Seduction and Lies

Danielle gripped the handle of her oversize black leather portfolio and stabbed the button for the elevator. Impatiently she tapped her foot, encased in black alligator sling backs with three-inch heels. The finishing touch was her Sean John designer shades, which gave her a hint of mystery. More times than she could count, she’d been mistaken for the songstress Alicia Keys, and although she’d had several opportunities to profit from the mistake, she never had.

The elevator bell dinged and the stainless steel doors soundlessly slid open. She stepped on with two other riders.

Preston’s offices were on the thirty-fifth floor of the glass and steel tower. She watched the numbers light up as they ascended.

“Love that jacket,” the woman standing next to her said.

Danielle turned. “Thanks.”

“Anyone ever tell you look like Alicia Keys?”

Danielle gave a slight smile. “Every now and then.”

The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “If you’re ever interested in modeling work, give me a call. I do a whole thing with celebrity look-alikes.”

Danielle took the card just as the doors opened on her floor. “Thanks.” She stepped off.

“Call me. I’d love to work with you.”

Danielle took a quick look at the woman before the doors closed. She walked away, shaking her head in amusement, and stuck the card in her jacket pocket.

She strode down the corridor toward the glass doors with the Michael Preston logo on them. She drew in a breath and pressed the buzzer.

“Yes?” came the voice through the intercom from the fashionista sitting at the desk on the other side of the glass door.

“Danielle Holloway to see Mr. Preston.”

The lock buzzed and the door slowly swooshed inward. She entered a space that could only be described as classy. Sleek elegance in simple black and white. Bursting blooms of exotic plants showcased in glass bowls sat majestically on low tables. The stark white walls were adorned with near life-size photographs of models wearing Michael’s creations. The frames matched the walls so perfectly that the images seemed to float. It was a powerful optical illusion.

A stunning young woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty greeted her. She was pencil thin with startling blue eyes and a mane of strawberry-blond hair that fell straight as a board down the center of her back, held away from her heart-shaped face with a tortoiseshell headband.

“Good morning.” She stuck out her hand, which Danielle shook. Her thin lips tinged in dramatic fuchsia widened to reveal a brilliantly perfect smile. “My name is Tasha, Michael’s assistant. If you’ll follow me, we can get started.”

We?

Danielle followed Tasha and the scent of patchouli that wafted around her down a short carpeted hallway, turning right along another that was three times the length of the first. Behind either side of the glass walls, designers were busy at work, their creations in various stages of construction.

Tasha led her to the end of the hallway and opened a heavy inlaid wooden door with Conference Room etched in gold on the front. She stepped aside to let Danielle enter.

Danielle expected to see Michael sitting behind a desk, but he wasn’t.

“Please have a seat, I’m eager to see some of your work.”

Trying not to show her confusion, which bordered on annoyance, Danielle laid her portfolio on a table that could easily seat twenty, and she unzipped it.

“Uh, is Mr. Preston going to be joining us?”

Tasha gave a little laugh. “Michael is out of town. But not to worry. If I like what I see, he likes what I see.”

Danielle blew out a silent breath. This chick wasn’t old enough to know the difference between commercial photography and Photoshop.

“Actually, I’m a fan of yours,” Tasha said, as she sat down and began reviewing Danielle’s work.

“Really?” The knot in her stomach loosened.

“I’ve studied your work at Parsons and The New School for Design in my advertising and marketing classes.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “I had no idea.”

“You have a very distinct style, Ms. Holloway. I could pick your shots out from a crowd any day.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

There was that little laugh again. “I think so.”

Tasha closed the book before she was even halfway finished. Not a good sign, Danielle thought.

“I’d like to take you on a tour of the design floor—get your impressions—and then we can wrap up in my office.”

A little more than an hour and a half later, Danielle was sitting behind the wheel of her Navigator with a retainer check in her hand for ten thousand dollars.

Her head was still spinning. She’d actually landed the account. She was to be the official photographer for the Michael Preston fall collection.

Her photographs would be on his Web site, in his catalogs and all of his promotional material. They’d wind up in every fashion magazine across the country and in Europe.

She didn’t even care why they needed a new photographer. All she knew was that she had finally taken her business to the next level.

This called for some serious celebrating. Under normal circumstances Mia would offer to whip up one of her fabulous meals at her house, since she was the only one of the trio who could really cook. But because she was out of town, Danielle and Nick would have to go out.

She reached for her cell phone to call Nick and give him the good news when the phone chirped in her hand, indicating she had a message waiting. She dialed into her voice mail.

It was Savannah. Danielle’s training was to start tonight. She was to come to the TLC headquarters at eight.

Well, that put a wrinkle in things, Danielle thought as she put the SUV in gear and drove off.

Chapter 5

Danielle pulled up to the photo shoot site in midtown Manhattan. As usual, the area had its curious onlookers, but for the most part New Yorkers, who are used to seeing just about anything and everybody, pretty much took a peek and went on their way.

She tossed her parking permit on her dashboard, grabbed her equipment from the passenger seat and hopped out. She ducked under the tape that separated the set from the pedestrians and weaved in and out of the crew until she reached Nick’s side.

“How’s it going?” she whispered in his ear, causing him to jump in surprise.

Nick turned to her, a smile blooming on his face. He leaned down for a quick kiss. “You made it. Things are cool here. The usual drama. Let’s take ten,” he shouted. “So tell me what happened.” He slid his arm around her waist and ushered her away from the crowd.

“Wellll.” She dragged the word out. “I got it!” She jumped up and down doing a happy dance.

Nick swept her up in his arms and spun her around, drawing the wide-eyed stares of passersby. “Oh, baby—I’m so happy for you!” He kissed her lips.

“Happy for us. This is a package deal. It’s you and me babe. And I have a ten-thousand-dollar check to prove it.”

“Whoa, this is definitely cause for celebration.” He pulled her close. “What do you want to do? You name it.”

Her heart began to pound. “Well, how about we, uh, plan something for the weekend. Just the two of us.”

He gave a slight shrug. “Sure. I didn’t think you would want to wait that long.”

“We have a crazy week ahead of us and it will be the perfect way to end it.” She stroked his jaw.

“Whatever you want,” he said halfheartedly.

“Good.” She pecked him on the lips. “Now bring me up to speed with the shoot,” she said, smoothly switching into business mode.

Danielle followed Nick back over to the set, half listening to him as she tried to think of an excuse for why she would be away for the evening.

“So what are you going to tell him?” Savannah asked.

Danielle turned her back to the people on the set and cradled her phone a bit closer. “I have no idea. Any suggestions? What did you tell Blake during your training?”

“For one thing, Blake and I didn’t work together, and he was so accustomed to me working overtime at the law firm that I never really had to come up with an explanation.”

“Great,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve already used the shopping-for-cribs excuse.”

“Dani!” one of her crew members called out.

She turned in the direction of the voice.

“We need you over here.”

“Be right there,” she shouted over the noise of traffic. “Gotta go,” she said to Savannah. “If you think of anything, call me.”

“Will do.”

Danielle disconnected the call, stuck her BlackBerry in the case on her hip and joined her team.

The photo shoot was an ad campaign for Lincoln Center’s fall season. The bevy of models were attired in gorgeous evening gowns from the Vera Wang collection. They had to shoot them from a variety of angles: getting in and out of cars, walking through the plaza and of course the establishing shot in front of the fountain. The shoot itself was easy. The hard part was keeping would-be passersby from straying into the shots. After five long hours, they called it a wrap for the day.

“I figured as long as you didn’t want to go out and celebrate we could celebrate, at home,” Nick said to Danielle as they packed up their equipment. “Nice home-cooked meal, some champagne, and then I’ll make love to you like I’ve been hungry to do all day.” He winked at her.

“Sounds perfect.” She screwed her lens cap on her camera and put it in its case, then hoisted it up on her shoulder by the strap.

“You could sound a little more enthusiastic.”

“Sorry. Just a little headache.”

“Hmm, we have some Tylenol at home, but if you can’t wait, we can stop and get something.”

She waved off his offer. “No. I’ll be okay. Just the sun, the work and all the excitement. I’ll be fine.”

Nick stared at her a moment, then took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, the way you’re acting. Like…I don’t know, like you’re hiding something.”

She made a face. “Hiding something,” she echoed. “Don’t be silly.”

“Hey, whatever. When the real Danielle Holloway gets back, let me know. I’m going to the gym.” He walked off toward his car, got behind the wheel and drove off.

Danielle’s shoulders slumped as if the air had been let out of her. She couldn’t go on lying to Nick, but what choice did she have? Maybe this whole TLC thing wasn’t for her after all. Yet it was something she felt compelled to do from deep down inside. It wasn’t the case itself. It was about proving to herself that she could be so much more than just a pretty face, someone’s girlfriend, good in bed. It would provide personal satisfaction to take on something challenging, something that didn’t come easily to her, like everything else in her life. She’d always gotten a pass because of how she looked. Most times it had nothing to do with her ability. And a part of her always felt inadequate as a result. This was different. She knew that it would challenge her relationship with Nick. But it was a risk she needed to take—for herself.

She waved goodbye to her crew and the models and headed to her ride. Then it hit her. Nick was going to the gym. She knew his routine. He would go home, drop off his equipment, change into his exercise gear, then head out. He’d be gone at least three hours. She checked her watch. It was six forty-five. If she played it right, she could be home from her meeting before Nick got back from the gym.

She hopped behind the wheel of her vehicle, pulled out her BlackBerry and dialed Savannah.

“I have a real short window,” she said, checking before pulling out into traffic. “Nick is going to the gym.”

“Great.”

“How long do you think this will take?”

“No more than an hour. It’s basically orientation, signing confidentiality papers, getting contact info and the CD with TLC information on it.”

Danielle blew out a breath. “Okay. I can manage that.”

“Call me later and let me know how it went.”

“I will.”

Danielle disconnected the call and headed across town. Hopefully, Nick had gone to his own gym down in the West Village and not Pause for Men.

The last of the rush-hour traffic extended Danielle’s half-hour drive to nearly an hour. It was all the residual effects of the U.N. Summit, which had tied the city in knots for almost a week.

She eased onto 135th Street in Harlem, on the lookout for any signs of Nick’s car. She pulled the Navigator around the corner and parked. It was only seven forty. She hoped Ms. Jean “Rules and Regulations” Wallington-Armstrong didn’t mind her being early.

She approached the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. Bernard Hassell was crossing the street in the direction of Pause for Men. His back was almost to her, but if he turned his head, she’d be right in his line of vision. She took several steps backward, ducked around the corner and watched him from the side of the building until he’d gone inside.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could barely breathe. For a moment she shut her eyes and shook her head. This was crazy, she thought, before easing around the corner. She hurried to the building, intermittently checking the house across the street. At the downstairs door she rang the bell, and the few seconds that ticked by seemed like an eternity.

“Good evening, Ms. Holloway. Nice to see you again,” Margaret said. “Jean is waiting for you. Go right up. Do you remember the way?” she asked, stepping aside to let Danielle in.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I remember. Are you here…full-time?” Danielle asked as they entered the foyer.

“You could say that. With all that’s going on in the world, solving its problems is a full-time job.” She stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Danielle turned to her. “Good luck,” Margaret said with a wise smile. “You’ll be fine.” She turned and walked away.

I sure as hell hope so, Danielle thought as she walked upstairs.

When Danielle approached the door, she could hear Jean talking to someone. She didn’t hear anyone else and realized she was on the phone. For an instant she debated about announcing herself or listening for a minute. Her curiosity won out.

“…I understand that. Is there really a reason to get Homeland Security involved? I see. You know I’ll help in any way that I can on the local level. You do understand that the people I’m working for on this case cannot be involved. It’s the reason why I was hired. Of course. Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.”

What the hell was that about? Danielle wondered. She stepped up to the door and knocked.

“Come in.”

She entered as Jean was hanging up the phone.

“Close the door, please.”

Danielle did as she was asked, crossed the room and sat down.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Jean said, a line of worry bunching her brows together. She went to a file cabinet on the far side of the room and took out a thick folder, then brought it to her desk. She flipped the folder open and put on her pink-framed glasses.

“We’ve completed our background check on you Danielle, and for the most part everything came back fine.” She extracted several photographs and pushed them across the table.

It was a series of pictures of her with Savannah and Mia at The Shop, her and Nick several weeks ago on one of their evening walks, her getting into her SUV, and even a photograph from that morning of her visit to Michael Preston’s studio.

Her eyes flashed at Jean. “You’ve been following me?”

“Of course.” She pushed another document across the table. It was her credit report and another series of papers detailing her entire life, everything from where she lived to the schools she’d attended, her parents’ information and the loan from the bank to get her business operational.

“It’s very easy to find out anything you want about someone. It’s the business we’re in. And of course we had to be sure that your lifestyle and your associations wouldn’t hamper your ability to do this job. I’m sure you understand.”

Danielle didn’t know what she understood or what she thought. She felt so violated that she was speechless.

“Any questions?”

Danielle blinked. “No,” she murmured.

“Good.” She opened her desk drawer and took out a very legal-looking document and passed it to Danielle. “Please look this over, and if you agree, I’ll need your signature.”

It was pretty much what Savannah described: a confidentiality statement in addition to a clause that stated if she were caught, the Cartel would do what they could from behind the scenes, but they would never acknowledge her association with them. Her temples began to pound.

If she was caught. Ugly images filled her head, first of old, dank warehouses with her inside—tied to a chair and being interrogated by men in dark clothes and indistinguishable features—filled her head, then of a two-bunk cell that she shared with a woman whose nickname was Big Bertha and, finally, being thrown from a speeding car onto some desolate road, where she’d be left for the vultures—man or beast.

She stared at the words until they blurred. Her and her big mouth. She could have said she was busy, too. She wouldn’t have been lying. But, noooo, she had to volunteer and even asked for a gun. God, Savannah was her dearest friend, and she would do anything in the world for her, but this…Identity theft sounded mundane on the surface, but what if it wasn’t?

What had she gotten herself into?

“Is there a problem?”

Jean’s strident voice snapped the final thread that connected Danielle the woman she was to Danielle the woman she was crossing the threshold to becoming. If she signed her name, there was no turning back. For a moment she hung suspended, unsure whether to leap across or crawl back to the other side.

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