Hope Entangles: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (Book 2 of 3) (18 page)

Bette and Darla stood at my door, both
looking harassed and impatient. But both greeted me with mega watt
smiles.

“
I thought you’d never
answer the door!” Bette said.

“
Were you sleeping or
something?” Darla pinched my arm as she stepped past me and into
the house.

I held my arm where she’d pinched. It
hurt and woke me right up. I wiped some drool from my chin. “No, I
wasn’t asleep.”

The two did that creepy Siamese twin
thing, looking me up and down and then silently conversing to each
other with just their eyes.

“
Hit the showers,” Bette
crooned as she headed up to my bedroom. “We only have two hours
before Stud-Neighbor comes a-calling.”

Darla smiled and shooed me along up the
stairs ahead of her. “Don’t worry. I’m doing your makeup and hair.
We agreed.”

That made me feel a little better, even
though I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Darla knowing anything
about makeup.

Two hours blew on by, and they
pronounced me “gorgeous” and departed to Bette’s for a couple
celebratory margaritas. I assumed Darla’s would be virgin… but what
I didn’t know I didn’t have to testify to in court
about.

I sat in my kitchen with a crème soda
by my side. I needed some coffee, but was afraid my stomach wasn’t
up for it.

The delicate gold bracelet Darla
clasped to my right wrist was making my scar itch… and
tingle…

I took it off and rubbed my wrist for a
little while, trying to clear my head of all thought.

It shouldn’t be this hard…

Monks do it. Yoga instructors the world
over do it.

I bet even Lindsay Lohan could do
it!

There was a knock on the front
door.

Thank god.

I grabbed my clutch, checked to make
sure I had cash, a credit card and my cell phone: always leave home
prepared.

Yeah, especially when you’re going on a
date.

It’s not a date.
I can’t stand him. No matter if he’s the hot male
Mother Teresa of the Morales clan.

I clicked my way down the hall into my
foyer. I opened the front door and just stopped. I couldn’t speak,
I couldn’t move, all I could do was stare.

A tall, handsome stranger stood on my
porch, the kind they write romance novels about.

He turned and smiled at me, giving me
his best sexy smile.

I forced the eyes closed and shook my
head. Drop dead sexy/gorgeous or not, Raphael was still an
egotistical asshole.

I opened my eyes and glared at him,
placing my hands on my hips.

Raphael’s eyes swept of me and kind of
glazed over, darkening, his mouth sliding from a smirk to slack
jawed dope in ten second flat.

It was my turn to smile. Take that, Mr.
Sex-on-a-stick.

He gulped and ran a hand over the back
of his neck. “You… you look…amazing.”

I smiled even wider. Amazing? He
thought I looked amazing.

I gave Clive a scratch behind his ears
and whispered, “Don’t wait up for me.”

I cringed. I just didn’t say that, had
I?

Raphael still had that vacant look on
his face, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t heard me.

He backed up a pace and then scrubbed a
hand over his face, wiping away his shocked expression. He suddenly
looked sober and thoughtful… and handsomer than I’d ever seen him
before.

His suit was pure black and tailored to
hug his every curve. His silk dress shirt was a blue so dark it was
almost black too. All that dark made his hungry, predator eyes all
the darker looking.

My god, his eyes were drowning deep. I
felt like I could stand there and stare up into those fierce,
smoldering eyes forever. Until time came to a halt and the universe
ended and turned to dust.

He offered me his arm, and after
staring at him for too long I recognized the gesture. I slid my arm
in his and we turned to walk off the porch. He smelled so good;
fresh yet darkly spicy.

Like paparazzi stalking the
Jolie/Pitts, Bette and Darla sprang from the bushes beside my porch
steps and raised a pair of digital cameras.

Flash… flash, flash, flash…

I blinked and tried not to fall forward
down the porch steps.

“
Smile, Hope!” Darla sang.
“The camera loves you.”

I glowered down at them.

Bette let her camera drop and she
smirked at me. “Say cunnilingus!”

Raphael snorted.

I elbowed him in the ribs.

“
Don’t worry,” he said,
pretending my elbow hadn’t hit the mark. “I’ll teach you all about
it after the party.”

I felt the blood rush to my face. Bette
raised her camera and took a picture. “That’s perfect.”

Darla and Bette waved goodbye as
Raphael drove us away in his shiny red Barracuda, slipping through
the sleepy, quiet suburban streets, and then onto the
interstate.

Usually high speed driving caused me to
clench up, hold on tight, and then pray to god I’d get out of the
car alive.

Either I trusted Raphael’s
driving—which made absolutely no sense—or being in the car while
Bette taught Darla how to drive had inoculated me.

I leaned forward and turned on the
radio. Some kind of thrash metal band moaned and screamed and
smashed their instruments to a furious beat. I turned and gave
Raphael a hard look.

He reached into his jacket pocket and
pulled out a CD case and handed it to me. The CD had “Trip” written
in sloppy handwriting.

“
You made a mixed CD?” I
couldn’t hide how much this tickled me. “What, are you seventeen or
something?”

He took the CD case from me, opened it
and stuck it into the slot under the radio.

“
First of all, I didn’t make
it for you. I made it for the trip.”

I giggled, making his dark brows
furrow. “And second?”

He sneered. “I’d made my first million
by seventeen.”

Oh… I’d forgotten. And now he was the
patron saint of his entire family.

I knew people who tortured themselves
because they couldn’t provide for their families. People that only
wished they could help their entire families.

Raphael already had and still
was.

I was about to say something
when The Dixie Chicks started to rock out from the speakers.
Long Time Gone
, one of my
favorites.

I leaned back in the buttery soft
leather bucket seat and let my eyes slide closed. If the rest of
his song selections were this good… and unexpected, this would be a
very nice trip.

Nat King Cole crooned
The Very Thought of You
,
Carrie Underwood belted
Last
Name
, James Brown shouted
The
Pay
Back
, Green Day rocked
American Idiot
and The Rolling Stones
rolled through
Satisfaction.

I might’ve nodded off
somewhere along the way, but when Raphael said, “We’re here,
Sleeping Beauty,” Rihanna was singing
Stay
.

Night had fallen and a man in khakis
and a dark blue polo shirt opened my door for me. Raphael slid out
his door like a sleek cat, whereas I had a hard time pulling myself
up from such a low seat, especially with these heels on. I could
walk in them—I’d practiced—but I hadn’t tried getting in and out of
a low to the road sports car yet.

The valet held the door, but it was
Raphael who leaned in and offered me his hand. The bastard was
being chivalrous. I was sure he would make fun of me for it later,
but right then I was just glad to get out of the car.

And the second I stood up I had to pee.
Like so bad my knees knocked together and I almost fell over. I
hung onto Raphael’s arm for support—man, he really worked out, and
he smelled delicious.

I asserted my absolutely amazing powers
of mind control over my bladder, and waved the valet back
over.

“
Can I help you?”

“
Yes,” I nearly yelped, and
then forced my voice lower. “Where’s the closest
bathroom?”

He smiled and pointed to the revolving
door. “Through the door; halfway through the lobby and to the
right.”

“
Thanks,” I said, gave
Raphael an apologetic “Sorry,” and unceremoniously started to run,
my knees locked, teetering on my heels.

The revolving door slowed me down, and
so did the crowd milling around the lobby. But I cut off a bellboy
with a flotilla of luggage, ducked past some squabbling ladies in
matching “I Break for Shirtless Cover Models” t-shirts and dashed
into the ladies’ room.

And then stood in line for ten minutes
to use one of the three stalls the Hilton’s restroom
boasted.

I mean, really… only three
stalls?

I was tempted to find another ladies’
room, or to just go over to the Men’s room… but I was afraid I’d
start to leak if I had to walk too much farther, and I was certain
that I’d get arrested if I went into the Men’s room.

The lady in front of me took pity on
me, otherwise it might’ve been even longer.

I tried not to be too loud as a sigh of
utter relief rang from my mouth.

Thank god I made it.

Raphael was waiting patiently for me
outside the ladies’ room, leaning sexily against the wall. He
looked great, unwrinkled and refreshed.

I’d checked myself out in the mirror
when I’d washed my hands. My make up was still good—which was
great, since I didn’t know how to fix it—and my dress had only a
couple wrinkles.

“
Ready to meet and greet?”
he taunted.

I closed my eyes and imagined the
horror that awaited me. “No.”

“
That’s the
spirit!”

Chapter 17

The ballroom glowed with just enough
amber and blue light that you could easily see, but was still
intimate to the eye. Throngs of people shifted through the huge
room, all eating and drinking and talking over the pulsing beat of
an unfamiliar song. As my eyes adjusted I saw huge ten foot tall
monitors on the walls, all showing a slide show of my accumulated
covers, and some of the ones I’d done up from my
leftovers.

People were staring at them, as if
transfixed by a bug zapper.

It was creepy.

I spotted Greta, Janine’s partner at
Branded Publishing. Silver haired and dressed as if she belonged to
a country club, she had two of her assistant editors in tow as she
crossed the floor in front of me. I waved and she waved back,
absently, but kept on walking. And then she stopped dead-- her
assistants halted and backed away in a hurry. She turned and took
another look at me, and then at Raphael.

Her eyes got that dreamy look cartoon
coyotes get when dreaming about roasted roadrunners.

To her credit she shook that off and
took another long look at me.

“
Hope? Is that
you?”

I nodded. “Hi Greta.” I gestured around
me. “This is one hell of a party.”

She smiled. There was something about
Greta that always confused me. She was probably one of the most
intelligent women I’d ever met, and that meant that everything I
said to her usually counted against me. Plus, one could never be
sure what she really meant when she said something to
you.

“
I
think it’s going well.”

I nodded.

She gave me an up and down look again.
“I love the dress. I didn’t know you even had breasts.”

Okay, that was blunter than I’d
expected from her.

Her gaze went over to Raphael again.
“And your use of accessories is genius.”

I gulped as Raphael stood a little
taller, and smiled like he was a movie star.

“
Ah… where’s
Janine?”

Greta rolled her eyes and pointed to
the rear corner of the ballroom. “Over at the bar, getting
soused.”

“
She’s drinking?” I’d never
seen her drink before. She usually wanted to be at the top of her
game in all business matters.

“
As I said,
I
think we’re doing great…
she’s having a mental breakdown.” She stepped to me and put her
hand on my shoulder. “Could you go and try to talk her down? We
need her to work her magic tonight, not fall off her barstool and
face plant on the dance floor.”

She turned on her heel and marched off,
her assistants running after her.

Okay, this was new. Janine was flaking
out. And Greta thought I could calm her down?

“
I’ve missed a
step.”

“
What?” Raphael
asked.

I looked up at him and shook my head.
“Let’s get a drink and see what’s up with my boss,
okay?”