Tiffany Ashley - Beyond the Velvet Rope

Her indecision caused agitation to bubble up inside her. She couldn’t stand for Cam to be upset with her, but she also did not want him to entertain any notions of them rekindling their relationship.

And then it happened. Thandie felt her breathing catch and then quicken to a pace she could barely control. Soon she was doing more gasping than breathing. Her hands began to shake frantically, and beads of sweats dampened her forehead. She was suddenly hot, so hot she was burning with it.

Oh, God, no, she thought. Not now. She reached out, steadying herself on the edge of the bed. Clenching her fingers tightly in the sheets, she struggled to slow her breathing before the panic completely overwhelmed her. Forcing herself to focus on an imaginary spot on the wall, she repeated her breathing exercises. Inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. It was difficult to concentrate. She had to try three times before she found her rhythm. Once found, she concentrated on it with desperate determination. It took several painstaking minutes before her breathing returned to normal. When she felt the crippling hold of fear loosen slightly, she reacted with cat-like instincts.

Her still hands shaking, she quickly dressed and got the hell out of there. Twice she had to lean against the hallway wall to brace herself and catch her breath. She needed to sit down, but the urgency of putting distance between herself and Cam pushed her forward. No one knew she suffered from panic attacks. And she had no intention of broadcasting this fact; not even to Cam. Aside from being embarrassed by it, she knew it was a scary thing to witness.

Thandie had been plagued by panic attacks ever since she was a little girl. She had learned to control them as she got older. Her experienced episodes had become less frequent, and often occurred while she was alone. But every once in while, she was caught off guard by the sudden grip of anxiety. They were brought on by stress. It was an oddity that she would choose a high-pressure career. Strangely enough, Thandie never had an episode while at work. Her attacks were remarkably selective. They chose only to present themselves when she was dealing with personal issues.

It was just after dawn, and the sky was just beginning to brighten with flecks of sunlight. Taking a cab to her loft uptown would be ideal, but the streets were empty. Apparently, it was too early for taxi drivers to earn a living. Taking the bus was out of the question. She was dressed for a fashion show. She’d rather walk before facing the curious stares. But it was cold outside. Too cold for pride. And certainly too cold for a woman to walk around in six inch suede boots and a sequined miniskirt. Stares or no, she was not walking home.

The closest bus stop was around the corner from Cam’s building. Thandie hobbled in that direction, trying as much as possible not to attract any attention. It was a challenge, but she managed to do it without grimacing once.

As luck would have it, as soon as she reached the end of the block, she saw a lone taxi puttering down the dark street. Relief flooded through her as it drew nearer to the curb. Once tucked inside the backside of the taxi, she released a heavy sigh. The temperature in the cab was only marginally warmer than outside, but it was an improvement nonetheless.

Thandie clenched her hands together tightly, until the shaking subsided a little. It took a while before she realized her hands were not the only thing trembling. Reaching into her purse, Thandie pulled out her phone. It was Gage calling.

Suppressing a groan, she answered, “Hi Gage.”

Laughter greeted her. “How’s my favorite little porn star this morning?”

“That’s not funny,” Thandie said unamused.

“You know what else isn’t funny?” Gage asked in her crisp British accent. “Threatening every snitch at that party not to release your name to the press. I assure you the task lacks hilarity. I’ve had a full morning already and it isn’t even six o’clock yet.”

Thandie checked the time. “My goodness, Gage. Have you slept at all?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she said with a dry laugh.

“Thanks, Gage. I owe you—”

“Trust me. You’ll never be able to repay my generosity on this one.”

Thandie cringed. “Was it that bad?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gage scoffed. “You and Cam were seen doing the deed in public. Couldn’t you have had the decency to screw each other in Central Park, like a normal New Yorker? No, you aimed for the big leagues. You had to put your sexcapades on display at a Marc Jacobs’s party of all places. And on the first day of Fashion Week.”

Gage added the last part as if the untimeliness of the stunt was her biggest offense. With a sigh, Thandie had to admit Gage was right.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted.

“No. You were too busy screwing. Not very smart.”

“What should I do?”

“Not a damn thing. I’ve taken care of it. There may be some whispers, but rest assured no one will print either of your names.”

“Thank you, Gage”

“Stay out of sight for a few days, to give this time to blow over.”

“I can’t,” Thandie said helplessly. “I’m hosting a party tomorrow night.”

Gage gave the sigh of a martyr. “Fine. But do me a favor and try to stay out of trouble for a while. I think I’ve used up all my favors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you do.”

Miami, Florida

12:57PM

Elliot stretched lazily before rolling onto his back. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared up at the mirror mounted above the bed. Fuzzy memories of last night came back to him. He was in his playroom. The one room in his home where his bed partners were welcome. It was conveniently stationed just off the foyer, the first room closest to the front door.

For Elliot Richards, privacy was his most treasured possession. His home was next in line. He hated the idea of bringing women home; this was his haven, his utopia away from the loud and busy life he led on the mainland. It annoyed him that he was reduced to bringing his conquests here. But there were few choices available to him.

Miami was a small city, gossip ran rampant, and he was easily recognizable. Hotels were simply not an option. Elliot was not a vain person who relished the attention of others. He was quite the opposite. He shied away from publicity, often refusing to be interviewed by the press. However, as the owner of a string of successful South Beach businesses, he was often photographed sharing a drink with celebrities. The paparazzi had unknowingly made him into the one thing he worked hard to avoid: famous.

The redhead sleeping to his right rolled into his side, nuzzling his chest with her nose. The movement caused the blonde lying on his left to toss her arm across his naked hips. Bored, and somewhat uncomfortable, Elliot nudged her limp body away from him and slid out of bed. He looked around for his pants, but after a few quick glances, he gave up the endeavor.

The redhead awoke. “Where are you going?” she asked.

He answered her with a question of his own. “Did you drive here?”

She shook her head; her auburn locks curtained her eyes. “You drove us. Where are you going?”

By this time, the blonde had come to life, yawning deeply before giving him a sexy grin. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Spying his phone on the floor, Elliot scooped it up and punched a number stored in his auto dial.

“Security,” a gruff voice answered.

“This is Elliot Richards. Call a cab, please.” He hung up the phone and winked at the women. “Ladies, I have a busy day. You should go.” Stepping over miscellaneous sex toys used the previous night, he pulled open the door. Before leaving, he turned back. “Please don’t be here when I get back.”