all wrapped up in one sexy package.”

  The women all wore gold masks that covered their entire faces, only showing their lush mouths and their penetrating eyes. No identities, just sin.

  The cover charge was a thousand dollars.

  And people paid it.

  Because Dane knew the first secret of big business—make it expensive, make it exclusive, make them curious.

  But there was a reason for everything, wasn’t there? A motive for him handing a shot of whiskey to Frederick and clinking his glass against it, downing the burning liquid in one gulp as Frederick ordered another. As the blond woman ran her red fingernails down Frederick’s chest, nearly tearing his shirt with their razor-sharp trail.

  Frederick tilted his head back as she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his neck.

  Another rule.

  Kissing was permitted anywhere but the mouth.

  It drove the clients crazy.

  Yet again, giving them something but not everything. There was something very sexual about no sex.

  And this city had forgotten that, hadn’t it?

  Married men wanted something more than sex, they just didn’t know it. They didn’t realize that the addiction was in the touch, in the fantasy. The addiction was in coming back for more and hoping that it would be different.

  So, night after night, they paid.

  They craved.

  And they went home wanting more.

  This was Frederick’s third time. And Dane knew it would only worsen from here on out. He would make sure of it.

  “Business must be good.” Frederick stretched out his legs while Jauq, another photographer, made his way over. His slicked-back, gray man bun stood out among the crowd. Two women hung on his arm, and his eyes were dazed. The guy was clearly high as a kite.

  “It’s not bad,” Dane said slowly with a knowing smile as he clasped his hands together in front of him.

  An ex-president walked by and nodded.

  Dane may as well be sitting on a throne.

  A district court judge followed.

  CIA.

  FBI.

  Police chief, sans wife.

  So many pieces of a puzzle that still refused to right itself in his mind. So many faces that had haunted him since Danica’s death.

  Since her light had left this Earth.

  He gave his head a shake and pulled the mask back over his face. Indifference was his friend; sadness would get him nowhere.

  “Stay as long as you want.” He leaned in toward Frederick and smiled. “I know it’s a busy few weeks before the shows start.”

  Frederick rolled his eyes. “Everlee will want to go to all of them.”

  “Must be nice to have a supermodel as a wife.”

  Frederick’s eyes narrowed. “She’s great.”

  The guy’s tone held no enthusiasm.

  Perfect.

  “Well, if you’re bored…” Dane lifted a shoulder and winked at the woman wrapping her arms around Frederick’s body. “We have ways to fix that here.”

  “Obviously.” Frederick burst out laughing clearly enjoying all the attention, ignorant to what Dane was doing. Frederick grabbed the woman’s hand and pressed a sloppy kiss on the inside of her wrist then pulled her closer. There was something very twisted, sick even, about the way Frederick treated the women around him, devoid of any sincere feeling. It was mechanical, and Frederick being debased in this ugly transaction was certainly not sexy. It fed his inner demons well. “I think I may come here every night.”

  “Be my guest,” Dane said, looking away as if he were bored; when in reality, his heart was racing.

  Frederick would crack. His shirt was open now, his eyes closed. The habit would continue as it always did. Wouldn’t it?

  He would self-destruct.

  All men eventually did when it came to Dane.

  The ones who didn’t, well… they weren’t alive to say otherwise, now, were they?

  “Have fun.” Dane stood, patted Frederick on the back, and shared a knowing look with the woman currently straddling the man’s lap. “Make it worth his while but remember our rules.”

  Dane shoved the guilt aside as he walked off.

  The guilt of what this would do to Everlee.

  Then again, Everlee didn’t know what he did.

  She didn’t know the secrets Frederick kept.

  That he wasn’t who she thought he was.

  Then again, nobody really did.

  Only Dane.

  Because he’d collected everything he could on Frederick for a year and was less than impressed by the sort of man he was.

  “Interesting club,” Ronan said once Dane reached the bar. He was flanked by two bodyguards.

  “They aren’t necessary,” Dane said in an unemotional voice, pointing to the
security. “No weapons allowed, no fighting, only pleasure.”

  “And yet, here you are, talking to me.” Ronan leveled him with a glare. “What do you want, Dane?”

  “Is that how you speak to an old friend?”

  Ronan let out a snort. “We’ve never been friends. We’ve only tolerated each other because of the girls.”

  The girls.

  It was how they all referred to Brittany, Everlee, Zoe and Danica. Pain sliced through Dane’s heart, he couldn’t even say her name in his head without feeling it everywhere, all the way down to the marrow.

  Shake it off.

  They were women now.

  Women with secrets.

  Insecurities.

  Girls who’d grown up too fast.

  Females who were still fighting their way through the jungle of New York, barefoot and bleeding with fake smiles and deadly secrets.

  “I need you to keep him in jail,” Dane said under his breath. “They say he’s getting out on good behavior.”

  Ronan muttered a curse. “Let me guess, you want me to go have a golf game with the DA?”

  “If you think that would help.” Dane tilted his head and narrowed his eyes on the politician, the man he used to trust as much as everyone else before Dane’s world came crumbling down around him by way of his sister’s death. “Then, yes.”

  “Fine. This makes us even.” Ronan tried to walk off, but Dane grabbed him by the elbow and held him there, whispering in a low voice, “I will never be done with you… tell the former first lady hello. I loved what she was wearing while shopping on Fifth Avenue yesterday, the white made her look so innocent.”

  Ronan let out a filthy curse and walked off.

  And Dane?

  Dane stared out across the club as a feeling of calmness washed over him. Chess pieces had been moved.

  Now.

  Now, he would wait.

  “Beautiful, just beautiful.” Jauq always said that whenever he worked with Everlee, but it wasn’t like her vanity didn’t appreciate the compliments. He’d been in the industry for thirty years, he knew good angles, and the way he worked with natural light made him one of the best in the business—next to Frederick, of course.