Adored: A Love Letters Novel Read online

  Vera and Rowan fell silent as the waiter appeared and set their appetizers in front of them. Vera waited until they were alone once more before asking. “Would it be terribly rude to ask how you got into your line of work?”

  “No, you have a right to be curious,” Rowan tossed the words back at her. “My sister and I were in our first year of graduate school when my parents passed away in a car accident. Funds got tight after that, so I started working on the side to help with tuition. Turned out I had a real talent for this kind of work, and the money was good, so I dropped out of school and went full time.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About seven years.”

  Which made them about the same age—thirty. Vera’s mind glossed over that fact and latched on to the one that made her head spin. “You’ve been doing this for seven years?”

  He nodded. “And I’ve got many years yet before I age out of my prime.”

  Vera dropped her gaze. Only willpower kept her from reaching up to cover her cheeks, which she was sure were red. “I can imagine.”

  “Can you?” The grin he gave her made her heart race.

  “Do you ever think of going back, to school, I mean?”

  “Not particularly, at least not to do what I’d started out. Regardless, at some point, I’ll have to do something else for a living.”

  “Like what?”

  “A talent scout, perhaps.”

  Vera’s jaw dropped. Was that street-speak for a pimp?

  The wicked gleam in Rowan’s amber eyes stopped her before she went ballistic on him. “You’re baiting me, aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps I am, but you’re an easy target.”

  The laughter bubbled out of her before she could fix a stern expression on her face. “Is that all I am to you, someone to laugh at?”

  “I think the best relationships are built on a healthy sense of humor and an ability to laugh at the other without giving offense. You can laugh at me; I don’t mind.”

  Vera waited until the waiter cleared away the appetizers and set their entrees in front of them. She picked up her fork and poked it into a scallop nestled in a bed of pasta. “It’s hard to laugh at someone with your kind of confidence.”

  He merely tilted his head and looked at her as if she spoke a foreign language.

  “It’s true,” she continued. “You don’t see it. I do. The way you walk into the room as if you have nothing to prove to anyone. The women are staring at you, but you don’t look back.”

  “That’s because I’m staring at you.”

  “But that’s just my point. You don’t care that you’re not with the prettiest girl in the room. You’re still treating her like she is. It’s amazing, what you do.” To her horror, her voice quivered. She picked up her napkin and covered her nose and mouth. “Excuse me.” She stood up and dashed toward the restrooms.

  In the quiet, enclosed space of a toilet stall, she slumped on the seat. Had she actually gotten choked up because a man—an escort, of all people—was paying her attention and treating her like she mattered? It was just his job. He dated and had sex with women for a living; no doubt he was very good at it.

  Still, his attention had seemed so natural, his warmth so genuine. Perhaps he actually liked her.

  It’s just his job. She had to remind herself of that fact. She could not allow herself to be swept up in the imagined romance of their date.

  Their disastrous date. She had probably mortally embarrassed him by running away from their table. Would he wait for her, or would he cut his losses and run?

  The main bathroom door swung open. “Vera?”

  She sat upright. “Rowan?”

  “Just wanted to make sure there are no windows large enough for you to crawl through.”

  She peeked through the gap under the door and caught a glimpse of his shoes. She felt she had to mention the obvious. “You’re in the ladies restroom.”

  “Which is mercifully empty, except for us. Do you want me to wait for you in here or outside?”

  “You’re baiting me again, aren’t you? Outside, please.” She supposed it meant she would have to abandon the safety of her bathroom stall. Yet elation rose in spite of her annoyance. He had come after her.

  His footsteps retreated. The door closed.

  She emerged from the stall, did what she could to repair her makeup, and then stared at the wan and tired woman in the mirror. What was she compared to the other elegant and beautiful women lounging at the bar?

  Yet, the best-looking guy in the restaurant was standing outside the restroom, waiting for her.

  Stop making it out to be more than it is. It’s just his job. She wrapped rationality and logic around her like a shield and marched out of the restroom.

  Rowan was leaning against the opposite wall. For a long, silent moment, his eyes searched her face and seemed to ferret out her every secret. “Would you like to continue our dinner, or would you prefer to go for a drive?”

  She glanced at their table and their barely touched entrees. Curious gazes from all around the restaurant darted in their direction. “I…they’re all staring at me.”

  “I thought you said they were staring at me,” Rowan countered.

  “They saw me run away from the table.”

  “So what? They’ll take notes on what you ordered and be sure not to do the same. In a poorly lit restaurant, most people can’t tell emotional stress from a rotten scallop. If you keep this up long enough, the manager will come by to offer a complimentary meal.”

  “I guess we should sit down, then. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  For coming after me. “For not making me feel like an idiot.”

  “I could never do that.” He smiled at her, offered her his arm, and escorted her back to their table.

  Their interrupted date resumed. He steered the conversation away from personal matters into books, movies, and their favorite hobbies. Not for a moment did his attention stray from her, not even when the hostess showed a group of four extremely attractive women to the table next to theirs. Surely he was not blind to beauty, though it was clear to her he was skilled at ignoring it. He did not seem to notice the cloying laughter and flirtatious tones of the women at the next table. He remained oblivious when the woman across from him preened and reapplied her lipstick.

  By the time he paid the bill, left a generous tip, and ushered her out, Vera knew she was the object of many envious glances. With his single-minded attention, he had shifted the attention from himself and onto her. If a man as good-looking as Rowan, who could have any woman in the room with no more effort than a beckoning smile, was that focused on his partner, surely she had to be extraordinary, regardless of how ordinary she looked. Vera had never felt as beautiful and as elegant as she did in that moment—not even on her wedding day.

  As they drove away, she turned to him. “It was amazing, thank you.”

  “The dessert was that good, huh?”

  “No, you. The way you made me feel special.”

  “That’s because you are.”

  “Compliments again?” She smiled.

  “I’ve been paying you compliments all evening. Not everything has to be said out loud.”

  “I know.” She relaxed into the leather seat. She would be sorry to see the night end. “I realize it’s just your job, and I see now you’re very good at it, but you’ve made this a special evening for me. I’m grateful; I haven’t been out on a real date for a long time.”

  He said nothing for a moment. She threw a glance his way. The passing streetlamps cast his features alternately into light and shadow. Finally, he broke the silence. “I’d like to see you again. Perhaps next weekend?”

  Vera blinked. “But…don’t you live in New York?”

  “We have something called planes—”

  “It’s a long way to go for a date.”

  “Depends on the date.”

  “Hmm.” Vera inhaled deeply. Was there even a polite wa
y to ask if he was interested in seeing her in a professional or personal capacity? “I…uh…aren’t you busy on weekends?”

  “Me?” A sudden grin flashed across his face. “No. My clients are on contract. I do most of my work during the week.”

  Clients on contract? As if she needed a reminder of what Rowan was. She couldn’t date a male escort who aspired to be a pimp. It was unthinkable. Darren would have a fit if he knew. What kind of example would it set for her daughter?

  On the other hand, what were her chances finding another man who would treat her with as much care and attention as Rowan had all evening? How horrible would it be to date him until she found her bearings again and worked up the courage to date other men? It wouldn’t be fair to him, but surely he realized, as she did, that they could have no future together. “I…”

  She looked at him and studied the handsome face of the man who had been unfailingly kind to her. She could not use him and then hurt him, not if he wanted something more from her. “I don’t think—”

  “It’s just a date, Vera. No expectations.”

  It was wrong, and she knew it; but damn her weakness. She wanted to see him again. Just once more. She inhaled shakily. “How about Friday evening, six thirty?”

  He smiled. “Perfect.”

  The next morning, armed with a dozen doughnuts and a half dozen bottles of Starbucks Frappuccino, Rowan rang the doorbell of his sister’s Plantation home. Brad Whitley, his brother-in-law, opened the door. “Come on in. You’re just in time for waffles.”

  “How’s Jordan?”

  “Not the best. He’s still asleep.” Brad, dark-haired and built like a football player, raised his voice. “Hey, Ris. Rowan’s here.”

  Rowan followed the aroma of butter-infused batter into the kitchen. His sister, her blond hair gathered into a ponytail, looked up at him and smiled. “Blueberries or strawberries in your waffles?”

  “Both, and thank you.”

  “Did you have a salad for dinner last night like I told you to?”

  “No, I went to YOLO.” He reached past her to nab a piece of bacon from the plate.

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “That’s not a dining alone sort of place.”

  “No, it’s not. I was on a date.”

  “Really?”

  “With Vera.”

  “No!”

  Rowan frowned. “Didn’t she call you yesterday to vouch for me?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Iris sighed. “Damn it, Rowan. I warned you to stay away from her. I like her!”

  “What the hell, Iris. You make me sound like a fatal disease. It’s a wonder you actually let me come over to visit.”

  “She’s recently divorced, and she’s got a baby—”

  “A two-year-old,” Rowan corrected.

  “—and she doesn’t need any complications.”

  “Actually, she’s got complications aplenty. She thinks I’m an escort, but she still agreed to a second date.”

  “What!” Iris actually dropped the spatula. “You didn’t tell her?”

  Brad’s laughter boomed through the kitchen. “An escort? Man, that’s awesome.” He high-fived Rowan.

  Iris glared at her husband. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s really funny,” Brad told her. “Probably just a guy thing though,” he amended when her glare included a scowl.

  “Definitely just a guy thing,” Iris said. “Rowan, you call her and you tell her right now.”

  “No, just leave it alone for now,” Rowan said.

  “Why would you lie to her?”

  “Because most people look at me and see Rowan Forrester, supermodel, with all the social status and dollar signs that accompany my job. Vera looks at me and sees an escort with no social status and no dollar signs, and she still wants to go out with me. That says something about her—that she’s amazing—and maybe something about me—that I’m more than a pretty face and hard body.”

  Brad winced. “Ouch. I didn’t need to hear that.”

  Iris’s expression softened. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

  Rowan had lost count of his failed relationships because his partner had wanted fame and all he had wanted was a lover and a life-partner. Was that the price of success? He shook his head, the gesture sharp and dismissive. “I shouldn’t complain. I have no right to.”

  “You have every right to want a real relationship,” Iris said. “I’m sorry I hassled you. You take all the teasing about your job with such good humor that I forget sometimes you might need support, just like the rest of us. So, when do you see Vera again?”

  “Next Friday.”

  Iris smiled thinly. “Guess you’ll be racking up those frequent flier miles.”

  Rowan looked away. “Only for as long as she keeps saying yes.” He stifled the sigh. Even his sister disapproved of the relationship, but what was he supposed to do? Give up on the one person who had captured his imagination and sympathy? Her visceral reaction to something as fundamental as simple attention and respect had startled him. He wanted to help her; God knew he could reignite her confidence in dating men once more.

  Deep down, he knew they probably had no future together. Vera did not look like a person who would settle for a model, let alone an escort. But until she made up her mind, he would have the pleasure of her delightful, unassuming company.

  It would have to be enough, because he knew it was all he could ever hope to have.

  Chapter 4

  Vera’s Monday at Pediatric Associates started at 7 a.m. with her favorite clients—the newborns and infants under three months of age. The older children came in later, and by noon, the clinic was bustling. She walked out of an examination room and stopped by the nurse’s station to drop off her patient’s file. “Micah comes back in four weeks for a follow-up.”

  Sharon, the appointment specialist, nodded. “Got it. By the way—” She jerked her head at an arrangement of black and white calla lilies. “These just arrived for you.”

  “What?” Vera reached for the card attached to the vase. The note, written in a strong, male hand, was short and to the point. Vera, thank you for an amazing evening. Rowan.

  A smile crept across her face as she picked up the vase. The soft cream-colored centers of the white calla lilies glowed beneath the clinic lights, and the black calla lilies, dazzling in contrast, were actually a deep purple color and fringed with crimson. No one had ever sent her such beautiful flowers before.

  She set the vase down on her desk and shut her office door before reaching for her phone.

  Several moments later, Rowan picked up the call on the other end. “Vera.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice—his brilliant smile, the one that could almost melt iron. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

  “The contrasts remind me of you.”

  “Really?” Vera stared at the bouquet. She had never thought of herself as complex or as exotic as the black and white calla lilies seemed to suggest, but Rowan’s flattering comparison coaxed a smile to her lips.

  On the other end, she heard a man shout, “Hey, Rowan, the crew’s all set up.”

  “Five minutes,” Rowan shouted back. “Sorry about that,” he said to her.

  “No problem. When did you get back to New York?”

  “Late last night. Caught the last flight out of Fort Lauderdale. How was your work at the clinic yesterday? Meet any gorgeous people?”

  She laughed. “None as gorgeous as you.”

  “Good. I hate competition.”

  The other man shouted again. “Rowan, come on, man. We’re burning hundreds of dollars a minute. We gotta get started.”

  Rowan sighed. “It’s just the usual Monday morning chaos over here.”

  “I can identify with that,” she said. Could she though? What was happening on the other end? Something about crew and money. Was it a porn shoot? Rowan had not said anything about porn. Vera pressed her lips together to suppress the coldness radiating from i
nside her. Oh, God, what was she doing, dating an escort? Nothing good could possibly come out of it. She had to tell him not to come on Friday. She opened her mouth. “Rowan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I…” The memory of his kindness came back to her. No one had ever treated her with such attentiveness and care before. To hell with whatever people said. She deserved to be treasured. She deserved Rowan. One more date, she told herself. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him once more. “I’ll see you Friday?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll call you when I arrive in Fort Lauderdale. Have a great week, Vera.” He hung up.

  Vera set the phone down. She stared at the magnificent flower arrangement for several minutes until the glow of delight it engendered drove away the chill of doubt over the wisdom of seeing Rowan again.

  One date at a time. Surely she could take life one date at a time.

  Rowan slipped the cell phone back into his pocket and turned to face the camera crew.

  “About time, man,” Greg Carson, the photo shoot director, said.

  “You could have done Lauren’s shots first.”

  “We’re not that masochistic.” Greg laughed and waved Rowan over. “Come on. We’ll do the one with the jacket first, then the casual shoot with the loosened tie and jacket over your shoulder.”

  Rowan shrugged into the Versace jacket and moved to stand beneath the studio lights.

  Greg called out instructions as they worked on that day’s assignments, but not many. Rowan and Greg had partnered on enough photo shoots to know each other’s style. The cameraman clicked away as Rowan shifted fluidly, angling his body or his face based on Greg’s direction.

  Finally, Greg grinned. “And that’s a wrap.” He pushed off his chair and walked over to shake Rowan’s hand. “Lots of great shots. Don’t know many people who can pull off the billionaire at work and the billionaire at play look as well as you.”

  “Yeah?” Rowan laughed. “I bet I could pull it off better with a billion dollars in my pocket.”

  Greg chuckled. “Grapevine says those high six-figure contracts are going to start pushing seven-figures next year.”