Danny (Models On Top #1) by S. L. Scott Read Free Book Online

balcony, sipping, and looking out over the pool. The peace and serenity of the hotel doesn’t ease my regrets or whatever else this feeling that has invaded is— mortification? No, too strong. Shyness? No, too weak. I down another sip to douse the doubts creeping in. I’m caught in the middle of an emotional landslide when there’s a knock on my door. The glass has been emptied, so I set it down on my way to answer the door.
    As soon as I open it, Vittori rushes in. “You’ve got to tell me everything. Everything. Every. Last. Detail.” His accent seems to have slipped away and a New York dialect has replaced it.
    “C’mon in,” I say, waving my arm like I’m rolling out the red carpet, though he’s already passed me.
    He walks right for the balcony and looks out. When he turns around, he looks satisfied, and says, “Nice view.” He shrugs. “Mine’s better. I’m over the garden and apparently some nearby neighbors have decided to have a pool party. The guests are naked and playing with their balls.”
    “What?” The door slams shut behind me and I stand there with wide eyes staring at him.
    “Beach balls, dear Reese. My, your innocence is charming.”
    Rolling my eyes, I walk to the bed and sit on the edge. “Did you want to discuss the campaign?” I have no idea why he’s here.
    “No,” he replies sitting down next to me. With his hand patting my leg, he looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “I want to discuss that hunk of man that couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
    “So you’re not really Italian?”
    “No.” He swooshes his hand in the air. “Pfft. Of course not. As an Italian from Brooklyn I couldn’t get the internships I wanted at the big fashion houses in Manhattan. They have stereotypes in the industry and I didn’t fit what they were looking for back then, so I created it.” Standing in flourish, he spins around before landing heavily back down next to me. “But keep that our secret.”
    “If it’s a secret, why are you telling me?”
    Another shrug is followed by his arm cradling me to him. “Because I like you. I think you’re wonderful.”
    “You don’t really know me.”
    “I know you enough to see we’re cut from the same cloth.”
    “Nice fashion reference there,” I say sitting up. “But I don’t know what you mean.”
    “I think you do.” Standing he walks to the minibar and looks in. “We need champagne.”
    He’s a whirling dervish of frivolity. I love his energy, but I’m shocked by this whole new side of him. “Go on. Order the champers.”
    “Okay, fancy pants. Settle down.” I pick up the phone and order a bottle of Veuve from room service, then join him on the balcony. “Ordered. I think your view sounded more interesting.”
    Perking up, his smile grows. “Yes, send the champagne to my room.” He hooks his arm in mine and says, “Lots of good eye-candy there. Let’s go.”
    I call and have the champagne sent there instead and we head to his room. The champagne arrives when we do. I watch Vittori eyeing the cute delivery guy who is popping the bottle open and pouring it for us. He tips the guy big lingering his hand in his until the guy smiles and thanks him. The delivery guy is obviously straight since he seems completely clueless to the major come on, but it is amusing to watch.
    His room is larger than mine and has a balcony with lounge chairs. We take up our positions, pretending to get some rays when we are both enjoying watching the pool party over the large hedge and brick wall.
    Vittori clinks his glass to mine and says, “My real name is Vincent. My mom calls me Vinnie. You don’t have to call me Mr. Vittori.”
    “Can I call you Vinnie?”
    He nods. “Vinnie it is. Now that I’ve let my hair down for you, I want to hear about Model Danny.”
    Bubbles clog in my throat and I spew the champagne. Hacking. Coughing. Grabbing my throat, I cough again to clear it. My voice is jagged, not sounding like me at all when I try to