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“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 day.”
Mark was very considerate.
“Oh, it’s going fine. I was just meeting with Regan, going over the upcoming shoots and deadlines. I have to go to Friday’s game, and I’m doing a shoot tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty tied up this week,” she said, just in case he wanted to get together to talk about the wedding. For a guy, Mark was very excited about planning a big, lavish wedding. A little too excited.
“Okay. Well, I guess if you have to work. I wanted to go over to my parents’ and get started on some of the wedding plans.”
Lyra knew him like she knew each line in the palm of her hand. It wasn’t hard though, by the end of the month Mark’s new assistant would probably know him just as well. And yet she still felt closer to Dion.
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I understand this is your career. But don’t make any plans for next Saturday. My mom wants us to come over for dinner.”
Lyra groaned. “The Donovans are having their annual Wish Upon a Star charity ball that Saturday. All the family is expected to be there.”
There was a pause on the phone, and Lyra knew that Mark was thinking she wasn’t really a member of the Donovan family, although he’d never say that to her. While they’d been in L.A., he’d constantly reminded her that the Donovans were not blood, that what Janean did was out of charity and that it was time she lived her life without clinging to them.
“You haven’t been there for the past ten years. I’m sure they won’t miss you for one more,” he argued.
“The difference is I’m staying in their house now. They’ll expect me to be there.”
“And that’s another thing. We can get an apartment until we find a house. You don’t have to stay with them.”
“I know that, Mark. I can get my own apartment for that matter. But it means a lot to Janean that I spend some time with them after being away for so long.”
“I’m starting to feel like your mother where the Donovans are concerned. It’s just not healthy the way they’re attached to you and you to them. You don’t belong.”
“And just where do I belong?” she asked, as the headache that had been a dull pain after her argument with Dion began to ramp up a notch.
“Calm down, sweetie. Listen to what I’m trying to say. You and I come from regular families who go out and work hard to make a way for themselves. We’re not from money and privilege.”
“But your salary just made you a millionaire before your thirtieth birthday. That doesn’t exactly make you a ‘regular’ guy.”
“That’s money I earned, Lyra. Not money that was given to me. It’s different. They’re different. And you shouldn’t spend your time trying to fit in with them.”
His words hurt, mainly because she’d been telling herself that most of her life. She knew the Donovans were different, knew that they weren’t part of her family. So she didn’t need Mark to remind her of that fact.
“Go to dinner at your mother’s on Saturday and give her my apologies. I won’t be there.”
“Wait,” Mark said hastily. “Don’t hang up angry. I don’t want us to fight, not about this anyway. I’ll take you to the charity ball, and on Sunday we’ll spend the day with my parents. Okay?”
Lyra was quiet. Her elbows were propped up on her desk and she began to wonder why she didn’t just end things with Mark. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. Because it was just like Dion had said, she needed to grow a backbone.
* * *
“What’s on your mind?” Sean asked the moment he stepped into Dion’s office and closed the door.
Dion looked up from his desk then stared down at the Rolex on his left wrist. “Meeting’s not for another fifteen minutes.”
Sean nodded walking closer to the desk and taking a seat in one of the guest chairs. “That’s why I came early to ask you what’s going on?”
Spreading his palms on the desk, it was apparent to Dion that Sean had something on his mind. He realized that he wasn’t going to get to finish reading the distribution reports he’d just received from Sean’s assistant.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think is going on, because I’m sure you have some little idea roaming around in that head of yours,” Dion said, sitting back in his chair and looking directly at his brother.
They were close, almost like twins but not. They even looked alike—they were both tall with slim, muscular builds, and they both had the same caramel complexion that their mother had. Sean was the studious brother with runway-model looks, a square jawline and a cleft chin, and dreamy eyes that girls loved to stare into. Dion almost laughed as he remembered back in high school girls said exactly that about his younger brother. On the other hand, he was the athletic one with rugged good looks and a bad-boy image that made him attractive to a totally different type of girl. Still, there was no denying that the Donovan men were just as attractive and just as unattainable as their cousins in Las Vegas.
“Lyra’s downstairs with Regan. I hear she’s got her assignments and plans on hitting the ground running.”
Dion rubbed his chin. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“It’s a very good thing for Infinity, since Lyra’s a phenomenal photographer. We’re more than lucky to have her on board, and it’s good for Lyra because I think she missed being around family.”
“So it’s a win-win all around.”
“I think you know that,” Sean suggested.
“Just spit it out, man,” Dion said.
“Okay, since you want me to spell it out,” Sean said with a frown. “Mom says she’s talking about getting married later in the year, to that internet company guy.”
“I know. His name’s Mark.”
“He’s the one she left to go to L.A. with.”
Dion nodded. “The one and only.”
“And now they’re back and getting married.”
“You’re wasting time going over facts we already know.”
“Then how about we talk about the one we both keep skirting around?”
“And what’s that?”
“You don’t like Mark whatever his name is. You don’t want Lyra to marry him.”
Dion sighed. “Sean. Don’t do this.”
“Don’t say what you’re thinking. Who the hell is this guy and what are his real intentions toward Lyra?”
“They’ve been together for years. She knows what she’s doing.”
“Really? You think so? Because from what I saw of her last night, she looks like she’s undecided.”
Now that had Dion’s attention. “I didn’t see that.”
“Because you were too busy trying to ignore her, which I don’t really understand at the moment. Each time Mom asked her about the plans for the wedding she clammed up. When Regan asked her when they were going shopping for dresses, she changed the subject. What woman do you know isn’t ecstatic about planning their wedding and ready to talk about the preparations until they’re blue in the face?”
Sean had a point. One that Dion hadn’t considered because he didn’t want to hear about Lyra’s wedding plans any more than Lyra wanted to talk about them. He’d never liked Stanford, the internet guy, and disliked him even more for taking Lyra away and convincing her to marry him. But that was his issue, not Sean’s.
“Look, Lyra’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”
“What if she’s not seeing things clearly? You know how women can be. Don’t you think, as her brothers, we at least owe it to her to check things out, make sure she’s making the right decision?”
No. Oh, God, no. Because if Dion found out Stanford didn’t have Lyra’s best interests at heart, he’d kill that bastard. He only needed one more excuse to beat that pompous wannabe to a pulp.
“I don’t want to interfere. Besides, Lyra’s got bigger problems than that.”
“Like what?”
“Paula’s back.”
Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, something he often did when he was stressed. “God, why can’t that woman just disappear? Haven’t we given her enough money to do that?”
“You know money for people like her is another kind of drug. Every time she gets a little she needs more. I told Lyra to stop enabling her.”
“And what’d she say?”
“She told me it’s her mother, just like she always does.”
“It’s a pity she’s still holding on to that tiny shred of hope. So you don’t want to do anything about Mark and we’re supposed to sit back and let her mother hold her hostage for money day in and day out. Is that your plan?”
Dion thought about it a minute. There was a limit to what he wanted to tell Sean, because the last thing he wanted was to involve his brother. But he’d considered what his brother had said, and had thought about nothing else all morning.
“I’ll deal with Paula.”
“And Mark?”
“I have a feeling he’s going to trip up sooner or later. Lyra may be foolish for falling into her mother’s trap, but she’s not a fool when it comes to men. She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t. She’ll make the right decision when the time comes.”
Dion hoped like hell his words were true, because he didn’t know if he could stop himself from standing up and objecting when the preacher said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There was a knock at his door and they both acknowledged the meeting was about to begin. Sean cleared his throat and straightened his tie.
“I’ll follow your lead on this, but know that I’m still worried about her,” he said.
Dion tried to disregard his brother’s concerns. “You worry about everything, man. Chill out a little. It’ll do you some good.” It would do them both some good, because if Sean was worried then that was not a good thing.
Chapter 5
Lyra preferred digital to manually operated cameras. A lot of photographers did nowadays. She didn’t miss the sound of the 35mm, but her heart almost always skipped a beat with the nearly inaudible click of her Nikon D3S. It was one of her favorites because of its expanded buffer and its continuous high-speed frame capability.
That’s exactly what she needed today to capture the moody and eccentric sultry neo-soul singer Vina Vanell. Vina moved at her own pace in her own little world, no matter how many directions Lyra gave her. Between her stylists and makeup artists and whoever else was in her entourage, she occasionally offered a look or a gesture that was worth snapping.
Vina Vanell had risen to the top of the charts with her soulful debut release a year ago. Now her photo was on every tabloid front page and her songs were remixed by practically every deejay. Her love life had also taken off on the gossip pages when she left her no name manager and begin a tumultuous affair with the marijuana-smoking, DUI-plagued, newest rapper on the hip hop scene—Jride. To say they were the perfect couple was comical. Vina was twelve years older than Jride, and her music appealed to slightly older fans of R&B, in sharp contrast to Jride’s thuggish crowd.
But none of that was Lyra’s concern. All she needed to do was get the perfect shots to go with the story.
“Something by the window would be nice,” she heard herself say, but didn’t hold out hope that it would happen.
Vina wore a white bodysuit with leopard print thigh-high boots that gave a significant boost to her five-foot-six stature so that she stood almost six feet tall. The long, glossy flowing mane of blond hair cascaded down her back as her lavishly jeweled eyelashes winked at every turn. She looked like a circus act that was just barely tame. Her boyfriend, Jride, hovered in the corner with a cell phone in one ear and a diamond stud as big as Lyra’s eyeball in the other. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the wasteful and ostentatious display of money. Her job was to take pictures, not pass judgment.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I think I have what I need.” And if she didn’t, there was always Photoshop.
“Ms. Vanell wants to do a wardrobe change,” the skinny little assistant with two cell phones in her hand and the too-tight fake ponytail said without even looking at Lyra.
“Not today. I have what I need.”
“She wants to see the photos before they run,” she added.
“I’ll make sure that happens,” Lyra quipped. When hell freezes over, she thought.
Packing up her stuff, she was happier than she’d been in the past few weeks as she left the studio, stepped into the elevator and was heading as far away from Vina Vanell and her entourage as she could get. Her cell phone rang the minute she’d stepped off the elevator facing the fading light of late afternoon.
“Lyra Anderson,” she answered.
“Hello, Lyra Anderson. This is Dion Donovan calling to see if you’re hungry.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I’m hungry. I just finished the most grueling shoot you could imagine.”
“What? You mean with Vina Vanell? She’s a doll.”
“If you’re a six-feet-plus-tall man with eyes only for her, I guess she might be. For me, she was a pain in the ass.”
Dion laughed. Lyra did, too, as she walked to her car. It felt good.
“So how about some barbecue from Shorty’s?”
“Now you know I’m not about to turn that down. I can be there in about forty minutes.”
“Cool. I’m just leaving the office, so it’ll take me about that long to get there, too. Drive carefully,” he said before hanging up.
“Yes, Dad,” Lyra said with a smirk before opening her trunk and putting her equipment inside. No matter how old she was Dion would always treat her like his little sister. Even after their kiss ten years ago, the kiss that still haunted Lyra’s dreams.
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