"Dalia… Dalia," a crusty female voice called.I raised my eyes and saw a plump, dark-haired female officer keying the grill."You're good to go."My shoulders relaxed as a too-loud exhale left me. Relieved, weak, sleepy and worried, I stepped out of the hell-hole and followed the officer."Friends in high places, eh?" the officer whispered over her shoulder.I frowned, confused."Just…keep out of trouble, alright?” she said. “You’re too pretty for these places.” Ah, okay?The bald-headed man behind the counter glared at me, face grim as he shoved my belongings to me. With a sheepish nod, I scooped them up and slipped into the filthy bathroom to change out of my jail clothes, then I was buzzed out.In the waiting area, Julia paced back and forth. "Dalia! Oh my god." She rushed towards me and locked me in a stifling hug. "Oh my god, I was so worried.""I'm fine, Julia.” I added, “Now.""I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do. They're keeping Michael. You think he—""Not w

No surprise Devon’s high gates were wide open when Josh rolled the car through them and parked up next to a slick black Corvette belonging to his buddy. His second team was overseen by his friend, Darren. A team rarely called on, but with much on hand tonight, both teams were on duty.Darren no doubt already had Devon just the way he wanted him: cowering.As he slipped from the car, he had to shake his head at the gushing fountains and marble-tiled pillars of Devon’s Mediterranean-designed house, knowing this posh lifestyle came from the suffering, blood-shedding and soul-stealing of innocent people. There was really no need for him to make this visit to Devon; he could’ve just let Darren take care of it. But he wanted Devon to see exactly who was about to haul him off his high horse.Just before he reached the door, Darren, dressed in a sharp gray suit with his thick auburn hair gelled back in a side-part style, swung it open, grinning. He bumped his best friend’s shoulder, slapping

Nelly sprawled shirtless on the gray L-shaped sofa in his rented flat as he watched Scarface on the flat-screen television—well, actually, he was pretending to watch the television. On the real, he was surreptitiously watching Dalia as she puttered about in the kitchen, balancing a cookbook in one hand as she tried to bake him a cake.She had no idea what she was doing, and when he offered to help, she shooed him away. His fiery little girlfriend was hell-bent on getting that cake baked. And he was enjoying watching her make a flustered mess of herself.When he’d picked her up earlier, his plan was to grab something to eat, take her shopping on Robertson Boulevard and then see a movie. Of course, her choice of food was pepperoni pizza—she was a pizza maniac. But as soon as they’d finished at the pizzeria she began whining that it was his birthday and it wasn’t right to do things for her on his day. She wanted to do something for him, like bake a cake.At first he’d been upset and trie

I flipped my cellphone over and over in my palm, inhaling the salty sea breeze caressing as I took in the breathtaking marina view from the balcony of Julia's apartment at Esprit. Queues of yachts and boats gently rocked to and fro on the blue waves.It was amazing here. I was yet to tell Julia that the apartment directly across from hers was mine, bought as a gift by a certain blue-eyed billionaire. I didn’t want it, and Julia would only try coaxing me into taking it, because, well, I’d be right across the hall from her. Her dream come true.Deciding to spend the rest of my weekend with Julia so I could focus on designing a few more pieces for the bidding on Monday, I'd packed up my implements and fled my apartment to get away from the inquisitive Jane and her relentless brother. Nevertheless, the change of venue didn’t help with my concentration, because my independent mind kept wandering off to thoughts of Josh. And with each thought, a part of me hurt. It made no sense to fight t

"Ninety-five thousand," countered the third bidder."One hundred and ten thousand," countered the fourth.My last piece—a neon-yellow Spring shorts with bright green belt loops and green, square front buttons—had spiked up a bidding war. I gave credits to the tall, blonde model who did it more justice than it deserved. All but three of my modeled pieces had been tendered on, making me four hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars richer.The bidding price for the Spring shorts was now at one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, and all except one bidder were stroking their chins in deep contemplation.Being an exclusive show, there was just a small crowd of people apart from the five bidders, the eight fashion designers, including me, and the models. Nevertheless, everything was being executed like a real fashion show, with a huge white runway, blinding, flashing light and runway soundtracks.The models, make-up artists and everything else were provided. All the designers had to