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That was the first thing I’d thought about since awakening in the same bed I’d had in my teenage years.
Well, maybe not the very first thing. A heated shiver coursed through every muscle and tendon the second I thought about Francois again.
I’d been such a fool but everything about being with him had been magical.
But I reminded myself for the tenth time it could never happen again.
Shifting, I rolled over, staring at the ceiling. Bright sunlight filtered into the room from where I’d left the blinds partially open. Now I regretted being lazy, the sleepless night leaving me aching, especially my tired eyes. I rolled over, staring at the clock. It was the same one I remembered from when I wasfourteen, the pretty white-faced wind-up clock a relic. The hands stuck, the winding mechanism difficult to turn, but it had been one of my favorite things my father had given me as a gag gift when I was ten.
It was because I hated digital clocks, the harsh red numbers always making me think of the evil eyes of a monster. My vivid imagination had often forced me to sleep with the covers wrapped tightly around my body. For a couple of years, it had been part of my father tucking me into bed every night. After my mother had started complaining that he was taking too long, he’d attempted to appease her with the purchase of the clock and his strong encouragement that I was too old to be tucked into bed.
Reaching out, I rolled the tip of my index finger across the foggy plexiglass face, exhaling as I dragged the covers up to my shoulder. I’d wanted nothing more than to have my daddy tuck me into bed the night before, assuring me that everything was going to be okay. What was wrong with me? I was a woman, as evidenced by the fact I’d fucked a stranger two nights before.
Not just any stranger either.
Groaning, I rolled over, trying to ignore my thoughts as well as the intense rays. Both were impossible to do. Carrie had finally convinced me that spending some time with my dad and telling him what had happened in LA would be a good thing to do. Maybe the only smart thing to do. I’d tried to do just that, but the moment he’d opened the door, I’d noticed a woman standing behind him in a slinky dress. Tongue-tied, I’d been unable to tell him anything but that I’d returned home for a short visit. Surprise!
He’d remained in a state of shock, but his eyes had studied me intently. It had become painfully obvious the woman he’d been with had no clue who I was. Maybe my father had tried to erase me from his mind, the hatred of my mother still too intense.
The sound of my phone made me cringe. I took my time before rolling back to face the nightstand, grabbing it before the third ring. Then I groaned seeing Quince’s number, my agent an absolutely sexist pig. If he hadn’t made me a wealthy woman, I would have fired him years ago. I should have known he’d tried me again after I’d blasted him off and ignored him for the last three days.
There was nothing like biting the head off a frog first thing in the morning. “Hey, Quince. I was just about to call you.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Del. Where the hell are you?”
“Nowhere important. Just chillin’ for a few days after what I went through.” As if the man cared.
“You have a shoot for Versace in three days. You can’t miss it.” His tone was as haughty as usual.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Quince was the kind of man who got what he wanted by hounding his clients. Since I made him more money than God, I was tops on his priority list.
“I know you went through a terrible experience, but you have people counting on you.”
“People?” I shot into a sitting position. “You mean you. Are you worried about getting paid, Quince baby? Guess what? I’m worried about staying alive. Should I tell you that Ginny’s throat was slit, her chest carved wide open? Or would you like me toremind you of the horrible message he left me splattered in her blood? Would you like me to tell you what he did to her heart?”
“Jesus Christ. You don’t need to get pissy. Fine. I’ll see if I can push the shoot off, but it’s the last one I’ll put on hold for you. Business is still business.”
When the bastard ended the call abruptly, I almost slammed the phone against the nightstand. The asshole had gone too far. I’d allowed him to control my life as much as every damn photographer. And my mother. That had to stop. I didn’t even like what I was doing any longer. Preening and acting as if I could stand the people I was forced to work with. I loathed every one of them.
Thumping back against the pillows, I realized I had no clue what I would do with the rest of my life. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my anger. New Orleans had always felt like home. Ugh. My life was a mess.
Damn it. I couldn’t stay in bed all day. I was too strong to allow the nightmare to continue, destroying my entire life, and my father certainly wouldn’t allow me to ignore him and his inquisition. Tossing back the covers, I forced myself to sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’d forgotten how much I’d adored my room, but the fact my father had kept much of it the same was a hurtful reminder of all the horrible things my parents had said to each other while living under the same roof.
Their troubled relationship had kept me from finding a decent boyfriend of my own. I slid my hand into my nightgown, involuntarily flicking my finger back and forth across my nipple as I thought about Francois. To say he’d ignited a fire wasan understatement. I’d remained in a hazy fog for hours after running from him like a coward.
But I’d overheard enough of his conversation to know I wanted nothing to do with his life.
Sighing, I resigned myself to get up, wondering if the buxom blonde had stayed the night. I couldn’t even remember her name, but she was much younger than my father, her bottled blonde hair the only thing I’d paid attention to. After glancing out the window, I glared at the single suitcase I’d brought, realizing I’d packed almost nothing given I’d only been allowed a few minutes inside the apartment to grab a few things. I hadn’t been able to get out of the place fast enough, only comprehending once at Carrie’s place that I’d grabbed just enough for three or four days. Plus, a slinky dress. Why had I packed a dress meant for seduction?
Thank God Carrie had lent me a dress and shoes when we’d gone out, the dress scandalously short on me. I’d felt like it was a costume, allowing me to pretend to be someone else. Well, it had worked far too well. Maybe that was the reason Francois had been so attracted, the micro dress. I rolled my eyes, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Today, I’d be forced to go shopping, something I usually enjoyed. But I wasn’t certain anything would feel normal to me any longer.
I headed into the bathroom for a quick shower, grabbing my toothbrush. As I applied toothpaste, I glared at the dark circles under my eyes. I looked more gaunt than usual, barely able to eat the last week.
Without makeup, it was apparent something was wrong. I had to shake this. I had to resume my life. I couldn’t get the horrible images from my mind or the wretched sound of the killer’s voicepenetrating my mind. I could swear I’d heard his laugh more than once, the man hunting me down.
“That’s impossible. He doesn’t know who you are.”
My friend had lost her life because I’d pretended to be somebody I wasn’t, although I continued to wonder if I was the target. How? I didn’t know any longer. What I did know was that my behavior was just like what I’d done the night at The Vault. I shoved the toothbrush into my mouth, brushing vigorously. The truth was that I blamed myself for my roommate’s murder, even though everyone around me had tried to tell me otherwise. She’d be alive if I hadn’t gone to a club alone, taking her car. I couldn’t get over it.
