Dangerous Love (15 page)

“My sponsors plan to supply me with their jewelry. It’s parts and parcel of doing business with them.”
  

“Oh. That’s so not fair. Sponsors have hijacked most fashion shows and are stealing the spotlight from designers.”

The girl was smart as well as beautiful, but too young to be so jaded. “Well, the cost of presenting a show keeps going up and struggling designers need their help. I’m surprised you’ve noticed the blatant product placement. How long have you been modeling?”

A sheepish smile touched the girl’s lips and her cheeks grew pink. “Six months, but my mother used to be a model.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “She kind of expected me to follow in her footsteps, so here I am. But I’m more interested in making jewelry. I just don’t know if I can get the kind of exposure I need to be successful.”

Faith frowned. Deidre had been disappointed when Faith told her that she couldn’t use her jewelry in the show, but they both understood Faith had no choice in the matter. Without sponsors, she couldn’t afford models like Savannah, let alone the exorbitant fee for Fashion Week. Deidre was just like her, struggling to make a name for herself.

“Don’t give up on your dreams, Savannah. Opportunities appear when you least expect them.”

The girl flashed a smile. “Thanks for talking to me and the chance to model some of your collection. They’re truly gorgeous.” She waved and left the room.

If Faith hadn’t chosen the girl already, she would have changed her mind. Savannah had spunk. Her thoughts drifted to Deidre. When they spoke last week, Deidre was on the road, selling her work at various shows across the country. Faith hadn’t heard from her since, but she hoped she caught a break.

After she finished with the last girls, Faith packed up the clothes in garment bags and locked them up in her room. She set off for Marcela’s, heading north on Broadway, feeling the pulse of the city. She couldn’t get enough of the richness and rawness of downtown New York: the cobbled streets, the fine art galleries and chic cafés inside cast-iron buildings lined with narrow sidewalks. Even the people with their briskness and air of self-importance were a breather from L.A.’s beach bum attitude draped over dreams of stardom. She had missed this city. But three days of marathon fitting, and another going from meeting to meeting with the genius who was going to produce her show, checking out the venue, and ironing out details of the show had drained her. Despite the success of the trip, she missed home, her store and…Ken.

A gentle smile touched her lips. He had called her every night and made the last four days go by fast. Unfortunately, going back to L.A. meant being closer to Sean. Not doing anything about that man made her blood boil. At least he hadn’t called her again.

Faith was in and out of Elegance Modeling Agency in minutes. She left Marcela with a check with many zeroes. Back at Soho Grand, she finished packing her bags and ordered room service from the restaurant downstairs. After haunting her old joints in Soho, she’d opted for the classic American cuisine the hotel offered.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of her dinner. She grabbed her purse, pulled out a wad of notes to tip the waiter and hurried to the door. The smile died on her lips when she opened the door and found Marcela, not a waiter with a tray.

“Marc, what are you doing here?” Even as the question left her lips, she noted that the Briton wasn’t her usual smiley self. Her lush lips with their signature ruby-red lipstick were drawn in a tight pinch and her hazel eyes flashed. Faith’s stomach dipped.

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” Faith stepped back and closed the door after the woman stepped inside her room. Faith glanced at her watch. It was almost eight. The two of them had concluded their business hours ago.

“We need to talk.” Marcela took the couch and waved toward the side chair as though she was the owner of the room and Faith the guest.

Faith sat on the edge of the seat. “What is going on?”

“The check you gave me this afternoon didn’t go through.”

The floor shifted under Faith. “What?”

“Your account has been frozen, Faith. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to call your bank.”

Faith tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. Her business account was frozen. Why? “I don’t know what’s going on, but I, uh…”

“Find out and fix it. In this business, it’s easy to develop a bad reputation for reneging on deals or not paying up. Do you want me to hold on to this?” She lifted the check Faith had given her earlier.

 
“Yes, if you don’t mind,” Faith croaked.

Marcela nodded and got up. Her smile was uneasy, but Faith didn’t blame her. This was a business transaction gone wrong, an embarrassing situation she must salvage before word got out. Not that Marcela was the gossiping type. She was just too close to her aunt and her Hollywood friends for Faith’s peace of mind. But she couldn’t tell the woman to keep this new development between them. She had attempted that same approach with Barbara and gotten nowhere.

Too humiliated to say anything, Faith escorted Marcela to the door. The woman surprised her by gripping her hands and saying, “If you’re having financial problems, luv, and can’t pay me now, let me know. We can still work something out.”

Faith shook her head. Marcela already helped her enough by lowering the models’ fees. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Before I left, there was enough money in the account to cover that check and then some.” Her voice shook which earned her a sympathetic look from Marcela. She didn’t need the woman’s pity. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Marcela patted Faith’s hand. “Call me.”

Faith closed the door, released a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Why was this happening to her? Why now? At least the check she’d given the producer hadn’t bounced.

Putting a lid on the self-pity jar, she raced for her cell phone. It was not yet five in L.A., the banks still open. She punched in numbers and rebooted her laptop while she waited.

“Mr. Weinstein, please?” Faith said when a female answered.

“He’s about to leave for the day, ma’am. Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t.” She made sure her voice was authoritative. “It’s imperative that I speak with him now. Tell him it’s Faith Fitzgerald.”

There was silence on the line, then, “Just a minute.”

Her fingers flew over the keys until she was logged into her bank account. She gulped at the balance.

 
“Ms. Fitzgerald, what can I do for you?” a deep voice boomed over the line.

Faith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She didn’t speak until she was sure she could sound calm. “I’m looking at my business account online, Mr. Weinstein, and it shows that I have a negative balance of $200,000, which doesn’t make sense. On top of that, I just learned that my account has been frozen, yet I haven’t received any letters or calls from you about your intention to do this or why. I paid off the loan your bank gave me and my credit is good. The last time I checked my account, which was two days ago, it had about $80,000. Please, explain to me what’s going on.”

“I think there has been a misunderstanding, Ms. Fitzgerald. Your account wasn’t frozen because of bad credit or a loan. We received a court judgment to freeze your account this afternoon.”

“Who’s behind the judgment?”

There was rustling sounds as though he was shuffling papers. “Global Gold Conglomerate.”

Her main sponsor? Why would they freeze her account? “They gave me $100,000. Why is the account showing a deficit of twice that much?”

“It’s typical for judgment creditors to put a hold for twice the amount owed. If you want to challenge this, Ms. Fitzgerald, I can have my assistant fax the order to you. It has the name of GGC’s attorney and his number, a list of their terms, and what you must do to unfreeze your account.”

Faith squashed the initial urge to demand the damn lawyer’s name and number. Instead, she gave the banker the hotel’s fax number then called the front desk with instructions. As she waited for the copy to be delivered, she paced her room.

For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why the company that had been so happy to sponsor her show bailed out on her. What did she do wrong? She already used some of their money to pay the entrance fee for the Fashion Week and the down payment to Marcela’s agency. If they wanted it all back, she’d be so deep in the hole she wouldn’t see the end of the tunnel.

When there was a knock at her door and an assistant manager handed her the fax, she was ready. Shock slammed through her as she read it. Where the hell did GGC get the idea she couldn’t fulfill her end of the bargain?

CHAPTER 12

“You should have been more forthcoming about the condition under which you left your former employer, Ms. Fitzgerald.”

Faith desperately wanted to correct the dour-faced head of the legal team from the Global Gold Conglomerate, but she let her lawyer, Rita Rutledge, answer. She needed GGC’s financial support and didn’t trust herself to speak without breaking down. The outcome of this meeting could mean the life or death of her dream.

“Ms. Fitzgerald did disclose that she left Dublin House of Styles because of creative differences. Your people didn’t think it was important. They preferred the testimonials from people Ms. Fitzgerald has worked with in the movie industry and local shows.” Rita paused and sipped her water.
 

Faith studied the three men seated across the conference table. The lead lawyer studied her like she was a bug he’d found in his soup. His colleagues, flanking him, scribbled on notepads. Faith met his gaze without flinching. It was obvious he wasn’t swayed by Rita’s argument. In fact, Faith had a feeling he’d already made up his mind about the outcome of the conference way before she and her lawyer arrived at their offices in Burbank.

 
“If the reason you’re withdrawing support is because of baseless accusations leveled at Ms. Fitzgerald, then you’re being unfair to her,” Rita continued, cutting into Faith’s thoughts. “At the very least, you must allow her to face her accuser.”

Faith clenched her fist under the table. There was no question about who the accuser was in her book. Sean. Why did he hate her this much? Why claim he wanted her back then turn around and attempt to destroy her dreams?

“I’d like to, Ms. Rutledge, but lawyer-client confidentiality prevents that,” the lead lawyer said. “I hardly think GGC’s position is unfair. When we learned that Ms. Fitzgerald’s store had been burglarized and her collection stolen, we tried to locate her. She had a chance to call us back and explain, but she didn’t.”

“My collection is intact,” Faith cut in, too frustrated to care that Rita had told her not to speak or she might say something to jeopardize her position. “The reason I didn’t return your call—”

Rita gripped Faith’s hand, silencing her. “Your source of information was mistaken, Mr. Crosswire.” She pulled out a computer printout with L.A.P.D. logo and handed it to the lead lawyer, who passed it to one of his minion without glancing at it. Annoyance snaked through Faith. If Rita was bothered by the man’s indifference, her tone didn’t show it.

“From that police report, which was also sent to Ms. Fitzgerald’s insurance company, there’s no mention of her work being stolen, just the displayed clothing and jewelry. We can show you the entire collection as proof if you like.” She leaned forward, her gaze not wavering. “The reason you couldn’t reach her was because her office phone was unplugged. She has people repairing the damages at her store and a private security team keeping an eye on the property. All this can be verified by a single phone call.”

 
“We tried her cell phone several times,” the lead lawyer continued. “When we couldn’t reach her, we assumed she’d left town.”

The implication that she had absconded with their money made her blood boil, but Faith held her temper in check and waited for Rita to explain. The two of them had already discussed the mix-up on their way to the meeting.

“Ms. Fitzgerald was in New York signing models for Fashion Week,” Rita said. “She didn’t respond to your calls because she was on a tight schedule and didn’t know the calls were urgent. When she received the fax from her banker and saw your number, she immediately contacted your offices and set up this meeting.”

“We left messages, Ms. Rutledge,” the lawyer added derisively, glancing at his colleagues for support but they continued to scribble on their pads. “You want us to believe your client didn’t check them while she was in New York?”

Rita made eye contact with Faith. Faith cringed as she read the unspoken question in her lawyer’s eyes. She hated that they had to do this, but it appeared they had no choice. Faith sighed and nodded. Rita leaned forward on her seat, her gaze touching every member of GGC legal team.

“Ms. Fitzgerald has a problem with a stalker, gentlemen. We are not supposed to disclose this to anyone since L.A.P.D. is investigating the case. The detective in charge of her case advised her to record any calls from unknown numbers. Since we previously dealt with GGC’s in-house legal and PR teams, she didn’t have your number on file or on her cell phone. Needless to say, when she saw the unfamiliar number, she assumed it was her stalker and let it go to her voice mail. Once again, this is something that can be verified by a call to the detective in charge of her case, Detective Eddie Fitzgerald of the L.A.P.D., West Hollywood. His contact is on the police report.”

For the first time since they met, the lead lawyer leaned back against his chair and smiled. Although the smile didn’t reach his eyes, Faith was relieved his accusatory expression had disappeared. “Fitzgerald? Is he a relative of yours, Ms. Fitzgerald?”

“He’s my cousin,” Faith answered.

The lawyer nodded, whispered something to his colleagues, then gave Faith and Rita a brief nod. “Thanks for coming in to talk to us, Ms. Rutledge, Ms. Fitzgerald. We’ll be in touch after consulting with our client.”

Faith pasted a smile on her face and shook the lawyers’ hands. The feeling that the meeting was just a formality and GGC’s position wouldn’t change stayed with her. “Thank you.”

“We look forward to hearing your final decision,” Rita added as the lead lawyer escorted them to the entrance of their offices.

“We know time is of the essence for your client, so I’ll see what I can do to expedite things on my end,” he said, making eye contact with Faith one last time.

Neither Rita nor Faith spoke until they left the building. “That went better than I thought,” Rita said.

It hadn’t, but Faith chose not to burst the woman’s bubble. She stopped beside her car and turned to face Rita. “Yes, it did. Thanks for coming with me at such a short notice.”

Rita dismissed the words with a wave. “I’m your lawyer, Faith. And your friend.” A frown marred the smooth perfection of her brown face. “May I say something?”

“Sure.” Faith braced herself. She had fought to control of her emotions last night after talking to her banker, during the flight back to L.A., and at the meeting with GGC legal team, but she was at a fragile place and any show of pity from Rita would tip her over the edge.

“I know you want to do things your way, but I think you’re making a mistake by letting L.A.P.D. handle Sean’s case.” Rita reached inside the pocket of her pants, pulled out a card and handed it to Faith. “He is one hell of a criminal lawyer and has an amazing private investigator on speed dial. Retain his services and let him deal with Mr. O’Neal before the man destroys your business and reputation.”

Faith hadn’t told Rita she had her own amazing P.I. on the job. How she wished Ken was here now. Not to fix her problems with Sean or the financial mess she was in, but just to hold her and make her pain go away. She was so wrung out physically, mentally, and emotionally she couldn’t think beyond going home, locking her door, and shutting the world out.

She gave Rita a tiny smile. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

They hugged and entered their respective cars. Faith hid behind her sunglasses and waved at her lawyer one last time before gunning her engine.

The drive to her place was a blur. Her dream was crashing around her, all her hard work coming to naught because of a demented man. She couldn’t pin her hopes on GGC when it was obvious they didn’t trust her anymore. How could she return their money and still have a show? Where would she get cash at such short notice to pay them back?

The sight of a familiar SUV outside the gate of her condominium complex tripped her heart. Ken. Relief that he was here washed over her, but it was immediately followed by another wave of panic. She wasn’t in the right state of mind to talk to him. A thin wall was all that remained between her sanity and an emotional breakdown. One small nudge, one word of kindness, and that wall would crumble.

Ken must have seen her car because he stepped out of his, removed his wraparound sunglasses and watched her with narrowed eyes as she drew closer. He looked so confident and invincible while she was a mass of angry energy about to explode. The urge to cry blindsided her.

She blinked rapidly, grateful for her sunglasses.
I cannot cry…not now…I cannot cry…
 
The urge didn’t wane.

Rolling down her window, she point at her condo and mouthed, “Follow me.” The guard had already opened the gate. “Let him through,” she said in a gruff voice she hardly recognized as hers.

Faith didn’t bother with her luggage once she parked. She hurried to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared inside, leaving the door open for Ken. She made a beeline for the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and flushed her face with cold water
 

I’m not going to break down now. I cannot cry…I will not…

“Hey, baby.”

Her defenses crumbled. She needed Ken. His arms offering her comfort. His voice telling her she’d pull through this.

“How was New Y—?” His gaze connected with hers through the bathroom mirror. The slow and easy smile disappeared. He stepped inside her bathroom, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Faith just shook her head. Words couldn’t squeeze past the knot in her throat. She could tell him to get out and let her cry in the privacy of her bathroom, but her need for him was greater than her pride. She turned and faced him. Her body started to shake and tears filled her eyes.

Ken bridged the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her. She let her body sag and curve around his hardness, slipped her arms around him, and gripped the back of his shirt. As he rubbed her back and forked his fingers through her hair to press her face against his shoulder, tears rolled down her cheeks. His arms tightened around her, and though she was aware he was talking, she didn’t hear a single thing.

Faith wasn’t sure how long they stayed locked in the same position before tension leached out her and she focused on his words. He was jabbering the same way he did after Sean tried to force himself onto her. It distracted her from her emotional turmoil.

“…imagine Sly and Hailey as a couple?” he said, chuckling. “I’m not big on office romance. I guess I must let one of them go or nip the relationship in the bud.”

Faith chuckled, let go of his shirt, and swiped at her cheeks.

“You find that funny?” Ken leaned back to look into her eyes.

“I think you’re all talk. You’d never fire them.”

The corner of his lips tilted. “True. They work well together, Hailey in the field, Sly watching her back from his computer desk.” Ken cupped Faith’s cheeks and dried the wetness with the pads of his thumbs. The roughness of his skin sent heat scuttling under her skin.

“Rough trip?” he asked.

“And then some. Sorry I wet your shirt.” She brushed the dampness.

“No problem. I’ll be changing it in a couple of hours.” He dropped his head and rubbed his lips across hers, nibbled one corner, then the other. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

Instead of answering, she circled his neck and drew him closer, her wounded senses needing the balm only he could provide. His tongue dipped to caress the moist interior of her mouth. The kiss was unhurried, soothing. Faith closed her eyes and savored the feel of him. She’d never met a man who listened to her needs and took cues from her. He was infinitely gentle, yet she felt the restraint he had over his passion as his tongue glided over hers.

He broke the contact too soon. Faith opened her eyes and studied him through heavy-lidded eyes. His breathing was uneven, his forehead pressed against hers. Faith’s exploring hands dipped to caress his broad chest through his shirt.

“Make love to me, Ken,” she whispered.

“I want to,” he said, “but we need to talk.”

Faith frowned. “Are you saying no?”

“Never.” He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. The erratic pounding pulsed through the fabric to her sensitive fingertips. “That’s me wanting you. Needing you. But I need to know what happened in New York.”

Faith sighed. He was right. Besides, it was almost five, which meant they had less than two hours to get ready for the charity show at Sean’s building. “Okay.”

She took his hand and led him toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine.” He straddled a stool and waited patiently as she rounded the kitchen island and reached inside the fridge for bottled water. She twisted the lid off and took a sip, her gaze not meeting his. She didn’t know where to begin.

“Faith?” Ken prompted.

“My main sponsor dumped me today,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“Why?”

“They learned that my store had been vandalized, believed my collection was stolen and I had disappeared.” Relieved that she could now speak about it without getting angry, Faith sipped more water and sat on a stool across from Ken. “Their lawyer tried to get hold of me and when he didn’t, he got a court order and froze my account.” He didn’t need to know about the humiliating way she’d learned about it.