that she couldn’t get past it, no matter what methods she tried. The only thing she’d discovered to take her mind off her anxiety was losing herself in work.
Bailey observed the body language of the expressionless models as they towered above the seated audience, commanding the attention of every eye in the room. She had been modeling professionally for ten years now, since she was sixteen years old, but she was always looking for ways to improve her craft.
She tried to concentrate on the images on the screen, but her brain was having none of it. A sickening feeling settled in Bailey’s stomach as she set the iPad on the coffee table. What else could she do to convince people that she wasn’t some drugged-out fiend?
It wasn’t as if she could blame the media for their speculation. She’d been found unconscious with a bag of cocaine in her hands. On the surface it appeared to be the same old story that had been played out countless times before—a model who was caught up in the high life of hard partying. Why should they believe anything she said when she had that kind of evidence against her?
The police department’s insistence that her family not share the details of the attack had her hands tied. The only thing she could do was continue to insist that she was the same Bailey Hamilton. If only she could figure out a way to remind the public of the person she had been before her disappearance.
Bailey stopped short. Maybe Micah could help.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not a good idea.”
She’d just learned firsthand what could happen when the media got too close. She would be crazy to deliberately invite a reporter into her personal space.
But Micah was not like the rest of them. Bailey had sensed that from the minute she’d sat across from him in September. He’d projected a genuineness that had put her at ease. And the documentary he’d suggested was entirely different from her dealings with the media thus far. She could call an end to it if she felt the need. She would be more in control.
She typed “Bailey Hamilton on Connect” into the search box on her iPad. Several clips of the interview popped up in the results.
Her chin in her hand, Bailey watched the interview for the first time. She was never comfortable in interviews, and it showed on her face. The tight lines around her mouth and that fake laugh she’d just given when Micah had asked her about her yoga ritual were both evidence of her nervousness.
She inwardly cringed as she watched herself prattle on about her very first fashion show, but it was Micah’s next question and her subsequent answer that caused her entire being to quake with dread. He’d asked about her prerunway ritual. Bailey gripped the iPad in both hands, in shock as she stared at herself talking about her routine of arriving to the show site early so she could perform a walk-through of her runway journey.
“Oh, my God,” she said, lifting a shaky hand to cover her mouth.
That was how her attacker had known where to find her. She had just given step-by-step instructions.
“What were you thinking?” she whispered.
She knew what she had not been thinking—that someone had been plotting something sinister against her. How could she have known that answering a perfectly innocent question would turn her world upside down?
That was just it—she could not have known. Just as Micah could not have known that asking such a question would lead to some madman abducting her. She didn’t know Micah very well, but Bailey knew he would never have intentionally put her in harm’s way.
As she studied his face on the screen, that odd warmth she’d experienced the first time she’d met him crawled its way across her skin. There was no denying that he was handsome, with his medium-brown complexion and those intelligent, intense eyes. She’d felt instantly at ease with him, as if it had been just the two of them enjoying an intimate chat.
It had been easy to let her guard down, and it could have very well been her downfall. She would be smarter the second time around.
Wait. Who said there would be a second time around? She had already decided against doing this documentary. She would be crazy to allow Micah Jones to dig into her life.
Of course, if she dictated what was covered in the documentary, it could be the perfect vehicle to do what she had been trying to do with the press conference yesterday. She could convince everyone that she was still the same Bailey. She could control what was said about her.
She could find a semblance of normal.
Bailey stared at the phone for a moment before picking it up.
“Micah Jones,” he answered after the first ring. His voice was solid. Professional. And very, very nice.
Bailey cleared her throat. “Hello again, Mr. Jones. This is Bailey Hamilton.”
There was a slight pause, then, “Uh, Bailey. Hi.”
She could tell she’d shocked him. A bit of that polish had left his voice.
“I may have been a bit rash during your earlier phone call. I’d like to hear more about this documentary you want to do,” she said before she could talk herself out of it. “Are you still interested?”
“Absolutely,” he said, the rest of his professionalism going out the window. He sounded as if he’d just won a sweepstakes. “What made you change your mind?”
“I considered what you said, that this would be my chance to tell my story.”
“There are a lot of people waiting to hear it,” he said. His voice had a soothing cadence—he could land a job as a late-night radio host with ease.
“Do you want to meet at RHD’s studio?” he asked.
Bailey opened her eyes with a start. She hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed.
“Uh, what was that?” she asked.
“I asked if you maybe wanted to meet at RHD. I figure I’ll have to sell the idea to your entire family before we can move forward.”
She snorted a laugh. “You understand how the Hamilton family operates.”
“It’s well-known that your family is a close unit, Bailey.”
“Yes, that closeness is both a blessing and a curse.”
“Really?” She could practically see his quizzical frown. “In what way?”
“Never mind that.” She was not in the mood for delving into her family issues, especially with someone she barely knew. “Does tomorrow work for you?”
“Tomorrow is perfect.” He paused for a moment. “I have a couple of hours in the afternoon. Can we set up something at one?”
“I can manage that.” It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do.
“Thanks for agreeing to this, Bailey.”
“The only thing I’ve agreed to do so far is to meet with you,” she reminded him.
“Thanks for even that
