If We Never Met by Barbara Freethy

Chapter Eleven

Dante didn’t sleep well,and his rehab session on Thursday was brutally rough. He was tired. He was in a bad mood, and his patience was thin. By noon, his therapists had seen enough and suggested he either call it a day or take a two-hour break before the afternoon session. He'd opted for the break, not wanting to lose any valuable time in his recovery. He just needed to get his head together and remember why he was in Whisper Lake. It wasn't to romance Keira. He just wished he could stop thinking about ways to see her again, even though they'd both agreed to stay apart, not just for the sake of avoiding a photograph, but also because he was still attached to Nikki, and he was just passing through.

When he walked into the inn, he gave Lizzie a nod.

"Dante," she said with a welcoming gaze. "I'm glad you're back. You have a visitor."

His gut tightened. "Who?"

"Nikki Voltari."

"What?" His gaze swept the entry and adjacent living room. "She's here?"

"Yes. She said she was exhausted from her early flight, so I gave her a room. I didn't feel right putting her in your room. She's on the second floor in room six."

He couldn't believe Nikki had come to Whisper Lake.

"Thanks."

He moved up the stairs, feeling a mix of emotions, none of them good. He knocked on Nikki's door. A moment later, she threw it open. She wore a cropped top and wide-legged pants that did little to hide how thin she was. Her straight blonde hair reached halfway down her back, and when she came toward him, he almost choked on the strong scent of her perfume.

"Dante," she squealed, then threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. "Are you surprised?"

"I am," he admitted, as she pulled him into the room and shut the door. "I just talked to you last night. You didn't say anything about coming."

"I decided after we spoke. Craig let me use his plane this morning. There's a private airfield about twenty minutes away."

"You didn't have to come."

"I did have to come. I need the press to see us together, so I can reframe the story on my social media pages."

"Reframe the story? What does that mean?"

"Don't worry about it." She sat down on the end of the bed and pulled him down next to her. "It's been so long since I've seen you. You look good."

"Thanks. You look as beautiful as always." He wasn't lying, but he also didn't feel any chemistry anymore. She was too much: too made up, too styled, too perfumed. She was right in front of him, but he felt like he was looking at a photograph.

"The innkeeper insisted on giving me my own room," Nikki added with a roll of her eyes. "But I can move my stuff to your room now that you're here."

"Uh, how long are you planning to stay?"

"I'm not sure. Why?" She sat back, giving him a disgruntled look. "You're not happy to see me, are you?"

"I told you that I'm focused on my rehab. I'm on a break now. I have to be back at the center for an afternoon session."

"Can't you take some time off?"

"No, I can't. You shouldn't have come."

Hurt filled her eyes. "Dante, I'm your girlfriend. Why don't you let me help you?"

He would have felt more touched if he thought she actually wanted to help him, but she had not pressed to be with him at any point since his injury. She'd been happy to wait until he was completely back to normal. She'd never wanted to sit in the hospital with him or even hang out in Denver, where he'd done his initial recovery. It was only because of the story the press had made up that she'd felt compelled to come and see him. She was worried about how she was looking, not how he was feeling.

Maybe he was being too cynical, but he didn't think so. "You can help me by going back to LA," he said. "My whole career is riding on this rehab."

"I understand that, and I want you to get better. I want you to go back to doing what you do. I can help you."

"You really can't."

"I can," she said with determination. "I can get the press off your back and stop them from making up nonsensical stories about you and that woman. My being here will put an end to that."

"I think your presence will just draw more photographers."

"Let me worry about that. You focus on your rehab. I'll handle the media."

"I'd rather you just went back to LA."

"Well, I'm not going to do that yet. You may not think you need me, but you do."

He was too tired to argue with her. "Fine. We'll talk about this later."

"Tonight. Let's have drinks and dinner. I'll find a good place and text you the address."

"All right. But I'm tied up until five."

"We'll do it at six." She leaned forward and kissed him. "We can move my things later."

"Nikki—we really need to talk about everything."

"We'll do that at dinner. Go, do your thing. We'll talk later."

He knew he couldn't keep letting her put him off. He just didn't have time to get into a big scene, and with Nikki, big scenes were a fairly common occurrence. "I'll see you later."

As he walked out of the room, he blew out a frustrated breath. Nikki's surprise appearance had done one thing—it had shown him in very clear-cut terms that she was not the woman he wanted.

But the woman he now wanted he couldn't have.

Keira stared at the wedding dress on the sewing table in front of her. After a busy morning in the shop, she'd taken a late lunch break in the back room of her store to work on Hannah's dress, but she'd been staring at it so long, her eyes were blurring. When her manager, Connie, popped her head into the room, it was a relief to be forced to look away.

"I just wanted to remind you that I'm leaving early today," Connie said. "My mother has to go to the doctor, and she needs a ride."

"Right." She looked at her watch. It was almost two. "You better get going."

"Daphne will be in at three, and she'll stay until close."

"That's fine."

"How's the dress going?"

"Not that well. Taking a break from it will be good," she said as she got to her feet.

"It always helps to have fresh eyes. By the way, have you checked your emails today?"

"Not yet. Why? Is there a problem?"

"I was skimming through to see if there was any store business—"

"Of course," she interrupted. "I'm happy to have you keep an eye on emails I need to respond to."

"Well, you do need to respond to these emails, but they're not about the store. You have two emails from Karli Holton, one from a guy name Rafa Delgado, and another from Talia Bee."

"Seriously? Talia Bee and Rafa Delgado are very successful and well-connected stylists."

"I know," Connie said with a gleam in her eyes. "And Karli Holton is an up-and-comer. I looked her up. They all want to talk to you about designing dresses for their clients. They all referenced Chelsea's beautiful gown."

"That's amazing." She'd thought she might get some interest in her work after Chelsea's gown was photographed, but not from top stylists.

"Your side hustle could be turning into a lot more, Keira. So, answer your email."

"I will take a look," she promised, following her manager back into the store. There were no customers at the moment, so after Connie left, she logged into the computer on the counter.

Each email was nicer than the last: compliments about her design, her originality, and the sheer beauty of Chelsea's gown… Her smile grew with each word, and she felt a thrill of excitement and satisfaction.

Talia Bee was looking for a designer for Crystal Jeffers, who was her main client. Crystal was starring in a blockbuster film being released in September and would need a red-carpet dress. Rafa Delgado wanted to know if she had any gowns already done that one of his clients might be interested in, and Karli Holton simply asked for a call to discuss opportunities with her clients, who were primarily country music singers. Designing Chelsea's gown had definitely opened some doors for her. Now she just had to walk through those doors.

Her exhilaration dimmed as she thought about the practical logistics of addressing these requests. She had Hannah's gown and the bridesmaids' dresses to complete, as well as managing the store and keeping an eye on the real-estate business.

Where was she going to find the time to do all of this?

As she pondered that question, the door opened, and a beautiful, tall blonde came through the doors, wearing a very short red dress that showed off the sharp angles of her very lean body. She had on ridiculously high heels and a pair of what appeared to be very expensive sunglasses. As she removed her glasses, Keira stiffened in surprise. She knew this woman. She hadn't changed much at all in the last seven or eight years since they'd met.

"Are you Keira?" the woman asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Nikki Voltari."

"I—I know who you are," she stuttered, swallowing hard as she tried to get her wits about her.

What the hell was Nikki doing in Whisper Lake? And why was she here?This could not be good.

"Then you must know I'm Dante's girlfriend."

She cleared the lump in her throat. "Yes, and I also know that you're a supermodel. In fact, we met several years ago. I'm sure you wouldn't remember."

It was Nikki's turn to be surprised. "We've met? How is that possible? I've never been to this town before."

"I was working in New York for Jacques Bateau. It was years ago. You were a teenager. You came in for a fitting before our Fashion Week runway show. I went out to find you the perfect matcha tea."

Nikki stared back at her. "I don't remember."

"I didn't think you would. I was pretty much an errand girl and not the designer I wanted to be."

"How did you end up here?"

"I'm from here. My mom had an accident. I came back to care for her." She paused. "I want you to know that you don't have anything to worry about. Dante and I barely know each other. Those photos were misconstrued."

"That's what he said."

"I hope you believe him."

Nikki tilted her head, giving her a thoughtful look. "I do, but a lot of women would take advantage of a mistake like that to wedge themselves into his life."

"That's not me."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to meet me for drinks on the patio at the Lakeshore Bistro at five thirty."

"Why?"

"Because I want us to talk, and I want us to be seen together. Wear one of those cute dresses in the window."

"Wait—" she began, but Nikki was already gone, the door clanging behind her.

She blew out a breath. She really wished Dante would have given her a heads-up that Nikki was coming her way—unless he didn't know. But Nikki said she'd spoken to Dante, so he had to know. Maybe he was happy to go along with whatever Nikki wanted. She certainly was beautiful. She'd forgotten how striking Nikki was.

Why had Dante been flirting around with her when he had Nikki?

Probably because he'd been bored, she thought, as she worked herself up, anger running through her.

She'd let herself believe that there was something real between them. Dante had said that he wanted to take a break from Nikki. But if he wanted to take a break, then Nikki wouldn't be here. And Nikki certainly hadn't acted like a woman whose boyfriend had just broken up with her.

The last thing she wanted to do was meet Nikki for drinks, but she did feel like she owed her something, because she felt a little guilty that she'd kissed Dante. So, she'd meet Nikki at the Bistro, and hopefully that would be the end of it—the end of everything. She could stop being distracted by Dante, stop thinking what if…when she knew there was no what-if.

Tonight, maybe she could finally make herself believe that.

"You did much better this afternoon," his therapist, Rita Donohue, told him after they finished their session late Thursday afternoon.

"It didn't feel that way." His shoulder was aching, and his breath was still coming hard.

"Because you want everything in a second, but each day you're getting stronger and your range of motion is improving. You're right where you're supposed to be."

"I'm supposed to be in Miami on the pitcher's mound, throwing strikeouts."

"One day at a time," she said with a smile.

Rita was a kind but firm woman in her early forties. He hated the platitudes she occasionally threw out, but he did appreciate her efforts. She stayed positive while she kicked his ass, and that's what he needed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Rita said. "You might want to take it easy tonight, get a lot of rest."

That was exactly what he wanted to do, but he had a problematic girlfriend waiting to have drinks with him. He didn't think rest was in the cards.

He headed toward the locker room, took a quick shower, dressed, and then took the elevator down to the parking garage. When he stepped out, he was surprised to hear shouting, and the two people involved in the argument included Mark Langley and a middle-aged red-haired woman. They were having an animated and heated conversation. The woman put her hand on Mark's arm, and Langley shoved it off.

"You'll be sorry," she warned.

"I've been sorry for a long time."

"This isn't over."

"It is over. You just need to accept that." Langley then stormed away from her, jumping into a gray sedan before speeding out of the garage. The woman had her hands on her hips, her glare following his vehicle until it disappeared. Then she got into a white car and drove away. Neither one of them had noticed him at all.

As he got into his vehicle, he wondered what he'd just seen. The woman was not Keira's mother, that was for certain. But they clearly had some sort of relationship. Maybe Keira's instincts about Langley were not as far-fetched as he'd thought. There had been definite anger and dislike between the two of them.

But who was that woman?Was it the Mandy who had called him a few days earlier?

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, then took out his phone.

Before he could call Keira, he saw several texts from Nikki. She wanted him to meet her for drinks at the Lakeshore Bistro. Damn. He didn't want to have a public argument with her, but he felt like that's where they were headed. He sent her a quick text asking her to just meet him at the inn, but she replied immediately. I came all this way. Just meet me for a drink.

With a sigh, he sent back a thumbs-up. She probably wanted to prove to the world that they were still together. Whatever. He could have a drink and they could talk after that.

He punched in Keira's number. While they'd agreed to stay apart, he needed to tell her what he'd seen. Unfortunately, his call went to voicemail. He didn't know if she was avoiding him, but he left a brief message. "I have some information on Langley," he said. "If you're interested, call me back." He'd leave it to her to decide.

Setting down his phone, he drove out of the garage, keeping an eye out for paparazzi, but there was no one around. He hadn't seen anyone on his trips back and forth to the inn, either. He'd like to believe the photographer had given up and gone back to whatever rock he'd crawled out from under, but that didn't seem likely. Maybe he was following Nikki around. He doubted she'd come into Whisper Lake under any kind of radar. She never went anywhere without announcing it on social media. She wanted people to follow her, especially the press. The more pictures, the better, as far as she was concerned.

It hadn't really bothered him before, but then he hadn't thought much about it. When he'd been on top of the world, the press and the photos had all just seemed part of his life, and he had nothing to hide. But while his injury was no secret and had occurred in real time on national television, his recovery was private and probably felt a little mysterious to a lot of people. Throwing in a hot brunette had given the press a new story to run with. They'd had a void to fill, and they'd found a way to fill it.

He needed to take back control, not just with the press but also with Nikki. He'd let her put him off and stall the hard conversation that she didn't want to have. He'd talk to her tonight and then he'd figure out what to do about the press.