Raising Hell (3 page)

Between fielding calls and greeting the steady stream of clients, Lila spent a blissful morning not thinking about the damned envelope. In fact, it wasn’t until Stacey, the college intern, showed up to relieve her for lunch that Lila thought another thing about it.

What she thought, in fact, was that she was a wimp. She was just about to shove the envelope back into her tote, when Stacey opened her mouth. “What’s that?” she asked, grabbing for it.

Lila snatched it away, resisting the urge to smack Stacey’s fingers. “Do you mind?”

“Come on!” Stacey said. “I saw the return. It’s from the Tannin Agency. Are you a model? God, if you’re not, you should be.”

“What?” Carrie said, swishing up in a flurry of designer labels. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen our girl already? She’s got the biggest billboard in Times Square! That’s where you hang out, right?” she added, peering down her nose at Stacey as Lila tried very hard not to feel sorry for the girl. Once Carrie decided she liked you, she was as diligent a friend as a guardian angel. But until then, she could be a little scary.

Stacey frowned, genuinely befuddled, as Carrie laughed and grabbed Lila’s sleeve. “Come on! Lunch!” She tapped the face of her watch. “Tick, tick.”

They were out the doors and onto the elevator before Lila realized that she’d left her sack lunch in the break room refrigerator. “My lun—”

“My treat,” Carrie said firmly. “And when you’re a big, famous model, you can pay me back.” She looked Lila up and down. “Not that you’ll ever be big …”

Lila crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. “I never said I wanted to be one of the Victoria’s Secret girls.”

Carrie patted her on the shoulder, grinning wickedly. “And you never will be.”

Lila almost laughed, then remembered that her entire fate was still tucked into her tote bag. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever model for anything.”

The elevator doors opened and Carrie stepped out, but not before shooting Lila a withering glance. “Since when did Little Miss Sunshine turn pessimistic?”

“Since that letter ended up in my mailbox,” Lila said. She paused at the newsstand near the entrance to their building. “Hold up a second.”

While Carrie waited, foot tapping since the lunch hour was ticking away, Lila bought a copy of
Vogue
and a Milky Way. She gave Harlen, the kiosk’s owner, a twenty, took her change, and turned back to Carrie.

“I think I may faint dead right now. Lila Burnett, eating a candy bar?”

“I can eat as many as I want since my chances of being a model are all shot to hell. But, no, it’s not for me. Stacey loves them, and she always works through lunch.” From what Lila could tell, “intern” was a shortened version of “indentured.” As in servitude. As in Stacey worked her tail off and only had college credit to show for it.

Carrie rolled her eyes, her mouth curving into an ironic smile.

“What?” Lila asked, fumbling to shove her change back in her wallet. “Oh, wait!” She turned and headed back to the kiosk, Carrie following behind, her heels clicking a fast tempo on the polished floors.

“Lila!” Carrie called. “If we don’t hurry, we won’t have time to eat!”

“Just one second,” Lila shouted back over her shoulder. She hurried back to Harlen, then handed him a dollar. “You miscounted the change,” she said.

The elderly man’s face split into a wide grin. “You’re a good girl, Lila. A real good girl.”

When Carrie didn’t say a thing about the letter over lunch, Lila thought she was off the hook. But that illusion shattered as they stepped off the elevator and paused in front of the double glass doors that led into the Kelley-Hart reception area.

“So?” Carrie demanded, staring pointedly at Lila’s tote.

Lila stopped, hugging the tote to her chest, and feeling as gangly and awkward as a startled doe. “So?” she repeated.

“Come on. Stacey I can understand, but aren’t you going to clue me in?” She turned so that her back was to the door and Stacey couldn’t see what they were talking about. “I’m dying to know what’s in the letter.”

“Me, too,” Lila admitted. “But at the same time, I’m not.”

Carrie lifted one brow, but otherwise didn’t say a word.

“I just mean, what if it’s bad?”

“It won’t be bad.”

“Yes, it will,” Lila said. “They don’t send good news in a letter.”

“Well, if you already know it’s bad, then what’s the big deal? Open it, toss it, and be done with it. You’ll find a modeling gig sooner or later. Tannin isn’t your last shot until the end of time.”

As to that, Lila wasn’t so sure. As to opening the envelope…

She rocked a little on the balls of her feet. “They don’t
normally
send good news in a letter. So it’s probably a reject. But so long as I don’t open it, I can pretend it’s a request to come in for a photo test. Or maybe a tax form, so they’ll have it on file when they send me on my first job.”

“You’re delusional,” Carrie said. “I love you, but you’re delusional.”

“I like to think of myself as charmingly naive.” She sucked in air, then nodded. “But you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. I might as well get it over with.” She settled herself on the small settee in the elevator lobby. And then, with Carrie sitting beside her, she reached into her tote and pulled out the envelope. She met her friend’s eyes, then slid her finger under the flap. Using her thumb and forefinger like pincers, she tugged out the letter, unfolded it, and began reading.

She didn’t have to read far. “We regret to inform you” followed the salutation, and Lila didn’t even bother finishing the letter. Just handed it off to Carrie with an “I told you so.”

Her friend took more time, her eyes moving back and forth over the page, her brow furrowing a little bit more with each line of text. “I’m sorry, Lila. But you’ll find an agent eventually.”

Lila lifted one shoulder in an exhausted shrug. Would she? Right at the moment, she didn’t much believe that.

“And they seem to really like you,” Carrie said, still playing the supportive friend. “They just don’t have a use for you in their stable right now.”

“Just as well,” Lila said, with a faint smile. “I don’t want to be a horse, anyway.” What she wanted to do was yell and scream and curse. But Delilah Burnett had been raised better than that. Somehow, this was all part of God’s plan. At least, that’s what her daddy would say. And, honestly, maybe that was true. The dream had brought her to New York, hadn’t it? Maybe that was enough?

The elevator dinged, and Lila turned toward the doors, grateful for the respite from the thoughts smashing around in her head. The doors slid open and she heard Carrie release a slow breath.

Half a second later, Lila knew why. The man stepping off the elevator looked like some sort of demigod. Beautiful in the way that angels are beautiful, but utterly masculine, too. With near-black hair, tousled in a devil-may-care manner that seemed sexy rather than sloppy. A chiseled chin, like something carved by Michelangelo. A hint of a beard, as if he shaved religiously every day, but still couldn’t control the wildness within.

He wore a tailored gray suit and walked with purpose toward the Kelley-Hart entrance, never once turning back toward the girls huddled on the small settee, staring at him like paparazzi at a blockbuster movie opening.

He pulled open the door and stepped through, then stopped in front of Stacey’s desk, probably sending the poor intern into shock.

“Wow,” Carrie whispered.

“No kidding,” Lila agreed.

They leaned forward, craning their necks to better see into the reception area. He was still there, his back to them. Lila could just make out a bit of Stacey’s blond hair, but mostly she was blocked by the man’s broad shoulders.

Or, rather, she was at first. Then Stacey tilted to the side, her head bobbing out as if playing peekaboo. Her eyes met Lila’s, and a huge grin spread across her face. Lila froze, trapped and feeling ridiculous. How pathetic was that? Caught staring at the cute guy?

And then, to make it worse, Stacey started making come-here gestures with her hand. Lila looked left and right, wondering if she could escape. “What is she doing?” she whispered to Carrie.

“I don’t know, but if she keeps it up, I’m telling Mr. Hart he has to submit an F for her internship program.”

Stacey obviously had no clue about her pending academic demise, because now she said something to the man, at the same time pointing directly at Lila.

The man turned, nodded a thank-you at Stacey, then looked at Lila and smiled. Lila almost melted on the spot from the heat of that smile. And when he pushed through the door—walking toward her without ever taking his eyes off her—well, Lila was certain she’d somehow morphed into the most exotic and vulnerable woman in the world.

“Delilah Burnett?”

“I, yes, I mean, yes. That’s me.”

His smile broadened. “I know, actually. I recognize you.”

“You recognize me?” She squinted at him. “Have we met?”

Beside her, Carrie cocked a finger toward the office. “I’ll just be heading on in. Don’t mind me.”

Neither Lila nor the man did, though somewhere in the back of her mind Lila was aware that she’d been left alone with this man. This perfect, awesome man.

“We haven’t met,” he said. “But I’ve been hoping we would.”

He held out his hand then, and she took it, her whole body tingling merely from the gentle way his thumb grazed the side of her hand. Lord help her, the man was walking sin. And what the devil did he want with her?

“Wait,” she said, cocking her head. There was something familiar about him. Like something she’d seen in a dream. Or, more probably, in the
Post.
“Aren’t you—”

“I’m Nicholas Velnias,” he said. “And it’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman I’m determined to paint.”

‡
Chapter Three

“Y
ou want to paint me?”
The words squeaked out, and Lila cleared her throat, her face flaming. She felt awkward and stupid, but how else would someone feel in the presence of Nicholas Velnias?
The
Nicholas Velnias.

“Yes.” His smile was soft, indulgent, and she relaxed, but only a little.

“Oh.” She pondered the answer. Straight, simple, to the point. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” His brow lifted slightly as he spoke, and his mouth curved into a hint of a smile. A small dimple flashed in his cheek, disappearing so quickly that Lila had to wonder if she’d imagined it.

“I… but… oh…” She cleared her throat. “I mean, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, with undisguised amusement. He pointed toward the elevator. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Um.” She glanced through the glass doors of Kelley-Hart, where Stacey was making whooping motions with her arm and mouthing, “You go, girl.” Lila looked away, mortified. “I really need to get back to work. They’re pretty strict about my hours.”

“I see.” A hint of disappointment flashed in his eyes. “After work, then? There’s a bar on the corner. Finnegan’s. Meet me there?”

She wanted to. The thought of being painted by someone as famous as Nicholas Velnias made her all giddy inside—as did the thought of having a drink with him. But today simply wasn’t possible. “I’ve got plans,” she said.

“Break them.”

She straightened, a bit taken aback. And, at the same time, not surprised at all by his suggestion. “I’m not sure I should do that.” She
could,
of course. She volunteered at the literacy center twice a week, and she wasn’t technically scheduled to go in until Wednesday. But she’d bought some books from a library sale over the weekend and she’d made plans to drop them off.

“We can meet another day, of course,” he said. “But I’m anxious to start now. I want to paint you, Delilah. And I promise, I’ll be persistent. Meet me tonight, and you’ll be rid of me that much sooner.” He spread his hands, his smile so self-deprecating that she had to laugh.

“It’s not that I want to be rid of you—”

“Good.”

“It’s just…” She shrugged. Not entirely sure what it was. But something about this felt weird. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to agree. “I’m really not sure I should—”

“Delilah,” he said, taking her hand. “Please.”

“How do you even know about me?”

“Does it really matter? I’m offering you exactly what you want. To be a model. And I assure you I have the means to ensure that this job is only the first of many.”

“But how—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, sending warm honey flowing through her to pool right between her thighs. It was everything she could do not to moan.

“Just nod. Don’t say a word. Just nod, and let me know that you’ll meet me.”

Mute, she nodded.

He smiled, then stepped away, breaking the contact. “Six o’clock,” he said, as the elevator doors slid open.

She frowned, unable to remember him hitting the call button. He stepped on and as she watched, the doors closed, blocking him from view. She lifted her fingers to her lips, pressing there as he had done and wondering if a kiss could ever feel as magical as the touch of his fingers.

“Another one for you?”

Startled, Nick looked up into the bartender’s droopy face. He lifted his glass, saw the tiny splash of scotch and the remnant of an ice cube, then downed them both in one gulp. He held out the glass for the bartender, who efficiently replaced it with a fresh drink.