Avoiding Intimacy (Avoiding #2.5)(40)

Frederick said with mightier-than-thou pretenses.

“Of course, we made the unveiling,”

Chyna said, rolling her eyes. “Who do you think I am?”

“I would have started worshiping at your feet earlier if I’d known it would get me into Marco’s fashion line grand opening on Madison Avenue!” he all but squealed.

“I’ll remember that next time,” she said with a catty smirk.

“How did you score this anyway?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just the right connections,” she said with a shrug.

“Do you even know?” he asked, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“Of course I know!” Chyna turned back to face the gorgeous boutique on Madison Avenue.

Part of the street had been obstructed from public view for the cutting of the ribbon, and there was a private entrance for the viewing of the exclusive new clothing line. It was all hush-hush. So, of course, nearly half of the Upper East Side elite had scrambled for a chance to be present. The more exclusive, the more desirable it was to be in attendance.

Chyna hadn’t really thought she would get access to the line. She had a name behind her, but she didn’t model, she wasn’t in the industry, and she wasn’t a celebrity. The chance of finding the golden ticket had been slim.

When she had gotten back from her morning mani/pedi two days earlier, Bernard had stopped her at the door and handed her an envelope. He said someone had been asking around for her apartment or drop-box, but Bernard didn’t know the guy. Since he wasn’t with the postal service, Bernard had taken the letter and informed him that he would hand-deliver it to Chyna. She was surprised that whoever it was had given Bernard the letter.

Bernard had given her a fair warning about opening the contents. He was always looking out for her. She had reassured him that she would be careful, and then she had taken the elevator to her apartment. She had ripped open the envelope without care and stared in shock at the contents within—two gorgeous cards bordered in gold with the designer logo stamped on the front. She turned the stationary over and discovered that they were in fact invitations with her name on them.

She had phoned Frederick immediately. Alexa was too engrossed in finals for her last year of law school, and she probably wouldn’t have been all that impressed with a grand opening for a boutique she couldn’t spend money in.

Frederick had squealed like a girl, asking her more questions than she had answers for. She had shut him up real quick by volunteering his pass to someone else.

How the hell the tickets had landed on her doorstep had crossed her mind several times since she had opened the package, but she didn’t have an answer, and she didn’t really care. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

Chyna turned her attention back to the building that was half covered in a white cloth to hide the completed boutique. An enormous red ribbon was held up in front of the entranceway, and a woman was holding a rather cumbersome pair of large gold scissors.

Another woman in an obnoxiously glittering dress with diamonds dripping from her neck, ears, and fingers smiled at the waiting crowd. She took a step forward and began speaking. “Thank you for being here for this very important moment in Marco’s fashion line. I am Giselle, Marco’s personal assistant, and I am happy to introduce you to the man himself.”

The small crowd of people fell silent as an attractive man with a staggering confidence walked out in front of the store. He was every bit the man Chyna had read about—tall, dark-styled hair, deep penetrating eyes, and impeccable taste.

What she hadn’t read was the thing she couldn’t describe even to herself. From where she was standing twenty feet away from him, some type of pull, a magnetic pull, drew her to him.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said in crisp, clear English with the faint trace of a gorgeous Italian accent. “My name is Marco Moretti, owner and designer of Marco’s Italian fashion merchandise. I am very pleased to have such a warm welcome in the States at the grand opening of my newest boutique. Thanks to my wonderful business associates, I have had a very easy transition onto your Madison Avenue. I am happy to call it home.”

Frederick squeezed Chyna’s hand.

“He’s looking at you,” he whispered.

Chyna was already well aware. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of him since he had walked in front of his new building.

To say her pull to him was magnetic was beginning to become an understatement.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She didn’t even know if she believed in love at all. All she knew was that she knew it when she felt it—desire. She was sure she was dishing out her fair share in his direction, but his eyes hardly portrayed otherwise.

The second or two he spent staring at her during the pause in his speech were breathtakingly long. She was thinking of a thousand places in the nearby vicinity where she would let him take her. How much effort would it take to convince him?

“After much anticipation, I am here to announce the opening of Marco’s on Madison, the freshest Italian line to cross the Atlantic.” He smiled like a true charmer and took the giant scissors from the woman holding them. She offered them up enthusiastically. With a gorgeous smile on his face that really lit up the camera, Marco leaned forward and cut the red ribbon into two.

As the ribbon fluttered to the ground, the white curtain followed, revealing live models posing in the all-glass storefront.