The plot:
The stranger was distressingly handsome. He stood several inches taller than her five feet seven. His dark hair shimmered in the glow of the streetlights. His eyes were enticing labyrinths a girl could get lost in.
A romantic suspense thriller by Carrie Wexford.
Your Every Word
by Carrie Wexford
by Carrie Wexford
Copyright © 2016 by Carrie Wexford.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual businesses, places, events, or incidents is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wexford, Carrie.
Your Every Word / Carrie Wexford
1. Romantic Suspense – Fiction 1. Title
TXu 2-009-482 2016
Second Edition November 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Also by Carrie Wexford
Fab or Flab
The Cappalletti Saga:
The Queen of Shebas
Wolves Behind You
A Cliff Before You
Wexford, Carrie.
Your Every Word / Carrie Wexford
1. Romantic Suspense – Fiction 1. Title
TXu 2-009-482 2016
Second Edition November 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Also by Carrie Wexford
Fab or Flab
The Cappalletti Saga:
The Queen of Shebas
Wolves Behind You
A Cliff Before You
The Girl From GALEOP and Other Stories
At 7:20 on a hectic Friday night in mid-June, a young woman exited Barragia's Pizzeria on Santa Monica Boulevard with a flat cardboard box.
LaDonna Monrovia favored classic, casual clothes; this evening she wore a white, full-sleeved peasant blouse with a chic tan leather vest. Recently she read on a fashion blog that vests were once again in style, and she thought the vintage garment upgraded her faded blue jeans. Her only jewelry was a gold locket she had inherited from her maternal grandmother.
LaDonna's soft eyes were fatigued after a tedious week of crunching numbers and shuffling papers. She was looking forward to curling up on the couch and watching the Monterey Mystery Files marathon on Channel 1288.
She scolded herself. Look at me. Thirty-two and no social life.
She halted in the river of pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk, flicked her brunette, shoulder blade length hair behind her, and raised the box's lid.
She was glad that she double-checked her order before heading home. Papaya wedges and Canadian bacon slices decorated one-half of the pizza; diced mushrooms and extra mozzarella cheese filled the other side.
No! They forgot the bell peppers! She turned back quickly to the restaurant.
Too quickly. She collided with a six-foot-tall obstacle.
The box flipped out of her hands.
She caught her breath.
A tall man with an athletic build stood between her and the entrance to Barragia's Pizzeria. His right hand suspended several garments on wire hangers over his shoulder. It was fortunate that the clear plastic bags sheathed his dry cleaning, for tomato sauce and melted cheese coated the buttoned-down shirt and designer necktie he was wearing.
“I am so sorry,” LaDonna stammered.
His free hand pried the goo off his chest. “Is that papaya? Who puts tropical fruit on a pizza?”
“My roommate does.” She remembered the paper napkins in her purse. She pulled one out and offered it to him.
He gave up wiping the stains, for his shirt was ruined. “Tell your roommate that he's not having pizza tonight.”
“He's not a he. He's a she. I mean, she's a she. Her name is Sonnet.” LaDonna realized that she was babbling, but she could not help it.
The stranger was distressingly handsome. He stood several inches taller than her five feet seven. His dark hair shimmered in the glow of the streetlights. His eyes were enticing labyrinths a girl could get lost in. His angular jawline bore a suggestion of five o'clock shadow.
She waved at his shirt helplessly. “I'll pay to have it cleaned, of course.”
“That's all right. I just picked up my laundry, so I have plenty of shirts.” He seemed genuinely amused by the incident. His dynamic eyes traveled to her left hand, which nervously twisted her antique gold necklace.
He's looking for a ring! LaDonna cheered silently. He's single. And he wonders if I am, too.
“Besides, it was entirely my fault,” he said.
“No, really. It was mine.” She tilted one foot behind her like an ingénue posing on stage.
He was absolutely captivating. His broad shoulders gave him an air of destiny. It thrilled her that he lingered before her, searching for an opportunity to get to know her better.
“Your face is so familiar.” His faint frown was charming. “Where have we met? Ah, it will come back to me. I feel terrible about this. Let me buy you another pizza. Or…wait.” He glanced down the street. “I was about to go to dinner. I hate eating alone. Would you like to join me?”
She hesitated. This is not happening. No one literally runs into a gorgeous man and lands a date, in two minutes flat.
He saw that she was flustered. “I hope I'm not being too forward. It's hard to meet people in my line of work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
He poured a disarming smile upon her. “I'm a screenwriter.”
“How exciting! You must meet many celebrities at parties.”
“I don't go out much. I'm more of a stay-at-home type. Watch TV. Put my feet up. My name's Zane, by the way.”
“LaDonna.”
“That's a pretty name. Unusual, too.” When he took her hand, his body heat radiated through his lean fingers. “So, what do you say? Dinner? I know an excellent steak-and-seafood place on Barrington.”
“Yes, sure,” she heard herself say. This is unreal.
Zane strolled toward a silver Alfa Romeo 4C Spider parked at the curb. “Give me a second to change my shirt.”
She gaped at the two-seater convertible. “Is this your car?”
He laid the dry cleaning bags in the compact trunk. “What do you think of it?”
She imagined a road trip in this magnificent machine. “A car like this inspires you to take risks.”
His fingers paused on his shirt's buttons. He repeated her words with deliberate care.
His enchanting grin grew wider. It was as if she had passed an important test.
Zane unfastened his stained shirt and slid it off his muscular arms. His self-confidence astonished her; he revealed his naked torso on a city street as easily as on a public beach. She marveled at his chiseled shoulders and well-developed pecs.
LaDonna forced herself to look up. Does he know how attractive he is? And does he think I'm pretty? He said my name is pretty.
She fixated on the shadow on his upper lip. She wondered if his unshaven face would feel rough on hers.
Seven nights later…
LaDonna closed the front door gently. Her black, off-the-shoulder mini dress hugged her trim figure as she tiptoed into the tiny, dusky apartment. Four steps brought her to the kitchen nook. She set her evening purse on an assemble-it-yourself pine table.
She flicked on the single-bulb lamp above the table. Briefly closing her eyes, she stretched her arms over her head. Her news was too great to wait. She had to tell someone now.
Six paces led her to the center of the living room. She switched off the nattering infomercial on the television.
Her high heels crunched an empty potato chip sack. Beside it was a candy bar wrapper. A few feet away, a smart phone, a plastic spoon, and an empty cottage cheese carton rested on a second-hand oak coffee table.
The trail of food led to the five-foot-one girl dozing on the futon under the window. Her pink T-shirt had scrunched away from her gray sweat pants, revealing her bare stomach. Her arm rested across her forehead. Her pie-wedge bangs hid her closed eyes; her sun-streaked, honey brown hair draped her shoulders.
“Nooooo.…I swear…it wasn't me…” she moaned.
LaDonna smothered her laugh. Her roommate would awaken, as usual, with wild stories of the people and places in her dreams.
Nobody in high school could have predicted that LaDonna Monrovia, the quiet one, and Sonnet Wilcox, the class flirt, would become close friends. Fourteen years after graduation, they shared a studio apartment and the canary yellow Mini Cooper parked five floors below.
LaDonna whispered, “Hey, wake up!”
“Ahhhggggzzz –” Trapped in her dream world, Sonnet rolled over and pressed her petite nose into the futon's backrest. Then she turned onto her stomach and straggled her hand over her groggy face. “What time is it?”
“After two.”
Sonnet smiled up at her. “How's the guy with the Alfa Romeo?”
LaDonna seated herself on the edge of the coffee table. “He said it!”
Her friend sat up eagerly. “He did not!”
“Oh, yes, he did!”
“Did you say it first?”
“Well, yes…”
Sonnet's mouth opened. She mentally sorted all of the questions this news bulletin raised.
“He loves me!” LaDonna drummed her hands excitedly on her bare knees.
Sonnet picked up her cell phone. “Fifi, if a man says he loves you after five dates, does he mean it?”
Her virtual assistant replied, in a delightfully sexy voice, “Of course.”
LaDonna laughed. “Why ask a computer for dating advice?”
“Fifi knows everything. She has the latest artificial intelligence technology.” Her roommate rattled a box of multigrain crackers. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“We're out of frozen scrambled eggs. Fifi told me how to make them from scratch. There were so many steps!”
“I had filet mignon and lemon cheesecake.”
Sonnet watched LaDonna with the intensity of someone who had found a suspenseful television show. “You're so lucky. I haven't been on a date since New Year's Eve. You two had one of the most impressive meet-cutes in history.”
LaDonna smiled at the memory. “Yes, it was.” In this whirlwind courtship, her feet had yet to touch the ground.
“Good looking.”
“Oh, yes.”
“He has an amazing job.”
“Wonderful personality. He's a great listener. He repeats whatever I say, like he wants to remember my words.”
“Look, I believe in love at first sight, too, but don't you think he's moving awfully fast? Maybe you should play a little hard to get.”
LaDonna stood up and propped her hands on her slim hips. “I don't want someone else to become Mrs. Zane Klagmore. Life is a gamble. Sometimes you have to take chances.”
LaDonna awakened at 7:59 the next morning. She switched off her cell phone's alarm so the music would not disturb her roommate.
She propped herself up on her grandmother’s hand-me-down couch and dropped her bare feet to the beige carpet.
If Zane ever proposed to her, it would not be difficult to leave behind this three-hundred-square-foot home. The apartment consisted of a living room, a narrow kitchen, a three-quarter bath, and a small hallway closet.
There would not be much for LaDonna to pack, either. A hanging fern. The rooster trivet in the kitchen. Her clothes and a few pairs of shoes.
She feared that she would spend the rest of her days in this matchbox with Sonnet, applying makeup in the same bathroom mirror and sharing each other's wardrobe.
This was not how LaDonna had envisioned life in her thirties. With a bachelor's degree in theoretical abstract mathematics, she had expected to land many interviews. However, since college she had spent her workweeks processing loans at a used car dealership on Centinela Avenue. She brought a scientific precision to her job, even though every day was as unchallenging as the one before.
In contrast, Sonnet, a liberal arts graduate, excelled at sniffing out and pouncing upon job opportunities. Her large, doll-like eyes and natural cheerfulness had landed her temporary gigs as a census taker, a museum tour guide, and a department store live mannequin. While she waited for her next career to materialize, she collected sales commissions as a mobile phone consultant.
In the evenings and on the weekends, the two young women went out on the town.
They attended jazz concerts and midnight movies.
They took dried flower classes and explored art museums.
They bought caramel lattes, sometimes at three different shops in one night.
Their mission: to end their single status before it bored them to death.
The scarcity of eligible bachelors perplexed the girls. Had an emergency broadcast urged all single men to move away from Southern California? The two roommates clung to their dream that someday they would be in the right place at the perfect time, and their luck in love would change.
LaDonna reveled in the hope that she had landed her big break at last.
She slipped into the peach satin robe Zane had bought her in Chinatown two nights ago. Embroidered swans graced the front; a peacock with white plumage embraced the back. As she tied the sash, she wished Zane's muscular arms were encircling her waist, his warm lips nuzzling hers. She imagined his dark eyelashes, his relaxed face, and his impeccable hair. How did I get this lucky? Of all the girls in L.A., he picked me.
She brushed off Sonnet's advice to play hard to get. It's love. Why play games?
LaDonna tiptoed into the kitchen and raised the blinds. Palm fronds and quaint storefronts greeted her from across the street. If the other apartment towers had not been in the way, the window would have had a spectacular view of the beach.
Her gaze fell to the sidewalk. That's Zane's car! He's taking me to breakfast.
The Alfa Romeo paused at the intersection. When the streetlight changed, the silver convertible continued on its way.
I guess he's going back to his condo. What’s he doing out at this hour? He must be too excited to sleep, like me.
She resolved to pick up some coffee and Danish at Une Bonne Tasse and meet him at his home. How convenient that we live only ten blocks apart.
She flipped her long, dark brown hair into a ponytail and changed into a purple zippered jacket and gray shorts. Leaning against the couch, she pulled on her track shoes.
With an amused glance at her roommate – dozing on the futon with a bag of microwave cheddar popcorn – LaDonna closed the apartment's door.
The cool morning air carried the salty tang of the sea. LaDonna stretched her hamstrings under a flower shop’s awning and marveled at the lightness in her heart.
She did not know it was possible for humans to feel so darned happy. She glowed with dreams of her beautiful future. I have everything I desire. She contemplated Zane's brilliant eyes, perfect physique, and endless sense of fun. No wonder he swept me off my feet. What girl could resist him?
She began a warm-up jog down the sidewalk. Instead of shopping his scripts around the studios, he should pursue an acting career. He's much too good-looking to stay behind the camera.
Her pace picked up when she recognized, half a block ahead, Une Bonne Tasse's black-and-gold striped awning.
She was delighted to see Zane exiting the shop with two tall paper cups.
He had the same idea! He's bringing me a latte.
He did not notice her. He stepped off the curb and circled his sleek sports car, which was parked in the red zone.
The convertible's top was up. LaDonna watched him climb into the driver's seat.
The Alfa Romeo's brake lights glowed.
She hurried to catch him before he left.
She gripped the passenger door's handle and ducked her face into the window.
What she saw nearly made her heart stop.
Zane leaned over the blonde woman seated beside him; he devoured the stranger's full lips. This was not a sweet, thoughtful kiss, like the kind he shared with LaDonna, but a ferocious mating ritual of jungle animals.
LaDonna's shock gave way to rage. She yanked open the passenger door.
The woman turned her surprised face away from Zane. She was in her early twenties, with expensive makeup detailing her perfect features. Her white blonde hair undulated down her ample chest. Her tomato red bandage dress barely covered her tiny hips. She had moved her seat back to make room for her impossibly long legs.
“Who is this?” LaDonna roared.
Lacking an appropriate answer, Zane stared back at her in catatonic silence.
The young blonde pointed a manicured fingernail at LaDonna. “Who's this?”
Don't repeat my words, you hot-to-trot hussy. Is Zane breaking up with me? What happened in the six hours since I saw him last?
I won't be treated like this. “Zane! You – ” LaDonna struggled to think of a strong enough word. “You Philistine!”
Her angry eyes dropped to the blonde's designer purse, propped open on the seat beside Zane. A brass door key peeked out of the inside pocket.
The key bore the number 1100.
LaDonna inhaled sharply. That's Zane's condo address.
She glared at the cappuccino suspended in the holder on the dashboard. Furious thoughts tore through her mind: That's my coffee – my seat – my man –
She reached past the voluptuous girl, seized the paper cup, and ripped off the lid.
“No! Don't do it!” Zane howled.
The blonde threw her arms over her face.
LaDonna dashed all sixteen ounces of creamy, steamy coffee into the young woman's silk-lined handbag.
Her rival screamed as if she had been impaled on a sword.
LaDonna bolted down the street, her mind swirling, her perfect world crumbling to ashes.
LaDonna Monrovia favored classic, casual clothes; this evening she wore a white, full-sleeved peasant blouse with a chic tan leather vest. Recently she read on a fashion blog that vests were once again in style, and she thought the vintage garment upgraded her faded blue jeans. Her only jewelry was a gold locket she had inherited from her maternal grandmother.
LaDonna's soft eyes were fatigued after a tedious week of crunching numbers and shuffling papers. She was looking forward to curling up on the couch and watching the Monterey Mystery Files marathon on Channel 1288.
She scolded herself. Look at me. Thirty-two and no social life.
She halted in the river of pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk, flicked her brunette, shoulder blade length hair behind her, and raised the box's lid.
She was glad that she double-checked her order before heading home. Papaya wedges and Canadian bacon slices decorated one-half of the pizza; diced mushrooms and extra mozzarella cheese filled the other side.
No! They forgot the bell peppers! She turned back quickly to the restaurant.
Too quickly. She collided with a six-foot-tall obstacle.
The box flipped out of her hands.
She caught her breath.
A tall man with an athletic build stood between her and the entrance to Barragia's Pizzeria. His right hand suspended several garments on wire hangers over his shoulder. It was fortunate that the clear plastic bags sheathed his dry cleaning, for tomato sauce and melted cheese coated the buttoned-down shirt and designer necktie he was wearing.
“I am so sorry,” LaDonna stammered.
His free hand pried the goo off his chest. “Is that papaya? Who puts tropical fruit on a pizza?”
“My roommate does.” She remembered the paper napkins in her purse. She pulled one out and offered it to him.
He gave up wiping the stains, for his shirt was ruined. “Tell your roommate that he's not having pizza tonight.”
“He's not a he. He's a she. I mean, she's a she. Her name is Sonnet.” LaDonna realized that she was babbling, but she could not help it.
The stranger was distressingly handsome. He stood several inches taller than her five feet seven. His dark hair shimmered in the glow of the streetlights. His eyes were enticing labyrinths a girl could get lost in. His angular jawline bore a suggestion of five o'clock shadow.
She waved at his shirt helplessly. “I'll pay to have it cleaned, of course.”
“That's all right. I just picked up my laundry, so I have plenty of shirts.” He seemed genuinely amused by the incident. His dynamic eyes traveled to her left hand, which nervously twisted her antique gold necklace.
He's looking for a ring! LaDonna cheered silently. He's single. And he wonders if I am, too.
“Besides, it was entirely my fault,” he said.
“No, really. It was mine.” She tilted one foot behind her like an ingénue posing on stage.
He was absolutely captivating. His broad shoulders gave him an air of destiny. It thrilled her that he lingered before her, searching for an opportunity to get to know her better.
“Your face is so familiar.” His faint frown was charming. “Where have we met? Ah, it will come back to me. I feel terrible about this. Let me buy you another pizza. Or…wait.” He glanced down the street. “I was about to go to dinner. I hate eating alone. Would you like to join me?”
She hesitated. This is not happening. No one literally runs into a gorgeous man and lands a date, in two minutes flat.
He saw that she was flustered. “I hope I'm not being too forward. It's hard to meet people in my line of work.”
“What do you do for a living?”
He poured a disarming smile upon her. “I'm a screenwriter.”
“How exciting! You must meet many celebrities at parties.”
“I don't go out much. I'm more of a stay-at-home type. Watch TV. Put my feet up. My name's Zane, by the way.”
“LaDonna.”
“That's a pretty name. Unusual, too.” When he took her hand, his body heat radiated through his lean fingers. “So, what do you say? Dinner? I know an excellent steak-and-seafood place on Barrington.”
“Yes, sure,” she heard herself say. This is unreal.
Zane strolled toward a silver Alfa Romeo 4C Spider parked at the curb. “Give me a second to change my shirt.”
She gaped at the two-seater convertible. “Is this your car?”
He laid the dry cleaning bags in the compact trunk. “What do you think of it?”
She imagined a road trip in this magnificent machine. “A car like this inspires you to take risks.”
His fingers paused on his shirt's buttons. He repeated her words with deliberate care.
His enchanting grin grew wider. It was as if she had passed an important test.
Zane unfastened his stained shirt and slid it off his muscular arms. His self-confidence astonished her; he revealed his naked torso on a city street as easily as on a public beach. She marveled at his chiseled shoulders and well-developed pecs.
LaDonna forced herself to look up. Does he know how attractive he is? And does he think I'm pretty? He said my name is pretty.
She fixated on the shadow on his upper lip. She wondered if his unshaven face would feel rough on hers.
Seven nights later…
LaDonna closed the front door gently. Her black, off-the-shoulder mini dress hugged her trim figure as she tiptoed into the tiny, dusky apartment. Four steps brought her to the kitchen nook. She set her evening purse on an assemble-it-yourself pine table.
She flicked on the single-bulb lamp above the table. Briefly closing her eyes, she stretched her arms over her head. Her news was too great to wait. She had to tell someone now.
Six paces led her to the center of the living room. She switched off the nattering infomercial on the television.
Her high heels crunched an empty potato chip sack. Beside it was a candy bar wrapper. A few feet away, a smart phone, a plastic spoon, and an empty cottage cheese carton rested on a second-hand oak coffee table.
The trail of food led to the five-foot-one girl dozing on the futon under the window. Her pink T-shirt had scrunched away from her gray sweat pants, revealing her bare stomach. Her arm rested across her forehead. Her pie-wedge bangs hid her closed eyes; her sun-streaked, honey brown hair draped her shoulders.
“Nooooo.…I swear…it wasn't me…” she moaned.
LaDonna smothered her laugh. Her roommate would awaken, as usual, with wild stories of the people and places in her dreams.
Nobody in high school could have predicted that LaDonna Monrovia, the quiet one, and Sonnet Wilcox, the class flirt, would become close friends. Fourteen years after graduation, they shared a studio apartment and the canary yellow Mini Cooper parked five floors below.
LaDonna whispered, “Hey, wake up!”
“Ahhhggggzzz –” Trapped in her dream world, Sonnet rolled over and pressed her petite nose into the futon's backrest. Then she turned onto her stomach and straggled her hand over her groggy face. “What time is it?”
“After two.”
Sonnet smiled up at her. “How's the guy with the Alfa Romeo?”
LaDonna seated herself on the edge of the coffee table. “He said it!”
Her friend sat up eagerly. “He did not!”
“Oh, yes, he did!”
“Did you say it first?”
“Well, yes…”
Sonnet's mouth opened. She mentally sorted all of the questions this news bulletin raised.
“He loves me!” LaDonna drummed her hands excitedly on her bare knees.
Sonnet picked up her cell phone. “Fifi, if a man says he loves you after five dates, does he mean it?”
Her virtual assistant replied, in a delightfully sexy voice, “Of course.”
LaDonna laughed. “Why ask a computer for dating advice?”
“Fifi knows everything. She has the latest artificial intelligence technology.” Her roommate rattled a box of multigrain crackers. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“We're out of frozen scrambled eggs. Fifi told me how to make them from scratch. There were so many steps!”
“I had filet mignon and lemon cheesecake.”
Sonnet watched LaDonna with the intensity of someone who had found a suspenseful television show. “You're so lucky. I haven't been on a date since New Year's Eve. You two had one of the most impressive meet-cutes in history.”
LaDonna smiled at the memory. “Yes, it was.” In this whirlwind courtship, her feet had yet to touch the ground.
“Good looking.”
“Oh, yes.”
“He has an amazing job.”
“Wonderful personality. He's a great listener. He repeats whatever I say, like he wants to remember my words.”
“Look, I believe in love at first sight, too, but don't you think he's moving awfully fast? Maybe you should play a little hard to get.”
LaDonna stood up and propped her hands on her slim hips. “I don't want someone else to become Mrs. Zane Klagmore. Life is a gamble. Sometimes you have to take chances.”
LaDonna awakened at 7:59 the next morning. She switched off her cell phone's alarm so the music would not disturb her roommate.
She propped herself up on her grandmother’s hand-me-down couch and dropped her bare feet to the beige carpet.
If Zane ever proposed to her, it would not be difficult to leave behind this three-hundred-square-foot home. The apartment consisted of a living room, a narrow kitchen, a three-quarter bath, and a small hallway closet.
There would not be much for LaDonna to pack, either. A hanging fern. The rooster trivet in the kitchen. Her clothes and a few pairs of shoes.
She feared that she would spend the rest of her days in this matchbox with Sonnet, applying makeup in the same bathroom mirror and sharing each other's wardrobe.
This was not how LaDonna had envisioned life in her thirties. With a bachelor's degree in theoretical abstract mathematics, she had expected to land many interviews. However, since college she had spent her workweeks processing loans at a used car dealership on Centinela Avenue. She brought a scientific precision to her job, even though every day was as unchallenging as the one before.
In contrast, Sonnet, a liberal arts graduate, excelled at sniffing out and pouncing upon job opportunities. Her large, doll-like eyes and natural cheerfulness had landed her temporary gigs as a census taker, a museum tour guide, and a department store live mannequin. While she waited for her next career to materialize, she collected sales commissions as a mobile phone consultant.
In the evenings and on the weekends, the two young women went out on the town.
They attended jazz concerts and midnight movies.
They took dried flower classes and explored art museums.
They bought caramel lattes, sometimes at three different shops in one night.
Their mission: to end their single status before it bored them to death.
The scarcity of eligible bachelors perplexed the girls. Had an emergency broadcast urged all single men to move away from Southern California? The two roommates clung to their dream that someday they would be in the right place at the perfect time, and their luck in love would change.
LaDonna reveled in the hope that she had landed her big break at last.
She slipped into the peach satin robe Zane had bought her in Chinatown two nights ago. Embroidered swans graced the front; a peacock with white plumage embraced the back. As she tied the sash, she wished Zane's muscular arms were encircling her waist, his warm lips nuzzling hers. She imagined his dark eyelashes, his relaxed face, and his impeccable hair. How did I get this lucky? Of all the girls in L.A., he picked me.
She brushed off Sonnet's advice to play hard to get. It's love. Why play games?
LaDonna tiptoed into the kitchen and raised the blinds. Palm fronds and quaint storefronts greeted her from across the street. If the other apartment towers had not been in the way, the window would have had a spectacular view of the beach.
Her gaze fell to the sidewalk. That's Zane's car! He's taking me to breakfast.
The Alfa Romeo paused at the intersection. When the streetlight changed, the silver convertible continued on its way.
I guess he's going back to his condo. What’s he doing out at this hour? He must be too excited to sleep, like me.
She resolved to pick up some coffee and Danish at Une Bonne Tasse and meet him at his home. How convenient that we live only ten blocks apart.
She flipped her long, dark brown hair into a ponytail and changed into a purple zippered jacket and gray shorts. Leaning against the couch, she pulled on her track shoes.
With an amused glance at her roommate – dozing on the futon with a bag of microwave cheddar popcorn – LaDonna closed the apartment's door.
The cool morning air carried the salty tang of the sea. LaDonna stretched her hamstrings under a flower shop’s awning and marveled at the lightness in her heart.
She did not know it was possible for humans to feel so darned happy. She glowed with dreams of her beautiful future. I have everything I desire. She contemplated Zane's brilliant eyes, perfect physique, and endless sense of fun. No wonder he swept me off my feet. What girl could resist him?
She began a warm-up jog down the sidewalk. Instead of shopping his scripts around the studios, he should pursue an acting career. He's much too good-looking to stay behind the camera.
Her pace picked up when she recognized, half a block ahead, Une Bonne Tasse's black-and-gold striped awning.
She was delighted to see Zane exiting the shop with two tall paper cups.
He had the same idea! He's bringing me a latte.
He did not notice her. He stepped off the curb and circled his sleek sports car, which was parked in the red zone.
The convertible's top was up. LaDonna watched him climb into the driver's seat.
The Alfa Romeo's brake lights glowed.
She hurried to catch him before he left.
She gripped the passenger door's handle and ducked her face into the window.
What she saw nearly made her heart stop.
Zane leaned over the blonde woman seated beside him; he devoured the stranger's full lips. This was not a sweet, thoughtful kiss, like the kind he shared with LaDonna, but a ferocious mating ritual of jungle animals.
LaDonna's shock gave way to rage. She yanked open the passenger door.
The woman turned her surprised face away from Zane. She was in her early twenties, with expensive makeup detailing her perfect features. Her white blonde hair undulated down her ample chest. Her tomato red bandage dress barely covered her tiny hips. She had moved her seat back to make room for her impossibly long legs.
“Who is this?” LaDonna roared.
Lacking an appropriate answer, Zane stared back at her in catatonic silence.
The young blonde pointed a manicured fingernail at LaDonna. “Who's this?”
Don't repeat my words, you hot-to-trot hussy. Is Zane breaking up with me? What happened in the six hours since I saw him last?
I won't be treated like this. “Zane! You – ” LaDonna struggled to think of a strong enough word. “You Philistine!”
Her angry eyes dropped to the blonde's designer purse, propped open on the seat beside Zane. A brass door key peeked out of the inside pocket.
The key bore the number 1100.
LaDonna inhaled sharply. That's Zane's condo address.
She glared at the cappuccino suspended in the holder on the dashboard. Furious thoughts tore through her mind: That's my coffee – my seat – my man –
She reached past the voluptuous girl, seized the paper cup, and ripped off the lid.
“No! Don't do it!” Zane howled.
The blonde threw her arms over her face.
LaDonna dashed all sixteen ounces of creamy, steamy coffee into the young woman's silk-lined handbag.
Her rival screamed as if she had been impaled on a sword.
LaDonna bolted down the street, her mind swirling, her perfect world crumbling to ashes.
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