Tossed Into Love
Page 3
I smile softly.
“He wants to get out of here,” Martina says. My eyes go to her. “He keeps complaining to the doctors about how many tests they are running, how many drugs they are giving him, and how long he has to be here for.” She shakes her head.
“I should be allowed to leave when I want,” he grumbles.
“I think the doctors know what they’re doing. Maybe you should listen to them,” I suggest.
He presses his lips tightly together. “They want me to go to rehab at some fancy place upstate. I don’t have time to do that. I have a business to run.”
“You’re going,” Martina says firmly. Tony looks over at her. “If the doctors say you need to go, you’re going. End of discussion.” She slashes her hand in the air, and he sighs.
“A man should be allowed to make his own choices.”
“How about you focus on getting well?” I say.
He looks at me. “I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”
“I think you’re right about that,” I agree. I swallow down a bubble of laughter when he directs an annoyed glare at his wife.
Yes, Tony and Martina love each other—but lord do they bicker all the time.
Hearing a knock at the door, I turn my head. A man wearing dark-blue scrubs comes into the room, pushing a wheelchair. He greets everyone with a smile.
“I’m here to take you for your ultrasound, Mr. Moretti.”
Tony grumbles, “Great, more tests.” He looks back at me. “Thank you for coming to see us.”
“Anytime.” I kiss his cheek again, then walk over to Martina, who’s now standing at the end of the bed.
Wrapping my arms around her, I give her a hug.
When I start to pull away, she tightens her hold on me and whispers in my ear, “Watch over Antonio for me.”
I nod my head, then hug her tighter.
“I’ll come visit again soon. You have my number. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will, cara.” She kisses my cheek, then lets me go.
I take one more glance at them over my shoulder, giving them a wave before I leave the room. I wonder how hard it will be to keep my promise to Martina.
Chapter 2
ARE YOU . . . ARE YOU BEING NICE TO ME?
LIBBY
I stick my head into Palo’s office and smile when his eyes meet mine. I watch his full lips tip up into a grin. Palo is a gorgeous Puerto Rican man with dark hair, caramel-colored skin, and brown eyes that look almost golden in the bright lights of the salon. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met—and beyond talented. He’s been featured in tons of fashion magazines and newspapers for his work as a stylist. As young as he is—only thirty-three—he’s made a name for himself with not only the who’s who of Manhattan but with movie and Broadway stars alike. People book months in advance to have his magical hands in their hair.
“You off, love?” He swivels his chair around so he’s closer to me.
“Yep. My last client just left,” I tell him as I slip on my coat over a black button-up shirt with a frilly neckline and long, flowing sleeves that I wore over black skinny jeans and black pointy-toed booties with a slim three-inch heel.
“How’s your sister’s boyfriend doing?”
My fingers pause on the buttons of my coat. Two nights ago when I went out with Mackenzie and Fawn for the art show, Fawn’s boyfriend, Levi—a police detective—was shot. Thankfully he’s okay, but it was still very unnerving to see my sister worried out of her mind that she might lose the love of her life. I also learned earlier that evening the secret Mackenzie had been keeping from not only me but from everyone. She’s been secretly seeing Levi’s partner, Wesley. Mackenzie told us that they met at a bar just before Thanksgiving, when her actual date stood her up. They hooked up that night and then again a few days later; both times she made some assumptions about him and took off, thinking she’d never see him again. Then he showed up on Thanksgiving, having no idea that his partner’s girlfriend was Mackenzie’s sister. I guess after that, like they say, the rest is history. Now my family knows about them. Mom is, of course, over the moon that not only one but two of her daughters are actually dating living, breathing men who have the potential to put rings on their fingers and give her grandbabies to dote on.
“Hey.”
I feel a hand on my arm, and I snap myself back into the present and blink at Palo.
“Sorry. Yes, he’s okay. He’s actually doing great,” I murmur.
His head tips to the side, and his eyes scan my face as I finish up the buttons on my coat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a little tired.” Actually, I’m not really tired—even though I should be. All day I’ve felt as if I drank too much coffee; my whole body is wired with adrenaline and anxiety. Tonight I start helping out at Tony’s Pizzeria—much to the dismay of Antonio, who wasn’t very happy when I called to tell him I would be in this evening. Still, he didn’t tell me not to come, which goes to show how badly he needs the help right now.
“You need to relax more,” Palo chides gently.
I grab my bag from the drawer, then lean over to kiss his scruffy jaw.
“My next full day off, I’m not moving from the couch.” This is not a lie. Whenever I have an entire day off, I spend it in sweats, on the couch, watching whatever scary movies I can find and eating nothing but junk food.
“Good. And I expect you out for drinks soon. I also have someone I want you to meet.”
Oh lord.
“Palo . . . ,” I sigh.
“It will be casual. Promise.” He smiles, trying to cover his lie.
With Palo, nothing is ever casual. He’s been trying forever to find a man for me.
“You are not setting me up again.”
“Why not?” he asks, sounding offended.
I wonder if I sounded just like him when I tried to set up Fawn with someone and she told me no.
“Because—”
“Because is not an answer, love.”
“It is!” I insist. “It’s my answer. That’s because the last time you set me up, the guy left me with a hundred-dollar tab at the bar. Or because the last time you set me up, the guy was old enough to be my father. Or because . . .”
“I get the point.” He shakes his head and grabs my hand, his lips tipping up into an amused grin for a moment before his expression turns serious. “You’re a beautiful woman, Libby. You’re young. You should be dating.”
I agree. I should be dating, but every single time I’ve gone out with a man in this city, it’s ended badly. The men I’ve dated either expect me to be really stupid or really easy, and I’m neither of those things. I might not know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I do know that I want to be successful. I want to be more than just a pretty object on the arm of a man, and I don’t want to have casual sex with random men until I find The One. I want to share my body with someone I care about, and who cares about me. I simply have yet to find a guy who meets my criteria.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him, needing this conversation to end.
“You’re off tomorrow,” he reminds me.
I roll my eyes. I totally forgot. Tomorrow is my day off.
“Right. I forgot, since tomorrow I’ll spend most of the day running dresses all over the city.”
He knows all about my side business. Two years ago, I was doing a home visit for one of my very wealthy clients who was attending a charity ball later that evening. She showed me all her designer gowns and dresses—she only ever wore them once. All I could think was that it was such a waste. No way should Michael Kors, Vera Wang, Tom Ford, or Phillip Lim be forgotten in someone’s closet. That’s when I came up with my business idea. I talked to her and a few of my other clients. Surprisingly, it didn’t take me much time to convince them to go along. Once I got them to agree, I got pictures of their dresses and accessories that they wouldn’t mind lending out. That’s how I started Designer Closet. I rent out items from other people’s closets. Clients will tell me what they’re looking for, and I’ll find it. They pay a set price; then they return the item or items to me when they’re done with them. I have the items cleaned before I return them to their owners. I haven’t made millions from the business, but I have made a decent amount of money. Enough that I’ll be able to put a sizable down payment on a condo in the city.
“He wants to get out of here,” Martina says. My eyes go to her. “He keeps complaining to the doctors about how many tests they are running, how many drugs they are giving him, and how long he has to be here for.” She shakes her head.
“I should be allowed to leave when I want,” he grumbles.
“I think the doctors know what they’re doing. Maybe you should listen to them,” I suggest.
He presses his lips tightly together. “They want me to go to rehab at some fancy place upstate. I don’t have time to do that. I have a business to run.”
“You’re going,” Martina says firmly. Tony looks over at her. “If the doctors say you need to go, you’re going. End of discussion.” She slashes her hand in the air, and he sighs.
“A man should be allowed to make his own choices.”
“How about you focus on getting well?” I say.
He looks at me. “I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”
“I think you’re right about that,” I agree. I swallow down a bubble of laughter when he directs an annoyed glare at his wife.
Yes, Tony and Martina love each other—but lord do they bicker all the time.
Hearing a knock at the door, I turn my head. A man wearing dark-blue scrubs comes into the room, pushing a wheelchair. He greets everyone with a smile.
“I’m here to take you for your ultrasound, Mr. Moretti.”
Tony grumbles, “Great, more tests.” He looks back at me. “Thank you for coming to see us.”
“Anytime.” I kiss his cheek again, then walk over to Martina, who’s now standing at the end of the bed.
Wrapping my arms around her, I give her a hug.
When I start to pull away, she tightens her hold on me and whispers in my ear, “Watch over Antonio for me.”
I nod my head, then hug her tighter.
“I’ll come visit again soon. You have my number. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will, cara.” She kisses my cheek, then lets me go.
I take one more glance at them over my shoulder, giving them a wave before I leave the room. I wonder how hard it will be to keep my promise to Martina.
Chapter 2
ARE YOU . . . ARE YOU BEING NICE TO ME?
LIBBY
I stick my head into Palo’s office and smile when his eyes meet mine. I watch his full lips tip up into a grin. Palo is a gorgeous Puerto Rican man with dark hair, caramel-colored skin, and brown eyes that look almost golden in the bright lights of the salon. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met—and beyond talented. He’s been featured in tons of fashion magazines and newspapers for his work as a stylist. As young as he is—only thirty-three—he’s made a name for himself with not only the who’s who of Manhattan but with movie and Broadway stars alike. People book months in advance to have his magical hands in their hair.
“You off, love?” He swivels his chair around so he’s closer to me.
“Yep. My last client just left,” I tell him as I slip on my coat over a black button-up shirt with a frilly neckline and long, flowing sleeves that I wore over black skinny jeans and black pointy-toed booties with a slim three-inch heel.
“How’s your sister’s boyfriend doing?”
My fingers pause on the buttons of my coat. Two nights ago when I went out with Mackenzie and Fawn for the art show, Fawn’s boyfriend, Levi—a police detective—was shot. Thankfully he’s okay, but it was still very unnerving to see my sister worried out of her mind that she might lose the love of her life. I also learned earlier that evening the secret Mackenzie had been keeping from not only me but from everyone. She’s been secretly seeing Levi’s partner, Wesley. Mackenzie told us that they met at a bar just before Thanksgiving, when her actual date stood her up. They hooked up that night and then again a few days later; both times she made some assumptions about him and took off, thinking she’d never see him again. Then he showed up on Thanksgiving, having no idea that his partner’s girlfriend was Mackenzie’s sister. I guess after that, like they say, the rest is history. Now my family knows about them. Mom is, of course, over the moon that not only one but two of her daughters are actually dating living, breathing men who have the potential to put rings on their fingers and give her grandbabies to dote on.
“Hey.”
I feel a hand on my arm, and I snap myself back into the present and blink at Palo.
“Sorry. Yes, he’s okay. He’s actually doing great,” I murmur.
His head tips to the side, and his eyes scan my face as I finish up the buttons on my coat.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a little tired.” Actually, I’m not really tired—even though I should be. All day I’ve felt as if I drank too much coffee; my whole body is wired with adrenaline and anxiety. Tonight I start helping out at Tony’s Pizzeria—much to the dismay of Antonio, who wasn’t very happy when I called to tell him I would be in this evening. Still, he didn’t tell me not to come, which goes to show how badly he needs the help right now.
“You need to relax more,” Palo chides gently.
I grab my bag from the drawer, then lean over to kiss his scruffy jaw.
“My next full day off, I’m not moving from the couch.” This is not a lie. Whenever I have an entire day off, I spend it in sweats, on the couch, watching whatever scary movies I can find and eating nothing but junk food.
“Good. And I expect you out for drinks soon. I also have someone I want you to meet.”
Oh lord.
“Palo . . . ,” I sigh.
“It will be casual. Promise.” He smiles, trying to cover his lie.
With Palo, nothing is ever casual. He’s been trying forever to find a man for me.
“You are not setting me up again.”
“Why not?” he asks, sounding offended.
I wonder if I sounded just like him when I tried to set up Fawn with someone and she told me no.
“Because—”
“Because is not an answer, love.”
“It is!” I insist. “It’s my answer. That’s because the last time you set me up, the guy left me with a hundred-dollar tab at the bar. Or because the last time you set me up, the guy was old enough to be my father. Or because . . .”
“I get the point.” He shakes his head and grabs my hand, his lips tipping up into an amused grin for a moment before his expression turns serious. “You’re a beautiful woman, Libby. You’re young. You should be dating.”
I agree. I should be dating, but every single time I’ve gone out with a man in this city, it’s ended badly. The men I’ve dated either expect me to be really stupid or really easy, and I’m neither of those things. I might not know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I do know that I want to be successful. I want to be more than just a pretty object on the arm of a man, and I don’t want to have casual sex with random men until I find The One. I want to share my body with someone I care about, and who cares about me. I simply have yet to find a guy who meets my criteria.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him, needing this conversation to end.
“You’re off tomorrow,” he reminds me.
I roll my eyes. I totally forgot. Tomorrow is my day off.
“Right. I forgot, since tomorrow I’ll spend most of the day running dresses all over the city.”
He knows all about my side business. Two years ago, I was doing a home visit for one of my very wealthy clients who was attending a charity ball later that evening. She showed me all her designer gowns and dresses—she only ever wore them once. All I could think was that it was such a waste. No way should Michael Kors, Vera Wang, Tom Ford, or Phillip Lim be forgotten in someone’s closet. That’s when I came up with my business idea. I talked to her and a few of my other clients. Surprisingly, it didn’t take me much time to convince them to go along. Once I got them to agree, I got pictures of their dresses and accessories that they wouldn’t mind lending out. That’s how I started Designer Closet. I rent out items from other people’s closets. Clients will tell me what they’re looking for, and I’ll find it. They pay a set price; then they return the item or items to me when they’re done with them. I have the items cleaned before I return them to their owners. I haven’t made millions from the business, but I have made a decent amount of money. Enough that I’ll be able to put a sizable down payment on a condo in the city.
