Oliver often wondered if he’d made more of an effort to find his friend that night if Carson would still be alive. That night had started out like most others. Oliver had hit a couple of clubs, partied with some people he knew, but never caught up with his friend. After running out of drugs, Oliver had been looking to score. Unable to get ahold of his regular source, he’d met up with a dealer he didn’t know. Drunk as hell and high on something a lot more potent than life, he’d ended up badly beaten. While he was recovering, Oliver found out Carson had overdosed.
His family never visited him at the hospital, nor stepped in to ease his legal troubles. Not surprising, since they’d abandoned him long before he’d made a mess of his life. So when he ended up in court-appointed rehab, he had only a gutful of regret and his best friend’s necklace to get him through the worst days.
And as Oliver turned away from the hotel, resisting the urge to drink himself into darkness, the dog tag, engraved with Carson’s name and the date he’d died, saved him from making a huge mistake now.
Sammi gazed out the window of the two-bedroom Manhattan apartment she shared with her mother and worried Oliver’s business card between her fingers. The once sharp edges of the heavy paper had grown soft from handling. At least once a day Sammi took out the card and ran her fingers over the embossed front before turning the card over and staring at the ten numbers written in Oliver’s bold script.
In the early days following their night together, she’d been tempted to program his contact information into her phone. She’d reasoned that their unforgettable night together could be the start of something blissful and amazing. But as the days turned into weeks, time and distance put her bubblegum daydreams into perspective. Oliver Lowell wasn’t a teenage girl’s dashing hero but a complicated man with anger issues and no track record of lasting relationships.
That’s why she’d crept out of his SoHo loft at dawn six weeks earlier without saying goodbye and why she’d never called. As to why she couldn’t bring herself to throw away his number...
She could say she’d kept the business card because he owed her a photo. A single portrait of her that she’d paid twenty-three dollars for. Even though she could afford to walk away from the paltry sum, a thrill that was half terror and half delight danced down her spine at the thought of demanding that he honor their verbal contract and give her what he promised. Sammi knew she’d never go through with it. What use did she have for an image of herself that exposed her soul?
Absolutely none.
Which brought her to this moment and a whole new purpose for reaching out to Oliver.
“What do you mean you’re quitting modeling?” her mother demanded. She threw her arm wide to indicate the gorgeous apartment with stunning views. “How are we going to afford this if you quit?”
“We are not,” Sammi said, her voice cracking beneath a burden of exhaustion and worry.
In the two weeks since the pregnancy test had been positive, she’d been overwhelmed by pregnancy hormones and anxiety about the future. Tired all the time and brought low by morning sickness, Sammi found herself paralyzed about the changes rushing at her. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and shut out the world. But her mother’s expectations drove her relentlessly.
Celeste frowned. “Then where do you think we’re going to go?”
“I don’t know where you are going to go,” she said, cringing away from her mother’s dismay, hating the guilt that flared at her mother’s fear. For years Celeste had been a drain on Sammi’s finances. Why couldn’t she be at peace about cutting ties? “I’m going to move somewhere I can afford.”
The thought of living on her own filled Sammi with a perplexing mixture of relief and dismay. Her mother had been with her all her life, directing Sammi’s career, pushing her to work harder, interfering in her daughter’s personal life until Sammi wasn’t sure she could succeed on her own. Frustrated by such unwelcome doubts, she shoved all emotion aside and focused on dealing with her mother’s escalating dissatisfaction.
“Somewhere you can afford?” Celeste demanded. “What about me? What am I supposed to do?” As fast as a snake could strike, Celeste’s tone went from outrage to self-pity. “Have you thought about me at all?”
“I have.”
In fact, Sammi had thought a great deal about her mother. About how Celeste had pushed her daughter into an industry before she was a year old. An industry that had defined her worth by how she appeared. Sammi wasn’t a top model in New York—although she’d had a great deal of success overseas—but by working her ass off, she had a significant income. Money that supported her mother in style. A mother who’d emigrated from the Philippines because she wanted a different life for her daughter. A mother who’d capitalized on that daughter’s beauty and was now reaping the benefits of Sammi’s success with a comfortable Manhattan apartment and luxurious lifestyle.
“I don’t believe you,” Celeste snarled. “This is just like you to jump before you’ve thought everything through.”
Sammi wished she had snappy answers to give to her mother, a definite plan all worked out. It was just that she so rarely got to think for herself.
“Just because I don’t have all the answers doesn’t mean I haven’t given this a great deal of thought.”
Noting her daughter’s defensive stance, Celeste’s gaze narrowed, and she capitalized on Sammi’s uncertainty. “Well, you should just continue modeling while you figure it out.”
Why? Because Sammi had wanted to figure out what she would do with the
