a backbone,” he said just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Until then Paula and needy people just like her are going to walk all over you every time.”
He stepped off the elevator and Lyra wanted nothing more than to follow him and keep the argument going, but that would be futile. She was always the one to get upset, to yell and scream and develop a mega headache trying to prove her point to Dion Donovan. And he was the one who kept a cool head, a sarcastic tone and deflected each and every argument she came up with. Some things never changed.
Chapter 4
“Tomorrow is the Vina Vanell shoot. She’s on the October cover with a feature story that coincides with the release of her new CD.”
“And she just announced her engagement and confirmed her baby bump with rapper Jride,” Lyra finished Regan’s sentence typing notes into the calendar on her iPad.
Regan was an editor at Infinity. She mainly focused on the celebrity aspect of the magazine, leaving the business profiles and features to her brother Savian. Regan had always loved the glitz and glamour of Hollywood growing up. Lyra remembered spending endless nights at her house, where they dressed in all Regan’s pretty gowns and pretended they were walking the red carpet. Lyra always hated that, standing and posing, smiling and gesturing. She would’ve much rather been on the sidelines with the paparazzi getting the perfect shot, not arriving in a limo and wearing a designer dress.
“You know about that, huh?” Regan asked, crossing one long, evenly tanned leg over the other, showing off another one of her passions, shoes. They were platforms, copper and black in a lace print with five-inch heels that only added to Regan’s already-tall stature.
“I hear things,” Lyra said with a smile.
They were in her office. She had an office, Lyra thought with an inward smile. In L.A. she’d been working for Jacque Landow, one of the best-known photographers around. Then Mark had gotten the job offer in Miami and announced he was coming back home, about ten seconds after he asked her to marry him. A twinge of nervous energy slid over her and she sat up in her chair, focusing more on the calendar than she needed to.
“Then Friday there’s the Heat game. They’re in the NBA Finals, so getting good shots of the Big Three is crucial.”
“Right,” Regan said nodding. “And next Saturday’s the gala. Have you gotten a dress yet? Probably not. I know how you hate shopping, even though I’m loving that blouse you’re wearing. I have the coolest royal blue mini that would be perfect with it, because those pants aren’t doing a damned thing for you.”
That was Regan, too, the fashion guru, and forever trying to be a stylist for Lyra.
“I like what I’m wearing. It’s comfortable and professional so it works just fine.”
“If you’re a nun,” Regan joked.
Lyra didn’t laugh but did look down at her gray Ann Taylor low-ride pants and sensible black pumps. Her top was a crisp white button-down with sleeves she’d folded because they were too long and she hated when her clothes interfered with her photography. She’d taken only a few shots this morning after Dion had left her at the elevator. The shots were mostly of the office, no one in particular, just things that caught her eye. She’d been eager to feel the camera in her hands, to hear the click of the shutter capturing a moment in time.
“I like my outfit,” she murmured again.
“Of course you do. So listen, what about the wedding? When’s the big day? And what are we wearing? I’m putting in my bid right now for fuchsia. I look great in pinks.”
Lyra had to smile at that. Regan Lorae Donovan looked great in a dirty lamp shade and wrinkled sheet. She was a classic beauty, not stunning or striking, but still good-looking. On the other hand, Lyra saw herself as cute, not plain Jane or someone to write home about, but reasonably attractive. When she stood next to Regan, Lyra figured her cuteness was ratcheted up a couple notches, but that wasn’t something she strived for. Being in the spotlight was not important to Lyra.
“Not sure,” she answered glibly, and knew in that instant she’d said the wrong thing.
“What do you mean ‘not sure’?” Not sure about the date or not sure about marrying Mark?”
Now Lyra had two options—she could lie and say she was simply not sure about the date and Regan would immediately know she was lying. She’d push even harder to get the truth. Or she could simply fess up and finally confide everything that had been weighing on her mind.
“Both. Kind of…” She sat back in the chair and waited for Regan’s barrage of questions that surprisingly didn’t come.
“You don’t want to marry him.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“You’ve been with him off and on for around nine years, but you don’t want to marry him?” Regan continued.
“You make it sound so awful, like I’m a terrible person or something. I’m just a little undecided.”
Regan nodded, tapping a finger to her chin and pursing her frosted lips. “Let’s just add up the pros of Mark Stanford. He’s damned fine, and I mean fine with a capital F. He’s now CEO for one of the fastest-growing social-media sites, so he’s hella rich. He knows everyone that is anyone and he’s crazy about you.”
“And the cons?” Lyra asked hoping Regan could come up with more than Lyra had.
“Hmm.” She thought for a minute, her chin-length chestnut hair moving slightly as she tilted her head. “He drives a Hummer, which is by far one of the ugliest SUVs I’ve ever seen.”
Lyra erupted with laughter, which led to Regan doing the same until they were both almost in tears. Leave it to Regan to make her laugh when she was really down.
Taking a deep breath Lyra finally confided, “I just don’t know that I’m ready to marry him. Like, I know that one day I want to be married and to spend the rest of my life with the man of my dreams—or at least a man that I’m madly in love with. But I don’t know that it’s Mark. Do you understand that?”
Regan nodded. “I do. So what now? Are you going to tell him or go through with it because you think it’s the right thing to do? I know how you are. If you think you’re going against some unwritten rule or some nonsense, you’ll walk on hot coals or cut off your own hand.”
“Ever the drama queen,” Lyra said, just as her cell phone rang. She looked down at it and frowned. “It’s Mark.”
Regan nodded and stood. “And I’m leaving.”
“Go ahead and bail on me. That’s what you always do,” she whined.
“This is your pity party, and you’re about to be a runaway bride. You can catch me up later when we have dinner. I already made reservations for seven. Don’t be late, and change your clothes, please.”
Lyra waved Regan out of her office just as she answered the cell phone. “Hey, Mark.”
“Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to check and see how everything was going on your first
