Runaway Attraction Read online

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  “I told you this was a bad idea,” Kyle repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time as he paced back and forth, resembling a caged panther.

  “Yes, you have.” Bailey kneaded the bridge of her nose. “Several times.”

  Sitting with her legs tucked underneath her on the sofa, she clutched a bronze-colored throw pillow to her chest. The entire family was assembled in the living room of her parents’ Central Park West penthouse, in a building her parents co-owned. She and her sister, Brianna, shared an apartment on the tenth floor, and both of her brothers also lived on the premises. However, it was her parents’ home that served as the central meeting place when the family got together.

  Every person in this room had witnessed her near meltdown after her father had abruptly ended today’s ill-advised press conference. The abject shame at not being able to handle the situation caused Bailey to squirm with embarrassment.

  For the past hour, her main objective had been figuring out ways to hide just how adversely she’d been affected by today’s events. If her family sensed even the slightest indication that her claims of being over the attack were all an act, Bailey knew she would be on a plane back to the Virgin Islands, or to the Swiss Alps or a monastery in Rome. Anywhere but New York, where her abductor was still lurking.

  Bailey pulled the pillow tighter to her stomach.

  “It was too early for you to put yourself out there like that.” Kyle pointed an accusing finger at her. “Those vultures are ruthless.”

  “Those vultures have been good to RHD in the past,” Bailey reminded him. “How many magazine spreads have your designs been featured in?”

  “Whatever,” her brother said with a derisive snort.

  Kyle’s fiancée, Zoe Sinclair, caught him by his shirt’s hem. Tugging him toward her, Zoe waited until Kyle had seated himself on the arm of her chair before turning to Bailey.

  “What’s important is whether or not the press conference accomplished what it was intended to accomplish,” Zoe said. “Do you think it did that, Bailey?”

  “I wanted to show them that I’m not a drug addict strung out on cocaine. Maybe I should have passed out photocopies of my medical records. That’s probably the only way they will believe anything I say.”

  Brianna came into the room carrying the mug of hot tea Bailey had requested, and took the seat next to her.

  “Unfortunately, I think today’s press conference piqued the media’s curiosity more than anything else,” Brianna said. “They’re going to be more intrusive than ever.”

  “Should we get a bigger security detail?” Daniel asked.

  “No!” Bailey set her tea on the coffee table and stood. “No additional bodyguards. In fact, I don’t want any bodyguards at all.”

  “That’s out of the question.” Her father, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout most of the discussion, stood before the marble fireplace, his arms folded over his chest. “We’ve had this discussion already, Bailey. The bodyguards remain until whoever assaulted you is taken into custody.”

  “I can’t continue to live like this.” She held her hands out, pleading for understanding. “Do any of you know how annoying it is to have someone following your every move? No, you don’t. Because all of you are free to go wherever you want without a shadow trailing behind.”

  “That’s because none of us were knocked unconscious by some madman and left for dead,” her mother reminded her.

  “If whoever attacked me wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

  Her mother flinched, and Bailey instantly regretted her words, even though she knew she spoke the truth. The reason behind her abduction was as unknown today as it had been when it occurred two months ago, but Bailey was convinced that her attacker had not wanted her dead.

  At least that was what she told herself. The alternative—that her attacker had intended for her to be found not hours but days later—was too upsetting to contemplate.

  Bailey covered her face in her hands, pulling in a deep breath. She looked up to find her mother’s usually confident brown eyes filled with worry.

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “But I can’t do this anymore. Am I supposed to stay hidden away forever?”

  “It’s not forever. Just until whoever attacked you is caught,” her mother said.

  “What if they’re never caught?”

  A heavy silence fell over the room as her words hung in the air. Bailey’s entire being recoiled at the thought of her attacker remaining at large, but it was a real possibility, and every one of them knew it. She forced herself to continue.

  “We have to face facts.” She took in the stern scowls on her brothers’ faces. “It’s been two months since the incident. The chances of the police finding the person who did this are slim to none.”

  “Don’t say that.” The vehemence in her mother’s voice caused Bailey to flinch. But it was spurred by fear, not confidence. “The police are doing everything they can. They are going to arrest whoever did this to you, Bailey.”

  “I’m sure they will,” she said, because that was what her mother needed to hear right now. “But I can’t remain in this prison until they’re found.”

  “No one is holding you prisoner,” her father insisted. “You can come and go as you please.”

  “Of course I can, as long as I have an entourage of muscle heads escorting me.”

  “Hey!” Daniel’s brow creased with affront.

  Bailey rolled her eyes. “Present company not included.”

  “Has the media reported anything about the bodyguards?” her father asked, concerned. “We hired that security company because they assured us the bodyguards would be unobtrusive. We don’t want anyone knowing that you’re under special protection.”

  “I know,” Bailey said. “That’s what matters.”

  She could tell by the set of her father’s jaw that he wasn’t even close to relenting. And when he immediately changed the subject to a national retailer who had approached RHD about launching an affordable clothing line, she knew the matter of bodyguards was now closed.

  Bailey refrained from screaming in frustration, but just barely.

  She reclaimed her seat on the sofa, listening with half an ear as the rest of her family discussed the possibility of working with the national retailer. At any other time Bailey would have been right in the thick of it, but not today. She had more important things on her mind, namely getting back control of her life.

  She’d surrendered the past two months to fear. But if she continued to hide, the person who kidnapped her would win.

  That was not going to happen.

  The best way to reclaim her old life was to get back to doing the things she used to do. She decided to broach an idea she had been mulling over since she’d returned from St. Thomas last week. She waited until the conversation died down before speaking.

  “Before you all leave, there’s something else I wanted to discuss.” Bailey picked up the throw pillow and started fingering the corded edge in an attempt to hide her nerves. “It seems as if the media isn’t about to let up any time soon. So I think we should use the publicity to our advantage.”

  She was faced with a roomful of curious looks.

  She set the pillow aside and folded her hands in her lap. Taking a deep breath, Bailey announced, “I think RHD should put on a second fashion show.”

  There was a beat of silence before Brianna said, “But Fashion Week was just a couple of months ago.”

  “So? Is there a law that states that we can only hold a show during Fashion Week?” Bailey shrugged. “I know it’s one of only a few times a year when all eyes are on the fashion industry, but the downside is that we’re competing with every other design house for press. Even though it’s not under ideal circumstances, the fac
t remains that the spotlight is on RHD right now. Why not take advantage of it?”

  Her father shook his head. “You’ve been through enough, Bailey. You need to take it easy.”

  “I’ve been taking it easy for two months. If I took it any easier I would be comatose.”

  Her father frowned and Bailey instantly felt like a petulant child. Considering she had been discovered unconscious and feared dead, she felt even worse. She may have been the one kidnapped, but she wasn’t her abductor’s only victim. This ordeal had taken a toll on her entire family.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just ready to get back to work.” She turned to her sister, whom she could usually count on as an ally. “Think about it, Brianna. This would be the perfect opportunity to reveal the new resort-wear collection.” She held her hands out in a plea. “All I ask is that you all at least consider my idea.”

  She could feel the tension radiating from everyone in the room, but Bailey refused to back down. She needed this. She needed to regain the power she’d relinquished to the bastard who’d turned her life upside down. Getting back on the runway was a surefire way to do that.

  “Are you sure about this, Bailey?” Kyle asked. “You saw what happened today.”

  “I’ll admit I wasn’t prepared for some of the reporters’ questions, but a fashion show is my comfort zone. I can handle it.” Noncommittal murmurs sounded throughout the room. “Please, just consider it,” she practically begged.

  With reluctance lacing his words, her father said, “A special event may not be such a bad idea, but the bodyguard stays,” he added.

  “Dad—”

  “It’s nonnegotiable, Bailey.”

  “Dad’s right,” Daniel said. “You need to have someone with you.”

  Once again that urge to scream overwhelmed her. She knew her family meant well, but Bailey had never felt more smothered in her entire life, and as the baby of the family, she’d experienced her fair share of smothering. Maybe if she talked to her parents alone, without her siblings offering their two cents, she could get them to budge on their rigid stance.

  The conversation soon turned to Kyle and Zoe’s wedding, which would be held Thanksgiving weekend. Bailey feigned enthusiasm but her heart wasn’t in it. How could she talk about wedding favors and flowers while the rest of her life was mired in uncertainty?

  An hour later, back in the apartment she shared with her sister, Bailey grabbed a bottle of Italian spring water from the refrigerator and walked over to her favorite spot in the apartment—the window seat next to a gorgeous view of Central Park.

  “Hey,” Brianna said from behind her. Bailey jumped so high that water spilled from the bottle. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Bailey could lie and say that she had not been startled, but what would be the point? She’d spent the past week doing everything she could to conceal her anxiety from her sister, but Bailey knew Brianna could see right through her.

  Mercifully, her sister just put an arm around Bailey and gave her a comforting squeeze. Bailey leaned into the hug, resting her head against Brianna’s shoulder.

  “I’m proud of what you did today,” Brianna said. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Bailey blew out a tired breath. “But it was necessary.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Brianna said with another reassuring squeeze. “The media isn’t going to stop hounding you until they’re satisfied that they have the full story.”

  “Which, if we follow the advice of the detective assigned to my case, they will not get until this creep is caught.”

  “True, but at least you proved to them that you’re not going to cave under their pressure. That’s one good thing that came out of it.” Brianna tilted Bailey’s face up to her. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am,” Bailey said, grateful that she didn’t choke on the lie.

  She was a lot of things lately, but okay was not one of them. Flashbacks of being kidnapped assailed her with increasing frequency, stealing the breath from her lungs and causing her to break out into cold sweats. It was not a good look for a fashion model.

  She had been trying so hard to reclaim her old life, but how was that even possible when the person who’d wreaked such havoc was still out there? How would she ever feel normal again if she was forced to live under the protection of bodyguards?

  Of all the fears her kidnapper had caused, that was the worst of it—fearing that she would never feel normal again.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, Chris, did you find that footage from the Preachers for Prosperity scandal?” Micah Jones focused on his computer screen as he talked to his colleague on speakerphone. “I also need clips of Ezra Singleton’s most recent film for tonight’s interview.”

  He lifted the papers scattered around his desk with one hand while he used the other to scroll through the online archives of The New York Times as he scanned the results of his most recent search. Micah wanted to double-check the source that would be cited on Connect, the hour-long entertainment news program he hosted and produced on New York’s WLNY cable channel.

  Finding the preproduction checklist he’d been searching for, Micah tore his eyes away from the screen long enough to mark off the tasks he’d already completed. Scanning the list, he groaned at the amount that still remained. He could forget taking a lunch today.

  Despite the mountain of work he faced, he still couldn’t shake off his biggest distraction.

  His eyes traveled to the second computer monitor that sat at a right angle to his main screen, where Bailey Hamilton’s stunning brown eyes stared back at him from yesterday’s press conference at Lincoln Center, striking him in the chest with their staggering beauty.

  Micah endured the now-familiar response his body produced whenever he saw her, his gut tensing with want. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward the ceiling, his eyes closed tight against the current of desire that charged through his veins. He didn’t even try to fight it anymore. It took all he had just to survive the onslaught of need mere thoughts of this woman created within him.

  It was probably a good thing he hadn’t been among the press conference’s invited media. If his body reacted this way to seeing a picture of Bailey, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be around her in the flesh.

  At first, Micah had been upset about having to watch the press conference on TV like the rest of the masses. He understood that he wasn’t a member of the press corps that routinely covered New York’s fashion scene, but he had been the last person to interview Bailey Hamilton before the shit had hit the proverbial fan in September.

  And there, no doubt, lay his answer.

  Life had not been kind to Roger Hamilton Designs, and to Bailey in particular, since the evening she had been found passed out in a basement in Lincoln Center, allegedly clutching a bag of cocaine. Her family was probably trying to distance her from anything associated with that time period. Unfortunately, that included him.

  Micah could only imagine how much it had hurt her not to participate in Fashion Week. He recalled Bailey’s excitement during their interview as she’d shared the story of being a little girl in the audience at her very first RHD fashion show, dreaming of one day strolling down the catwalk herself.

  She’d brought those dreams to fruition in stunning fashion, becoming one of the most talked about up-and-coming models in the industry. That was why he and the rest of the press had been floored when Bailey had missed RHD’s show.

  And hours later, when she’d been found with those drugs on her?

  Call him a sucker, but Micah refused to believe the rumors running rampant throughout the media and blogosphere. The woman he’d interviewed a few months ago was not a drug addict. He’d seen enough of them in his day to know what a drug addict looked like, e
ven one skilled at hiding their addiction. Something else was going on.

  And, like everyone else, Micah wanted to be the one who uncovered the secrets one of New York’s biggest names in fashion was hiding.

  Shortly after Bailey had been rushed to the hospital, Micah had made a quick visit to his friend Logan Smith, an NYPD detective. He’d tried to get the inside scoop on the Hamilton story, but Logan, as expected, had refused to release specific details. But Micah had been able to tell that there was more to the story. He needed to find out exactly what that more was.

  And he needed to see her again.

  That was what this was really about. He wanted—no, he needed—to see Bailey Hamilton again. Like he needed his next damn breath.

  Despite her efforts to avoid the paparazzi, she had been photographed and videotaped at least a hundred times since she’d returned to New York last week. But random shots of her getting into cabs or entering RHD wouldn’t cut it. Micah needed to see her in the flesh.

  He blew out a frustrated sigh as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from her picture. Just then, an instant message popped up on his screen, reminding him that he had a show to produce.

  More important, he had an executive producer of local programming job to land.

  That was what he should be concentrating on, instead of the fashion model who took up way too much of his mental energy. The moment their current EP had announced that he was taking a job at a station in San Francisco, Micah had decided to make his move. Was executive producer a bit lofty for a thirty-year-old? Maybe. But Micah sure as hell wouldn’t let that stop him from going for it.

  He clicked on the link Chris had provided and downloaded the video, filing it with the rest of the materials for Connect. His show was the highest-rated program in WLNY’s prime-time lineup. It was a running joke among his colleagues that the only reason Connect pulled such high numbers was because viewers wanted to see Micah’s pretty face, but he knew it was all about his guests. He’d been lucky enough to land interviews with some of New York’s most popular celebrities.