HADYN
The camera doesn’t deserve Vanya Beckford. I don’t know much about fashion, but I’ve made the rounds and I know that beautiful women are a dime a dozen. Symmetrical features. Pouty lips. Heavy makeup. The beauty industry can churn out cookie cutter dolls like a kid produces snot.
Pretty is nice. But Vanya is more than that. When the camera turns on her, something deep inside her stands up. Some presence. Some strength. Some charisma that leaps out and takes up space in the world. Grows and grows until it pushes everything away so that it remains alone.
It’s magic, pure and simple.
And it’s freaking irresistible.
I lounge on a tall chair next to the director and watch her work. An electric fan blows her hair away from her face. Smoke billows from behind the set piece. I’m sure she’s uncomfortably hot in that oversized jumper with the long sleeves. The temperature in Hawaii is close to a hundred degrees. But not a lick of discomfort shows in her smile.
Her facial muscles shift subtly in every pose. There’s power and strength and an elegant grace that no one but Vanya can pull off.
She has everyone in the room spellbound.
“Damn, she’s amazing,” the director says to the designer. They’re seated beside me atop their own high chairs.
“I know. It is why I requested her,” the designer says in a heavy accent. “She’s gorgeous.”
My chest swells with pride. Damn straight.
I feel a vibration in my pocket and glance down to see an incoming call from my mother. I’m sure dad spilled the beans to her yesterday and forbid her from helping me in any way.
I open my phone and text.
Busy now. I’ll call you back.
I don’t want her to worry about me. Knowing mom, she’ll make a fuss, roll around on the floor and do everything she can to get dad to lessen his punishment.
If that doesn’t work, she’ll try to negotiate with me. Saying no to her sucks, but I’m not caving on this one. Somehow, I’ll convince her that staying with Vanya and my kid is the right move.
On the set, Vanya does her last pose and the photographer applauds for her. The entire room starts clapping too.
“Thank you,” she says demurely, bowing her head and clutching her chest in a show of humility.
Her eyes slide to mine and I swear my heart stops for a second.
She arches an eyebrow expectantly.
Oh right. I’m her assistant.
It’s a role I fell into with little friction. The woman has been bossing me around since we were kids. It’s like I’ve been preparing all my life for this.
Vanya steps off the platform. Her giant heels clop on the ground as she walks toward me. The footwear is a monstrosity of sparkles and spikes. It looks more like a murder weapon than a fashion piece. Sometimes, I don’t understand her job at all.
“Have you spoken to the director about the wardrobe change?” she asks.
I bring out the mini fan and point it at her face. “It’s canceled. They’ve got all the shots they need from this set.”
“Ah.” She doesn’t look surprised.
Have I mentioned that on top of being ridiculously beautiful, she’s cocky about it?
“Chai?” She extends her fingers.
“Orange juice.” I hand her a bottle of the yellow liquid. “Vitamin C is good for you and the baby.”
Her eyes bug and she launches at me, slapping her hand over my mouth and causing the juice to splash to the floor.
I smell her perfume. A light, flowery fragrance that makes me want to drag her into a dark corner and kiss her until she remembers everything I did to her in Vegas. The urge takes me by surprise and I flick her hand off my face.
“What?” I growl, disgruntled on top of being hot.
“You can’t just yell that out,” she hisses, eyes darting back and forth. “I’d like to keep working until my stomach starts to show.”
I honor her wishes and lower my voice. “How long do you plan on working?”
“I don’t know. As long as I feel like.”
“You shouldn’t wear heels when you’re pregnant. It’s not good for your joints.”
She stares at me as if I started chanting in an ancient language. “Did you make that up?”
“Of course not. I did some research.”
“When?”
“On the plane.”
“Weren’t you sleeping on the plane?”
“I had my earphones in. I was listening to an audiobook about pre—”
She slaps her hand over my mouth again. “Call it… ‘Project Vegas’ when we’re in public.”
I look down at her. With her face upturned and her lips in a pout, it feels like she’s begging me for kisses. It’s hard to stay sane. This woman is really starting to test my restraint.
Vanya must see something in my eyes because she drops her hand quickly and steps back.
“Vanya?” A voice explodes to our right.
We both turn as one.
“Vanya, that eez you!” A tall man in a vest and leather pants under a long, flowing black—sweater? cardigan? bath robe?—glides toward her.
“Fernando!” Vanya beams with affection. “Oh my gosh. Fernando!” She pronounces his name with a roll of the tongue.
Fur-nando.
Gross.
I stare at her and then at him. Who the hell is Fur-nando?
Fur-nando strides right past me, drops his face to hers and plants loud kisses on her cheeks.
My eyes widen and I consider how far we are from the nearest volcano. This guy needs to be sacrificed to something.
“Vanya, you look exquisite. Oh, you’re glowing.” Fur-nando lifts Vanya’s hand and she does a little twirl for him, all smiles.
“Ehem.” I clear my throat and glance darkly at Vanya.
She waves me away.
Shock rattles me to my toes. Did she just brush me off?
Fur-nando grins wolfishly. “I heard you were in town and just had to rush over and poach you. Do say you’ll stay for the night. I must have dinner with you.”
Vanya opens her mouth.
I speak before she can. “Vanya has to catch a flight back home. Immediately.”
Fur-nando gives me an up and down stare. “Who is this?”
I glare at the overdramatic, cheek-slobbering punk. “Me? I’m her—”
“Assistant!” Vanya blurts. A short and nervous laugh follows the declaration. “Fernando, this is my assistant, Hadyn.”
“Assistant?” The jerk with the squinty eyes scrunches his nose. “He doesn’t seem like much of an assistant.”
“I’m the best damn assistant she’s ever had. What’s it to you?” I bark.
“Hadyn,” Vanya speaks through gritted teeth, “can you get my bags to the car? I’ll change and meet you downstairs.”
She wants me to leave her with this over-affectionate Fabio-wanna-be? Hell no.
Vanya flits her fingers in a leave me alone gesture.
I grit my teeth. The absolute last thing I want to do is let her out of my sight, but I know Vanya and if I tick her off, she’s going to fire me. Then I’ll lose my temp position and my chance at sticking close to her during the pregnancy.
Nostrils flaring, I whirl around and stomp to her dressing room.
When I get in there, I stop and stare at myself in the mirror. “Wait, what the hell am I doing? Why do I care if some guy is flirting with her?”
It’s not like we’re really together. Vanya might get my pants in a twist, but she’s more trouble than she’s worth. We got married in Vegas, made a kid and now we’re back to normal. Nothing’s changed. She’s still the kind of woman who has sky-high expectations. Long-term plans. Lists that go on for miles and miles.
Women like Vanya tend to cramp my style with their planning obsession and allergies to living life in the moment.
Am I attracted to her?
Of course.
Almost every heterosexual man is attracted to Vanya Beckford or she wouldn’t be gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated wearing that ‘come and kiss me’ expression and that sexy-as-sin bikini.
She’s the woman who made me lose control and forget to strap up.
That’s it.
I press my hands against the makeup desk and exhale. Maybe all the stress with dad and the pregnancy is getting to my head. All I need is a few days of normalcy. Maybe a night on the town. Beers with the guys. An easy lay with no strings…
The immediate distaste that floods my mind is disconcerting. I pace the dressing room and scrape my fingers through my hair. Why the hell do I feel guilty when I think about sleeping with someone else?
Vanya and I might be married, but it’s not for real.
I stalk to the left.
I’m taking care of her because she’s a friend and she’s carrying my kid.
I stalk to the right.
When the baby’s born and Vanya’s settled, I’ll get a divorce. I can go on the hunt again. I can work off my sexual frustration in one big push. Until then, long cold showers will have to do.
Right?
I groan.
Damn, that sounds like torture.
The door bursts open.
Vanya stomps in, looking like an angry fairy in her long-sleeved dress and killer boots.
“What was that?” She points at the door.
“What?” I ask innocently, picking up her shoes and placing them in a bag.
“You were going to blurt out that you’re my husband in front of everyone?”
I glance at the open door. “I’m not the one blurting it out, Van.”
She huffs. “Get out. I need to change.”
I want to tell her she hadn’t been this shy in Vegas, but I restrain myself. Vanya still doesn’t remember everything that went down that night and constantly dragging it up is only going to make me look desperate.
Vegas meant nothing. She’s made herself clear on that. I’m the only one who has yet to get on board.
A few minutes later, she meets me down at the car. We’re parked in a lot near the ocean. Crystal waves crash into the sand. The sky is a brilliant and perfect blue. If I wasn’t here with Vanya, I’d probably be surfing those waves.
Funny that I’d rather be here arguing with her than out on the beach with some chick I don’t know.
I scramble out and open the door for her.
She sticks her nose up and doesn’t speak to me as she climbs inside.
I lean down and put on my most charming smile. “Are you still mad?”
She pulls out her phone and starts playing a game.
I frown. “Now that’s just rude.”
She doesn’t glance up as she says, “We need to go to the airport. We have a flight to catch.”
Annoyance flickers through my chest, but I push it down and climb into the car. After securing my seatbelt, I make another attempt at an olive branch.
“What if we don’t go back right away? I can take you to this hole in the wall restaurant that serves the best poke you’ve ever had—”
“No thanks,” she says to the inanimate object in her hand.
I grit my teeth.
“Please, drive,” Vanya says in a dry tone that could be used on a stranger.
I drag my eyes away from her stony face and flash the ocean a frigid frown.
Ten minutes later, Vanya puts the phone away. Her gaze goes directly to me. “I don’t know what you thought accepting this job would look like, but this is my life. This is the last chance I have to model before a baby changes everything for me. I didn’t plan to give up so soon. I didn’t want to, but it’s the choice I’ve made.” Her eyes flash. “If you’re not going to take the job seriously, I need to know now. I can get someone else.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She flounces around and folds her arms over her chest. “I know we have a lot of… history, Hadyn. But you can’t go around acting crazy in front of my peers.”
“I wasn’t acting crazy. I was trying to protect you.”
She barks out a laugh. “Protect me from what?”
“That guy was flirting with you. ”
“He was not.” Vanya rolls her eyes so hard I wonder if she’s dizzy now. “And even if he was, why is that any of your business?”
“Because…”
“Because?” She arches both eyebrows, waiting for me to fall into my own trap.
I think fast. “As co-parents, I have a say in Project Vegas’s upbringing. I don’t want our kid to be around a mess like Fur-nando.”
A shocked expression crosses her face. Then she bursts out laughing. “What did you call him?”
“Furrr-nando.” I try to roll my ‘r’ the way she did.
Vanya laughs so hard she has to unbuckle her seatbelt so she can bend over and wheeze. Tears gathering in her eyes, she laughingly scolds me, “Do not ever roll your ‘r’s again. Not unless you want to offend every Spanish-speaking person ever.”
“What’s wrong with my rolls?”
“Everything.” She curls her tongue and lets loose a beautiful ‘rrr’. “Like that.”
“Rur.”
“No, not rur.” Vanya opens her mouth and does the tongue roll thing again.
“That’s what I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Ask anyone.”
Her grin is easy and it makes my heart lighten to see her smiling again.
“You’re impossible, Hadyn.” She shakes her head. “But let’s get one thing straight. You don’t dictate who I spend time with just because we’re having a child together.” She lifts a hand when I start to interject and adds, “For the record, I don’t like Fernando like that.”
I smile victoriously, but it drains away as I think about her earlier words.
Vanya contemplates the view outside, her face brighter now than it was before.
“Van?”
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry.” I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I’m not used to doling out heartfelt apologies and it’s a little clunky, but I give it my best shot. “I am taking this seriously, but it’s my first day. I’ll do a better job from now on.”
She whips around to look at me.
“You were right,” I say.
She gasps exaggeratedly. “Are you okay?” Her hand lands on my forehead and she tests my temperature. “Blink twice if you’ve been possessed.”
My lips twitch. I bat her hand down. “I’m serious.”
“That’s a nice surprise.”
“Funny.”
“I consider myself a comedic person.”
“Van, enough with the lame jokes. I’m trying to say something important.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” She folds her arms over her chest and twists her body towards me.
“I wasn’t thinking about how the baby would impact your career. I figured you could just pop him or her out and continue as normal. You’re right. This might be the last time you model for a while and, as long as I’m your assistant, I want to make sure it’s special for you.”
Vanya lowers her head. “Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry I got so mad.”
“What? Say that again?” I bend my ear toward her.
She shoves me and laughs. “You heard me, Hadyn.”
We exchange smiles.
“Alright, Ms. Beckford. Put your seatbelt back on and I’ll take you to the airport.”
It does not surprise me at all that the soon-to-be Mrs. Stinton is hosting a barbecue in a mechanic bay.
What surprises me is that Vanya Beckford, supreme germaphobe and lover of all things couture, is happy to don a pair of dirty over-alls and join the kids with their heads hunkered under an open truck hood.
Dawn, Max’s fiancée, is pointing out the parts of an engine gasket and radiator.
An apron suddenly landing on my head cuts off my view of the auto mechanic lesson. I dig my fingers into the apron with the words ‘don’t kiss the cook if you’re not married to her’ and pin my eyes on the trio of men gathered around the grill.
“Which one of you buffoons did that?” I point a finger at Holland Alistair, Darrel Hastings, and lastly, at Max.
“Stinton volunteered you as tribute,” Alistair says. He’s a giant man with brooding eyes and a voice that always sounds like he’s irritated.
“Max?” I arch a brow.
“Think about it. Out of all the guys here,” Max gestures between the computer prodigy and the therapist, “you’re the only one who’s probably been invited to a barbecue.”
“Whoa. I’ve been invited to a barbecue,” Darrel Hastings interjects. He’s as tall and broad-shouldered as Alistair, but there’s something about the stiff and upright way he carries himself that hints of a military background. “Sunny’s family threw one for us when we vacationed in Belize.”
“Where is this man’s black card?” a feminine voice chimes. Sunny, Hastings’ wife, saunters into the workshop with a basket of tortillas.
“A barbecue in Belize doesn’t count as a real block-party barbecue.” Kenya Alistair sashays past Sunny with a bowl of boiled corn. “Not unless he was grilling the chicken.” She peers hard at Darrel. “Were you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Black card revoked.”
I snort out a laugh. The news that Hastings and Alistair both married women from average family backgrounds sent a ripple of shock through the community. The top one percent tend to marry amongst themselves.
I, personally, don’t care. But I do wonder how two men with such sharp sticks up their suits bagged women as classy and hilarious as these two.
Sunny plants her hands on her hips. “Why is there no smoke coming from that grill?” Spinning so fast her shiny black hair spins out behind her, she pins her husband with a dark look. “You better start talking.”
“We were waiting for Hadyn.”
Sunny stomps over to me. “What’s the hold up, Handsome?”
“Handsome?” Darrel barks.
“I mean,” Sunny laughs, “Extremely Fugly Opposite Of Handsome Not As Hot as My Husband.”
“That’s right.” Darrel dips his square jaw.
“Better watch yourself, Mulliez, or Hastings might scissor chop you in the throat,” Max warns, patting my shoulder.
“There will be no violence today,” Kenya says. “Now, since you men put all the hard work on poor Hadyn’s shoulders, you’re on tent and table duty.” She points outside. “The benches aren’t going to set up themselves.”
“Whose idea was this again?” Alistair grumbles.
“Blame the kids.” Kenya waltzes up to her husband and gives him a kiss on his cheek. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”
Alistair’s grumpy expression lightens by several degrees.
Kenya bats her eyes and points to the door. “Then I suggest you put that beautiful brain of yours to work and figure out how to set up that tent.”
“Come on, Hastings,” Alistair says, marching to the door.
I smile at their interaction. I used to break out in hives when I thought about married life. And kids? I’m great with them for a short period, but the thought of having one of my own used to make me nauseous.
Seeing Kenya and Alistair, Darrel and Sunny and even Dawn and Max is showing me a different side that I never considered before. What would it be like to have a woman who’s there in the evening after a long day? A woman who’ll have my back even if I lose everything. A woman who’ll steal my heart out of my chest and keep it safe.
My eyes slide to Vanya. She’s taller than all the kids, but she’s peering into the hood with an equal level of fascination. Bailey glances up and says something to her that makes her break out in laughter.
Fingers snap in front of my face. “You with me, Hadyn?”
“What?” I glance into my best friend’s sharp blue eyes. “Oh, yeah.”
“I asked if you need some help with that.” Max juts his chin at the grill.
“We’ve got it.” Two cheerful feminine voices speak at the same time.
Sunny and Kenya flank me on either side, their eyes sparkling with an intensity that makes me uneasy.
Max clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll be outside.” Leaning into me, he whispers, “I’d suggest you refrain yourself from charming either one of these women. Their husbands have a mean left hook.”
I shove Max away.
He gives me another warning look and trots into the sunshine.
I can’t resist laughing a bit. Vanya wrote ‘important event’ on her schedule for today and I assumed it was another modeling gig or a meeting with the company that publishes her cookbooks. I had no idea she was saving time to spend with this crew.
It’s unlike her. Apart from me, Max and Juniper, Vanya doesn’t have anyone else she relies on. She also doesn’t like parties since she attends so many for her work. She’ll often decompress alone at home with chai and a movie rather than socialize.
Kenya hands me a bucket of raw chicken. “Mama Moira used authentic Belizean seasonings. Even if you burn these into coal, they’ll still burst with flavor.”
“Noted.” I smirk. As if my eyeballs have steel in them and Vanya’s a magnet, I glance at her again.
Sunny catches me and a satisfied smirk crosses her lips. “So, you and Vanya, huh?”
“There’s no such thing,” I deflect. My hands tremble as I light up the grill. It’s big, shiny and brand-spanking new. I bet one of the guys bought this thing thinking they’d use it and it got stowed in their garage.
Either way, it’s a nice piece of equipment. I should get myself one when I finally have access to money…
“No such thing as you and Vanya?” Kenya clarifies.
“That’s what I said,” I answer nervously.
“Oh? So is it some other man’s baby in her womb?” Sunny asks, tilting her head and studying me intently.
I rub the back of my neck. “Ladies, I think you’re mixing things up. You should be grilling chicken, not me.”
“Oh, he’s witty,” Sunny says.
Kenya nods. “I like witty.”
I smile.
The women brighten.
Sunny nudges Kenya in the side. “He smiles.”
“We haven’t met one that smiles,” Kenya agrees. “I was starting to think all rich people were miserable.”
Kenya tilts her chin up and studies me.
I watch her and then glance at the meat. “If you ladies have something to say, I suggest you spit it out before either your husbands drag you away or Vanya comes over here and demands to know what we’re talking about.”
“Vanya’s busy,” Sunny argues.
“Vanya’s been glancing over here since you two cornered me.” I turn the chicken around and watch the orange flames lick it up. The scent of coal and drying meat fills my nose and makes my stomach gurgle. We haven’t eaten anything since Hawaii. There wasn’t any time.
Vanya’s life is so fast paced that it’s no wonder her idea of a good time is to lock herself in her house and chill.
“Maybe she’s looking at the chicken,” Kenya suggests.
I shake my head. “No way.” Stepping past the ladies, I set more chicken on the other end of the grill. “She’s biting her bottom lip, which means she’s uncomfortable with something. She’s also playing around with the collar of her shirt. She only does that when she’s deciding whether or not she should make a move.”
Kenya’s eyes widen.
Sunny looks over at Vanya. “Whoa, she really is doing all that.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Kenya arches an eyebrow. “I told you. I had a feeling about them.”
“What feeling?” I ask.
“You and Vanya are—”
“Hey, guys,” Vanya sidles up to the grill, “what are you talking about?” Her eyes pounce on me. “And why did you set up the grill indoors? Wouldn’t it be better to grill outside?”
“The other guys set it up inside,” I explain.
“Further proving that they have no idea what they’re doing,” Kenya adds.
“You’d think men as smart as them would be able to figure out how to grill chicken.” Sunny throws her hands up. “You’d think.”
A loud thud comes from outside, followed by the sound of pipes clanking to the grass.
Dawn and the kids all whip their heads around.
Sunny and Kenya exchange looks.
“We’ll check on them!” Kenya says. She loops her arm through Sunny’s and hurries outside. Probably to make sure their husbands don’t have concussions.
I laugh softly and keep an eye on the chicken.
“You think they’re that clueless?” Vanya asks me, leaning against a car.
I shrug. “All they know how to do is make money and manage giant companies.”
“You’re making it sound like you’re the more mature person.”
“I can scale a fish, make a tent, chase a bear, tourniquet a broken leg with a stick and a dress—don’t ask…”
She rests her chin on a fist. “If the world ever gets taken over by sentient bears and we all have to live in the forests, I know who to call.”
I laugh.
Vanya smiles.
My heart does a weird vibrating shimmy.
“It looked like you, Kenya and Sunny were conspiring.” Vanya narrows her pretty eyes. “What were you talking about?”
“You flew over here before they could start the third degree. In a way I should thank you.”
She snorts.
In the distance, Dawn cuts her class short. “Let me go check on Max. He acts like he knows all the answers, but the man is clueless when it comes to practical things.” She points a finger at the kids and calls, “Vanya, Hadyn, can you watch the children for me?”
Vanya clams up immediately. Her eyes dart to me and scream one word—help.
I run a hand down her arm. “Relax. They’re harmless.”
“They are four minors in a shop surrounded by tools that could all potential impale them or crush their tiny heads. What if they start running around and something falls on them? How will I explain to their parents?”
“Van. Van,” I grip her arms tighter, “breathe. Let me handle this, okay?”
She nods.
“Keep an eye on the chicken. Don’t let it burn,” I call behind me as I approach the kids.
The two tallest ones are the boys, Micheal and Bailey. Bailey is wearing circle glasses that fit his cute face and cherub cheeks. Micheal is leaner and more somber looking with dark hair and eyes. They’re both pale and bear a slight family resemblance to each other.
Beth, Dawn and Max’s kid, is more familiar to me. She’s got tawny-colored skin and bright hazel eyes. She carries herself like her mother. It’s easy to forget she’s so tiny because she walks and acts like she’s a giant.
I still remember the first time I met her. She looked me up and down and asked if I was the owner of the vintage convertible with double engines that was parked outside. I was a fan of hers ever since.
The youngest child is fair-skinned, dark-haired and so cute that I know she resembles her mother more than her stoic and grumpy dad. Belle Alistair.
The four kids are, apparently, really close.
I crouch in front of them. “Hey guys. Want to play a game?”
“Games?” Vanya hurries to me. “What kind of game? They can’t run around the shop. Is it a quiet game? Should we get permission from their parents?”
I give her points for not asking if they’ve gotten their flu shots.
Beth squints up at Vanya. Then she glances at me with her pretty hazel eyes. “Is she always like this?”
“Yes.” I pinch her cheek. “Yes, she is.”
Vanya scowls.
“It’s called indoor bowling.” I grab a couple of tools that had caught my eye from the moment I walked in. They look like long, plastic bottles. Organizing them in rows, I dig a plastic ball from Belle’s toy bag. “Van?”
“Huh?” She goes as stiff as a board.
“Show them how it’s done.”
She grits her teeth, eyes alight with fear.
I wink at the kids. “This woman is a bowling champion.” I nudge Vanya when she doesn’t move. “Go on.”
“Okay.” She winds her arm back and lets the ball loose.
It completely misses.
The kids burst out laughing.
“Wait! Give me another chance.” Vanya hurries to collect the ball and sends it rolling again.
All the ‘pins’ drop.
“Yes!” She celebrates with a little dance.
“Not bad,” Beth says, offering her a high five.
“Thank you.” Vanya pretends to toss her hair.
The kids start the game. Vanya is too busy re-stacking the pins and keeping the order to freak out over all the things that could go wrong.
She’s got her hands full. I’ve never seen children who are so competitive. Fights break out every few seconds, but Vanya puts them out with grace, smoothing tempers and keeping the peace in an elegant and natural way.
I stand guard over the grill and watch her referee from afar. She’s gentle with the girls and steady with the boys.
In the middle of the game, she glances up and smiles at me.
The truth hits me right in the face.
No matter how scared she is of kids, she’s going to be a great mother.
I’m sure of it.
