Chyna blushed for her boyfriend. She knew he was smart, and he probably could have a better job than where he worked at a small, private architectural company.
Adam just shrugged, unaffected on the outside. She wondered if he was seething on the inside. She would be.
“I still could, but then I’d have to take your claim as the perfect son. I’d hate to do that to you.”
John laughed good-naturedly. “Touché.
King’s to you, Fernand.”
Adam laughed even harder, but Chyna didn’t have any clue what they were talking about. Who was Fernand?
They clearly spoke their own language. She didn’t have any siblings and couldn’t comprehend a connection like that. The closest thing she had found was with Alexa. Chyna wished she was here.
Alexa was the smart one, even if she was terrible with relationships. She could clue her in on what the f**k they were talking about. Chyna chewed on her lip and prayed for her martini to arrive quickly.
“Do you like movies, Chyna?” John asked just as the drinks arrived.
She sucked down a large gulp before answering. “I go to premieres sometimes.”
John quirked a smile at Adam. “Where did you find her?” He stuck his thumb out at Chyna.
Had she done something wrong?
“You’d never believe me if I told you,” Adam said.
“Try me.”
Adam shrugged, leaning one elbow on the table. He took a drink of his beer before answering. “She was drugged in a bar, and I kept some jerk from taking her home,” Adam told him. “Her friend showed me to her car, and we made sure she was alright. Everything else is history.”
He winked at her from across the table, and Chyna smiled. She liked the story. It was romantic in its own way.
“Our little knight in shining armor.
What’s your thing with saving chicks like that? Didn’t that happen with Christina, too?” John asked.
Um…who was Christina?
“Yeah, it did,” Adam replied, and then took another sip of his beer.
“Who’s Christina?” Chyna piped up, raising her eyebrows.
“My ex-girlfriend,” Adam responded slowly, looking at John, who was hiding a smile behind his own pint.
Chyna did not like that at all.
“And, the same thing happened to her?” she asked.
How come she didn ’ t know this?
Seemed like a pretty big misstep especially considering how they had met.
“Uh…yeah. Well, not the same thing. I didn’t save her. I just took her home when I saw her getting sloppy. ” Adam was practically squirming.
Chyna would have liked it if she’d had any clue about this Christina before this moment.
“That’s strange. When did you guys break up?” she asked, honestly curious.
“Chyna…” Adam said, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it, allowing him to console her. She wasn’t really mad, but he was so cute when he looked concerned.
“It doesn’t matter. It was couple of months before I met you,” he continued.
“That’s pretty soon,” she observed.
“Why did you break up?”
“Can we talk about this later?” Adam asked, glancing uncomfortably at John and the rest of the restaurant.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said with a shrug, trying to keep her cool. She didn’t get the whole ex thing, and she was trying to understand it. She wasn’t a rebound.
She knew that at least.
“Fine,” he agreed reluctantly. “She moved to D.C., for a job as a lobbyist and didn’t want a long-distance relationship. It was mutual. Long distance doesn’t work.”
“Huh,” Chyna muttered, trying to take another drink and then realizing she had finished the whole thing.
Yeah, long distance sucked, but she didn’t think it was completely out of the realm of possibility. She had never considered it, but Alexa was making it work. It felt like a cop-out excuse.
“I’m going to get another,” she muttered, standing abruptly. “Do either of you need anything?”
John shook his head, and Adam just sighed. She took that as a no and walked to the bar. She knew that she could have flagged down a waiter, but she wanted to process.
Chyna waited for the bartender to notice her. It didn’t take long. She had another martini in hand as quick as the bartender could shake it. She wasn’t even sure why she was worried. This wasn’t like her. He wasn’t with Christina now, and that was all that mattered. But, her Italian roots were rearing their ugly jealous head at the most inopportune time.
She just felt too unsettled with having just found out about the situation, and she couldn’t regain her calm. So, she did what she always did. She drank.
With her back to the table, she didn’t see Adam come up behind her, but she felt his strong, capable arms wrap around her waist, pulling her against him.
“What’s gotten into you?”
he murmured softly against her skin, kissing her bare neck.
“I don’t like not knowing things,” she told him, melting easily into his touch.
“Christina doesn’t matter to me, Chyna. That’s why it never came up. I’m not hiding things from you,” he said turning her around.
God, he was so f**king sincere . How could you not believe that face?
He leaned down and brushed his nose against hers. “You look beautiful.”
“Don’t try and sweet talk me,” she said, brushing back against his nose. “I’m too susceptible.”
He chuckled, kissing her pouty lips.
“Come back to the table. I’m starving.”
“Caveman,” she responded, slapping his arm lightly.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”
“Oh, please do,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Adam laughed again, shaking his head at her. “Come on. I don’t get to see my brother too much. I think you’ll like him.”
If he only knew.
CHAPTER 3
PRESENT
After nearly an hour of detailed work on her hair and makeup, the artists working on her finally left. She stood in the office with that big f**king desk in nothing but sparkly nude pasties and a seamless nude thong. She felt completely exposed, and she loved every minute of it.
The makeup artists had brushed a fine glittery powder across her entire body, and it felt silky smooth to the touch. Her long black hair was hanging down her back, framing her face in big swooping supermodel curls. The makeup was totally natural, but it made her innate beauty shine. It was a look only a true expert could have extracted out of various bottles, tubes, and containers. All that remained was what hung inside the black garment bag.
Giselle sauntered into the room.
“What are you doing here?” Chyna asked her. She was sure that Giselle would have been trying to help Marco run the show.
“Marco,” she told her, walking to the black bag. Chyna rolled her eyes needing no further explanation.
“Where are my assistants? I can’t get into my dress alone,” Chyna asked.
“I am your assistant.”
Chyna’s mouth fell open. Giselle was so proud. She only worked for Marco specifically. That damn man!
“Well, get your ass over here!”
Giselle snapped her fingers twice.
Chyna hurried over to her. Why would Marco have Giselle help her into the dress? It wasn’t his style. As Chyna was about to ask, Giselle unzipped the bag, and Chyna’s mouth dropped open. That w a s not her dress. Her dress was long with flowing shades of purple sequins that draped artfully across her body in a pattern resembling waves crashing in the ocean. It was a one-of-a-kind designed just for her by Marco himself. It was crafted specifically for her body. She had practiced in it and completed a full photo shoot in the dress. She had never seen this one.
“I hope Marco knows what he’s doing,” Giselle whispered.
It was the first time Chyna had ever heard her doubt him.
Fifteen minutes later, when Chyna was secure in Marco’s new creation, she made it to the backstage area. Her dress was pinned and hidden beneath a long white robe that was embroidered with her monogram beneath Marco’s logo. Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna flitted around her, anxious to begin the show. She couldn’t even address them. She was too nervous.
She had never been afraid of anything, but she had never been put into a dress like this with no forewarning and no practice for a production that was imperative to her career.
Marco’s introductory words rang through the speakers. It was immediately followed by a thunder of applause. He was a raw talent with a booming voice that was as soothing, seductive, and stimulating as a Siren. He was in his natural element, charming an audience.
She could see him in her mind’s eye, gorgeous and tall. Intoxicating with a smile, he could cast a spell with those dark, dreamy eyes.
Assistants lined up models in order while a famous American singer began her latest number-one hit to open the show.
Marco appeared backstage an instant later, pushing people into place, adjusting hair, and demanding overall perfection.
Chyna’s green eyes bored into his back from a distance. She knew he could feel it, and then he pivoted around, quirking a smile at her. She continued to shoot daggers at him, which just seemed to amuse him further. He turned away from her then, finished off the last model, and disappeared back behind the curtain to watch the show.
“That man is insufferable,” Chyna groaned.
“He is a genius,” Giselle said in a voice that sounded like she agreed.
Chyna couldn’t help continuing. “I want to rip off his head and post it on a stake sometime.”
“But, most of the time, just his clothes, so he can work his genius on you, no?”
Giselle responded.
Chyna gaped at Giselle. She was always so incredibly prudish.
Giselle broke out into laughter. “I’d try not to look that shocked on stage,” she suggested.
Models were already being ushered back offstage to be escorted into the party to be put on display immediately. Time was moving fast, and Chyna wasn’t prepared to step onto that stage. The room emptied more and more until even Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna were kissing her cheeks and wishing her luck before they disappeared.
As soon as the very last model left backstage, Giselle stripped Chyna out of her robe and began unbuttoning the train of her dress and letting it loose behind her.
When she was finished, Giselle admired her handiwork, her top lip turned up as she scrutinized with intense, hard blue eyes. “Are you prepared?”
No! Hell no! She couldn’t do this.
Marco was insane to even pull this shit on her, but she nodded, certain her face showed every evident concern.
“You’ll do fine,” Giselle reassured her. “I’m certain Marco wouldn’t do something he thought would ruin the show.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Chin up. Watch that step,” Giselle reminded her.
Not that she needed the reminder. She almost rubbed her ass at the thought. “I can do this,” Chyna said confidently, walking carefully up the steps.
She waited for her cue, her intro, the music—anything that would let her know when to begin, but nothing came. A hushed silence passed over the crowd, and suddenly, the lights were extinguished. A soft whisper, no louder than a hum, filled the room at the abrupt darkness, but it too died down. Was this her cue? She was’ supposed to have music and lights! Where was her cue?