Seduced by the Playboy Page 8

  “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

  At the sound of her girlfriend’s high-pitched voice, Angela spun around. Her friends Remy Foster and Farrah Washington were dressed to kill in short, flirty dresses and wearing huge matching smiles. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Angela said, throwing her arms around them. “It’s been forever since we hung out.”

  “Who you tellin’? It’s been so long, I forgot what you looked like!” Remy joked. “Let’s go grab a booth. I need some champagne.”

  Angela raised an eyebrow. “Champagne? Why? What are we celebrating?”

  “The fact that we’re the sexiest chicks in here!” Striking a model pose, Remy raised her chin and slid her bejeweled hands up and down her thick, voluptuous shape. “I’m killing them in this dress. Every guy in here is checking me out, especially the married ones!”

  Laughing, the three friends linked arms. A waiter arrived, and as he escorted them through the dining area, Angela spotted several famous faces partying in Dolce Vita. A Grammy Award–winning rock group and a movie icon and her latest boy toy were seated on a black velvet couch, posing for pictures and downing body shots.

  “Can I start you gorgeous ladies off with something from the bar?” the waiter asked, his head cocked and his pen poised to write on his notepad. “Some cocktails, maybe?”

  “For sure!” Remy picked up a menu and scanned it. “We’ll have a round of peach Bellinis and an appetizer basket with a double order of calamari.”

  “Coming right up!” The waiter nodded and then ran off.

  “I wonder what’s keeping Simone?” Farrah took her cell phone out of her purse. “I expected her to be here by now. She’s always on time.”

  “Simone’s not coming,” Angela said absently, scanning the bar for her camera crew. They were nowhere to be found, but Angela hoped when she was ready to resume filming, they’d be ready to work.

  “Are Jayden and Jordan okay?” Farrah wore a concerned face. “They didn’t catch that nasty stomach bug that’s been going around, did they?”

  Shaking her head, Angela abandoned her search for her crew. “No, the boys are fine. Marcus whisked Simone away to St. Bart’s for the weekend, and trust me, ladies, the girl’s on cloud nine!” Angela laughed. “She called a couple hours ago to let me know they arrived safely and to brag about sitting next to Hugh Jackman in first class.”

  Farrah snorted. “Why are we friends with her again?”

  “Because she’s one hell of a cook!” Remy hollered. Throwing her arms around her girlfriends, she hoisted her cell phone in the air and shrieked, “Say ‘cheese’!”

  Remy snapped picture after picture and then uploaded the images on her Facebook and Twitter accounts.

  “Remy, do you have to do that now?” Farrah asked, raising her voice above the noise in the dining room. “We came down here to have a good time, not to watch you play on your phone all night.”

  “Of course I have to load the pictures now. I want all my friends and frenemies to see how much fun I’m having at Dolce Vita!”

  Three waiters, carrying trays topped with enough food to feed a family of ten, swiftly entered the dining room. Stopping in front of the booth, they unloaded their trays on the raised mahogany table. “This isn’t our order,” Angela said, waving her hands out in front of her. “We ordered a round of Bellinis and an appetizer basket. That’s it.”

  “Shhh, girl.” Putting an index finger to her crimson-red lips, Remy jabbed Angela in the side with her elbow. “Don’t say anything. We’re about to get free food.”

  “This is courtesy of Demetri Morretti,” the blue-eyed waiter said. “After you finish eating dinner, he’d like you and your friends to join him in the VIP lounge.”

  “Tell him we’ll be there in ten minutes.” Remy grabbed a champagne flute and giggled. “Thanks, fellas. Everything looks delish!”

  A fourth waiter arrived, carrying the largest bouquet of yellow tulips Angela had ever seen, and he handed it to her. “These are for you, Ms. Kelly.”

  Angela sat there, dumbfounded. She couldn’t think or speak and was glad Farrah had the presence of mind to thank the waiters and give them a generous tip.

  “Thank you,” the headwaiter said. “We’ll be back shortly with the second course.”

  Farrah frowned. “The second course? Just how many courses are there?”

  “Seven,” the waiters said in unison.

  “Wonderful! Thanks, guys!” Remy said, shooting them a wink. “Hurry back!”

  “Wow, look at all this food,” Farrah gushed, her eyes big and wide. “And there’s still more to come. Demetri Morretti must really like you.”

  Remy shrieked. “Girl, you better go up to the VIP lounge and give him some! Hot, rich guys are hard to find, and if I were you, I’d do Demetri Morretti and do him well!”

  Her friends erupted in laughter.

  “Aren’t you going to read the card?” Farrah asked, pointing at the bouquet.

  Angela’s face flushed and her body stiffened. She then plucked the tiny white card out of the lavish bouquet. “‘To the most beautiful woman in the room,’” she read out loud, as if puzzled over the words. And she was. The last time she had seen Demetri they’d argued, and now, less than a week later, he was sending her yellow tulips. Her favorite flower. “‘I look forward to spending the rest of the night with you and your gorgeous friends.’”

  “I thought you and Demetri hated each other?”

  Angela stumbled over her words. “W-we do.”

  “Then why did he send over flowers, dinner and three bottles of Cristal?”

  “I don’t know, Farrah. Maybe he gets off on being insulted.”

  “There’s gotta be more to this story than you’re telling us,” Remy insisted. “You had wild, passionate sex with Demetri in your office, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not! I’d never do something like that.”

  Remy hollered, “I would!”

  “Come on,” Farrah pleaded. “Tell us what’s really going on between you and that gorgeous man. We’re your girls, remember?”

  As they ate, Angela told her girlfriends about what had happened with Demetri at Samson’s Gym and her conversation at the Espresso Bar with her boss. “Salem practically ordered me to speak to him tonight,” she said, staring down at the flower bouquet. “I wasn’t going to, but now it looks like I have to. Demetri’s obviously in a good mood, so I’m going to see if I can get him to reconsider the interview.”

  “What are you going to do if he shoots you down again?”

  “He won’t turn her down,” Remy said. “Angela’s got this in the bag.”

  Farrah glanced up from her plate. “Wow, you sound confident. What makes you so sure she’ll convince him to do her show?”

  “Because once this chick gets an idea in her mind, there’s just no stopping her!”

  “That’s true,” Farrah agreed.

  Overcome with confusion, Angela sat there, trying to figure out what Demetri Morretti was up to. This had to be yet another sophisticated ploy to deceive her. Or was it? Could the flowers have been a generous peace offering and nothing more? She shook her head, quickly pushing the later thought from her mind.

  Lowering her face into the bouquet, Angela closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, fragrant scent. Angela loved flowers and was a sucker for elaborate romantic gestures. This was easily the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. Dolce Vita was overrun with celebrities—rich, glamorous types whom legions of people envied—but she was the only woman who’d received flowers. And even more shocking, they were from a man who hated her!

  * * *

  “Are you still in a funk because that TV newscaster dissed you on her show?”

  Demetri didn’t have to look over his shoulder to
know his brothers were behind him. He was standing in front of the oversize window in the VIP room, surveying the scene down below, when Nicco and Rafael sidled up beside him. They stood well over six feet tall, both with a full head of wavy black hair. Dressed in their casual white suits, they could easily pass for Hugo Boss models.

  Nicco and Rafael were always ribbing him because he was the youngest, but tonight Demetri wasn’t in the mood for their teasing. “No, I’m straight. Forgot all about it.”

  “Then why are you over here crying in your drink?” Nicco broke into a hearty chuckle. “You look pitiful, bro, and you’re bringing down the mood in my bar. Get it together, man. Crying is bad for business!”

  “Shut up, Nicco. You don’t see me cracking on you for crashing your Maserati again.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, man, accidents happen.”

  Rafael wore a coy grin. “Maybe next time you’ll keep your hands on the wheel and off your girlfriend’s double Ds.”

  “What girlfriend? I’m single.”

  “What happened to the Playboy Bunny from Nepal?” Demetri asked.

  “She dumped me. Said I had trust issues.”

  “She’s right! You do!” Rafael and Demetri shouted in unison.

  “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” Nicco pointed a finger at Demetri. “You need to chill out and quit stressing. Who cares what the media says about you?”

  “I do. I’m sick of people dogging me out.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve always been sensitive.”

  Demetri raised his chin and straightened his bent shoulders. “I’m not sensitive.”

  “Yeah, you are,” Rafael insisted with a curt nod of his head. “You’re the sensitive one, Nicco’s the stubborn one, and I’m the cool, laid-back one who keeps you both in check.”

  The brothers chuckled.

  “Want me to talk to this Angela Kelly woman for you?” Nicco asked, hiding a self-incriminating grin. “I’ll tell her to quit bad-mouthing you on her show, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll storm into her studio, and... Oh, wait, you already did that!”

  Rafael playfully slapped Demetri’s shoulder. “Ignore him, D. I saw Angela Kelly in the lobby a few minutes ago, and she’s a stunner. If she had gone off on me like that, I’d be crying, too!”

  “She’s here? Are you sure?” Nicco asked, glancing wildly around the VIP room. “I personally thanked all the members of the media for coming tonight, but I definitely didn’t run across anyone from WJN-TV.”

  Rafael slowly swept his gaze through the main-floor bar and lounge. “There she is! In the corner booth across from the kitchen.”

  “I hope you never witness a crime, because you’d suck at describing the perp!” Nicco gestured to the crowd with his glass. “Could you be a little more descriptive? There are dozens of beauties in the lounge, and I still don’t have a clue who she is.”

  “Five-nine. Honey-brown skin. Killer curves.” Demetri’s hungry gaze slid down Angela’s trim, fit body. “Little black dress. Gold accessories. Nude pumps.”

  “Damn, bro, can you see what’s under her dress, too?”

  The brothers erupted in laughter.

  “Now I see why you’re bummed,” Nicco said with a frown. “Angela Kelly’s gorgeous, easily the sexiest woman in here tonight.”

  I know, and I can’t get her out of my mind! Demetri dragged a hand over his face. Since their run-in last week at the gym, he’d thought about Angela nonstop. After arriving home, he had called his publicist and ordered her to delete her blog post about Angela. He then spent the rest of the afternoon watching old episodes of Eye on Chicago online. The more he watched, the more intrigued he was about the fresh-faced beauty. And reading her online blog had given him an idea. When the waiter presented her with the lavish flower bouquet, her face lit up, and Demetri knew he was one step closer to earning her forgiveness.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nicco said, adjusting his collar. “Since I’m the owner of this fine establishment, I’m going downstairs to introduce myself to Angela Kelly.”

  “I bet that’s not all you’re going to do,” Demetri grumbled. The thought of his brother stepping to Angela made his temperature rise. He didn’t want anyone, especially a smooth talker like Nicco, putting the moves on Angela. Not when he was trying to make peace with her.

  That’s not all you’re trying to do, jeered his inner voice.

  “Be careful,” Rafael warned. “If you piss her off she’ll crucify you on her show!”

  Nicco gave a hearty chuckle. “I know. That’s why I’m going to welcome her to Dolce Vita and tell the waiters to give her the star treatment.”

  Rafael cocked an eyebrow. “And get her number, too, right?”

  “A man can never have too many beautiful women in his life...”

  “Hey, guys!” Nichola said, her smile bright and her tone filled with enthusiasm.

  Rafael gave her a one-arm hug. “Are you having a good time or is this guy making you work the room?”

  “I’m having a blast. The lounge is packed with celebrities and the food is crazy-good!” Nichola pointed a finger at the bar. “Demetri, I need you to do a quick interview with the guy from Sports Chicago. He’s been waiting to talk to you for the last hour, and he’s starting to get antsy.”

  “Go do your interview,” Nicco said. “I have some business to attend to anyways.”

  “We’ll hook up later, bro!”

  His brothers strode off, leaving Demetri alone with his publicist. Demetri didn’t want to talk to the guy from Sports Chicago or any other press about his shoulder injury. Not tonight. He wanted to hang out with his friends and talk to Angela Kelly—alone, in private. At the thought of her, he sneaked a glance over his shoulder. He watched Angela exit her booth, with her girlfriends in tow, and wondered where she was rushing off to. Sailing through the lounge, the gorgeous trio left a trail of mesmerized, wide-eyed men in their wake.

  “If you do this interview, I won’t bother you for the rest of the night.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

  “Don’t be silly. I can’t do that!” Giggling, she waved off his comment with a flick of her hand. “It’s my job to keep your name in the press and get you free publicity, remember?”

  “I know. I know. That’s what you keep telling me.” Removing the cap on his water bottle, Demetri nodded at the portly reporter, sitting alone at the end of the bar. “Let’s get this over and done with so I can get back to having fun.”

  “That’s the spirit! Let’s give a great interview and land a cover story!”

  Chapter 9

  “I can’t find them anywhere!” Arms folded, her teeth clenched in suppressed rage, Angela searched frantically around the lounge, hoping to find her crew among the well-heeled diners. She wondered if the lead anchor had a hand in this. The lead anchor, a distinguished older man with refined mannerisms, was always trying to embarrass her, and this was just the sort of thing he’d put the guys up to. “How am I supposed to interview the season-two winner of The Song if I don’t have a cameraman?”

  “We’re wasting precious time,” Remy complained, tapping one of her sandal-clad feet impatiently on the floor. “Time we should be spending in the VIP lounge partying with Demetri Morretti and his rich baller friends.”

  “I’m not here to party, Remy. I’m here to work.”

  “But your crew bailed on you! As I see it, you’re done for the night.”

  Angela took her cell phone out of her purse. She didn’t want to bother Salem on her night off, but her boss had a right to know what was going on. Angela dialed her number and it went to voice mail. She left a message and then searched the dance floor for any signs of her crew.

  “I didn’t get dolled up to stand around doing nothing,” R
emy complained. “I’m going to the VIP lounge to meet some men. Are you coming or not?”

  Angela couldn’t help but laugh. There was never a dull moment when the man-crazed makeup artist was around. When they reached the entrance of the VIP lounge and her friends squealed with joy, Angela cracked up. Guests were mingling, posing for pictures, and the blonde female DJ was forcing dancers into a gyrating frenzy. Two brunettes, wearing itty-bitty dresses and blinding smiles, stood at the door offering glasses of champagne and an eyeful of cleavage.

  When Angela stepped inside the lounge, the first person she saw was Demetri Morretti. He looked handsome and cool. Like the kind of man she usually lusted after. It was the first time Angela had seen Demetri without his baseball cap on, and his short textured hair gave him a mature look. He was standing at the back of the room, chatting with his publicist and a slim man with a straggly ponytail.

  Watching him, Angela decided that the editors at J’ magazine were right. Demetri Morretti was the best-looking man on the planet. Hands down. None of the other men featured in the magazine even came close. He was immaculately groomed, and his casual white shirt, leather jacket and blue jeans fit his toned, ripped physique perfectly. He was fine in every sense of the word and had the sexiest set of lips Angela had ever seen. But his best feature was his eyes. They were dark, filled with intrigue and framed with long eyelashes. Demetri Morretti was a chick magnet, and Angela noticed everyone—from the pop singer to the mayor’s daughter—blatantly check him out.

  “Oh, my God! Nicco Morretti’s here!” Remy grabbed Angela’s forearm and gave it a hard squeeze. “Girl, you have to introduce me.”

  “Me?” Angela touched a hand to her chest. “Why me? I don’t even know the guy.”

  “Yeah, but his younger brother is crushing on you, bad.”

  “Forget it, Remy. Every time I introduce you to someone, I end up regretting it.”

  “Come on. Be a good sport,” she begged, her voice shrill. “You don’t want to stand in the way of true love, do you?”