She also knew that she had deep feelings for Nick. She felt it deep in her soul. It was probably love—something she admitted hesitantly to Savannah and Mia but never to Nick. She couldn’t. If she did, it would become real—and if it was real, it could hurt her and she could lose again.
Danielle lathered her body with her favorite mango body wash, running her hands over her smooth skin. They settled for a moment over her flat stomach.
Life once bloomed there. Once. Not even Savannah or Mia knew. She never spoke about it. Too painful. Because, of course, if she said it out loud, it would be real and that devastating reality she wouldn’t deal with.
So she kept that dark part of her life buried so deep beneath the surface that she hardly thought about it, especially because she could cover it all up with beauty, excitement, work—and now Nick Mateo.
Danielle stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped herself in a thick, pearl-gray towel. Before leaving, she caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror. The ethereal image evoked a sense of illusion—something or someone being there but not quite. That was her. That was her life.
She opened the door and the cool rush of air blew in, dissolving the steam. Her image cleared. The hazy edges evaporated. There she stood, the way the world saw and knew her. She looked away.
“You and Savannah find a crib?” Nick asked before he lifted a forkful of penne pasta swathed in primavera sauce to his mouth.
“Crib?” For a moment, Danielle had no clue what he was talking about.
“Yeah, you said you two were going crib shopping.”
“Oh.” She laughed, hoping to cover her gaff. “Yes, uh, we looked around. There were a couple that she really liked.” She kept her gaze focused on her mixed-green salad.
Nick angled his head a bit to the right. “Are you okay? You seem out of it since you got home.”
She forced herself to look at him, and her heart hammered in her chest as the lie flowed smoothly from her lips. She shrugged, then reached across the small table and covered his hand. “You know the kind of day we had, and then all that walking around from store to store this evening. I don’t know how Savannah does it, but I’m beat. That’s all.”
Nick stared at her a moment.
“For real,” she insisted with a smile.
“Okay.” He paused. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?”
“Of course.”
It was the first lie and, like scalding water it burned her tongue, and she knew it was only the first of many.
“Are you all set for your shoot tomorrow?” she asked, switching to a neutral topic.
“Yeah.” He dipped his bread in the sauce and took a bite. “I’m going to the site early to check on the final details.”
“If I can finish in time with my meeting with Michael Preston, I’ll stop by. I’m determined to get the account to photograph the ads for his new line.”
Nick chuckled. “I love when you get that little bass in your voice and that kick-ass look in your eye.”
“Very funny,” she said, failing at sounding offended.
“It’s one of the things I love about you, Dani, that fierce determination, knowing what you want and going after it.”
Her gaze dragged over the planes and valleys of his face. That determination that he spoke of was instilled in her as a child growing up in a mixed-heritage household, filling out countless applications and checking “other” for ethnicity, never wanting to negate one parent’s heritage for the other and living a life walking that fine line. All of that made her determined to be somebody on her own, independent of tags and labels.
Often she believed that stubborn streak of independence kept her from allowing anyone to get too close, beneath the surface, only to discover that she was no more than a confused girl who was searching for her identity.
She reached over and with the tip of her finger wiped a spot of sauce from the corner of Nick’s mouth.
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, and she silently hoped that when the investigation was all over he would still want to hold her hand.
Chapter 4
If she could land the Michael Preston account, it would take her business to the next level, Danielle thought, as she entered the building on Seventh Avenue—also known as Fashion Avenue. And she was dressed for the part. Her ebony hair flowed in gentle waves around her face. Her five-foot nine-inch frame was the perfect showpiece for the body-hugging, sleeveless, black cotton T-shirt, covered with a belted, hip-length jacket in a riot of orange, gold and muted green, over skinny black jeans that hugged her hips and defined her long legs.
Danielle gripped the handle of her oversize black leather portfolio and stabbed the button for the elevator. Impatiently she tapped her foot, encased in black alligator sling backs with three-inch heels. The finishing touch was her Sean John designer shades, which gave her a hint of mystery. More times than she could count, she’d been mistaken for the songstress Alicia Keys, and although she’d had several opportunities to profit from the mistake, she never had.
The elevator bell dinged and the stainless steel doors soundlessly slid open. She stepped on with two other riders.
Preston’s offices were on the thirty-fifth floor of the glass and steel tower. She watched the numbers light up as they ascended.
“Love that jacket,” the woman standing next to her said.
Danielle turned. “Thanks.”
“Anyone ever tell you look like Alicia Keys?”
Danielle gave a slight smile. “Every now and then.”
The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “If you’re ever interested in modeling work, give me a call. I do a whole thing with celebrity look-alikes.”
Danielle took the card just as the doors opened on her floor. “Thanks.” She stepped off.
“Call me. I’d love to work with you.”
Danielle took a quick look at the woman before the doors closed. She walked away, shaking her head in amusement, and stuck the card in her jacket pocket.
She strode down the corridor toward the glass doors with the Michael Preston logo on them. She drew in a breath and pressed the buzzer.
“Yes?” came the voice through the intercom from the fashionista sitting at the desk on the other side of the glass door.
“Danielle Holloway to see Mr. Preston.”
The lock buzzed and the door slowly swooshed inward. She entered a space that could only be described as classy. Sleek elegance in simple black and white. Bursting blooms of exotic plants showcased in glass bowls sat majestically on low tables. The stark white walls were adorned with near life-size photographs of models wearing Michael’s creations. The frames matched the walls so perfectly that the images seemed to float. It was a powerful optical illusion.
A stunning young woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty greeted her. She was pencil thin with startling blue eyes and a mane of strawberry-blond hair that fell straight as a board down the center of her back, held away from her heart-shaped face with a tortoiseshell headband.
“Good morning.” She stuck out her hand, which Danielle shook. Her thin lips tinged in dramatic fuchsia widened to reveal a brilliantly perfect smile. “My name is Tasha, Michael’s assistant. If you’ll follow me, we can get started.”
We?
Danielle followed Tasha and the scent of patchouli that wafted around her down a short carpeted hallway, turning right