me. Celebrities have the best of everything, but they’re always bitching and complaining about how hard life is. Ugh. Rich people make me sick.” Her cheeks turned beet red, and a sheepish expression appeared on her face. “Present company excluded of course.”
Jordana caught Dante’s eye and mouthed, “Be nice. She’s my best friend.”
Nodding, he smiled to assure her everything was okay. And it was. Dante was used to women talking crazy and asking him personal questions, especially about Emilio—one of the best race-car drivers of all time—so he didn’t take offense to her roommate’s comments. Waverly was hilarious, outspoken and brash, and Dante wanted to get to know her better.
Yeah, agreed his inner voice. So she can help you win over Jordana!
“Is it true you have five brothers?” Waverly asked.
“Yes, and three are single.”
Waverly licked her lips. “Do tell.”
“Romeo is an investment banker based in Milan, Enrique is an entrepreneur with a slew of successful exotic-car dealerships in Europe and Markos is a celebrity divorce lawyer here in LA.”
“I’ll take the divorce attorney,” she said quickly, with a girlish laugh. “Mrs. Waverly Morretti sounds classy and sophisticated, don’t you think?”
“One tall, dark and handsome attorney coming right up!”
The women cracked up, and the sound made his chest puff up with pride. Dante loved making Jordana laugh, and would poke fun at himself just to see her smile. Always positive and upbeat, she was a light who glowed from within, and he enjoyed spending time with her—even though her heart belonged to another man.
“Dinner’s served,” Jordana announced, gesturing to the table. “Let’s eat. I’m famished.”
“You guys go ahead.” Dante found the Chicago Royals game on TV, used the remote control to increase the volume, and scanned the dugout for his cousin. “I’m not hungry.”
Her eyes narrowed, darkened. “You’re still expected to sit at the table.”
By whom? he thought, confused by her words. “I’m watching the game.”
Planting her hands on her hips, she flashed him an are-you-out-of-your-mind expression and Dante knew he was in trouble. He’d seen her angry only once—when he’d “accidentally” deposited money into her bank account—and he shuddered at the memory of their explosive argument on Christmas Eve. She’d returned the money, after cursing him out in English and Spanish. To this day he still didn’t understand why she’d gone ballistic on him.
“My house, my rules,” she quipped, pointing at an empty chair. “Now, sit.”
Her bossy, take-charge attitude made his erection rise and his mouth wet. Jordana was a freethinker who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and Dante enjoyed her fiery, spirited personality. They couldn’t be more different, and had nothing in common. Logical and decisive, Dante knew what he wanted out of life, where he was going and how to get there. Jordana, on the other hand, was still finding herself. She was as carefree as a butterfly in the wind. “You’re too pretty to be so mean,” he joked, hoping to make her laugh. “Be nice, Jordana, or I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re bullying me!”
Jordana’s scowl deepened, wrinkling her smooth skin, but Waverly cracked up.
“Good one,” she said. “And if you need her mom’s number just let me know.”
Hearing his cell phone beep, he took it out of his pocket. The text was from Lourdes, and she wasn’t happy. Reading her message annoyed him. For the second time that evening Dante wondered what he’d ever seen in the celebrity hairstylist.
Where are you? Bring Matteo home now or else...
A scowl curled his lips. Lourdes had some nerve telling him what to do. But since he wanted to keep the peace, he stood, took his car keys out of his back pocket and switched off the television. “I better take Matteo home. It’s a school night.”
“I understand.” Jordana nodded, dropping her hands at her sides. “Maybe next time.”
“But I don’t want to go. I want to stay for dessert.”
Crouching beside Matteo’s chair, she smiled and touched his cheek. “You can take some brownies with you. How does that sound?”
“Great!” Beaming, Matteo gathered his things, throwing them inside his backpack.
“Thanks again, Jordana. I owe you one.”
“No problem. That’s what friends are for.”
Minutes later, Dante left the apartment with Matteo in tow, carrying a container filled with vegan brownies. As they boarded the elevator, Dante noticed Jordana waving at them, and he smiled in return. He loved her energy, how bubbly and effervescent she was, and as the elevator doors slid closed a curious thought—one he’d had many times in recent months—popped into his mind. Why couldn’t I have married someone like Jordana? Someone warm and loving and caring who puts others’ needs above her own?
It’s not too late, said his inner voice, drowning out the doubts playing in his mind. Make your move and let the chips fall where they may.
Dante rejected the thought, refusing to consider it. Jordana was smart, with a great head on her shoulders, but they could never be a couple. There were just some things a man didn’t do, especially a man of his stature, and hooking up with a friend’s ex was one of them. He desired her, sure, but some rules weren’t meant to be broken.
Jordana was miserable, more depressed than a high school senior without a prom date, and her telemarketing job was the reason why. Only three hours into her shift, and she wanted to go home and crawl into bed. Massaging her temples, she kicked off her gold ballet flats, and took a moment to gather herself. Ringing telephones, animated chatter and country music filled the air. The incessant noise inside LA Marketing Enterprises made it hard for her to think.
Her thoughts wandered, returning to the conversation she’d had with the loud, hostile Texan minutes earlier. Making fundraising calls on behalf of charitable organizations was an honorable endeavor, something to be proud of, but Jordana was tired of being a human punching bag. People insulted her on a daily basis, calling her horrible, vulgar names. But she couldn’t defend herself. She’d worked numerous jobs since moving to LA, everything from waitressing to babysitting and tutoring, but nothing was more intolerable than being a telemarketer.
What have I done? What was I thinking? Why did I leave my cushy job with the Robinson family? The weight of her despair was crushing, but there was nothing Jordana could do about it. Not unless I want to be homeless, she thought glumly, feeling her shoulders sag. A year ago, she was a live-in nanny, taking care of an autistic child in Bel Air, and although she loved the two-year-old boy as if he were her own, she hated the long hours. She couldn’t attend casting calls, lost touch with her girlfriends and rarely had days off. For that reason, she’d resigned, moved in with her best friend, Waverly Burke, and decided to pursue her dreams wholeheartedly. Her agent, Fallon O’Neal, was sweet, but tough when she had to be. Jordana knew the former
