"I can't tell if you're kidding or not."
I grin because I totally am. "I know who Elvis is. How come you don't have a typical Mississippi accent though?"
"It's faded over the years," Kip answers. "Comes out occasionally. Usually when I've had one too many whiskeys, which is never these days."
"Uh-huh. And you said you worked in fashion?"
"That's right."
"So you're a designer?"
He clears his throat. "No… I used to model. Back in the early 2000s."
"Cool," I reply as calmly as I can while running some numbers in my head.
If Kip was in his early twenties back then, that would make him…aged to perfection right now.
So let me review what I know about the guy so far:
He's got a great voice.
He's a good person because Sky vouched for him.
He used to be a model.
And he has to be in at least his forties.
Check. Check. Check. And check.
Hmm.
Maybe getting locked in here isn't so bad after all.
5
Kip
Is it wrong that I'm relieved Sky didn't tell Darby anything about me?
Probably, yeah.
It's not that I've got anything to hide, it's just that for all the doors they opened, my modeling days messed me up in a lot of ways, too.
At forty-three, I'm finally sober. Running a business that I own outright. Financially stable. Settled in who I am. And completely and totally done with men using me for one thing and one thing only.
I may not be in the public eye anymore, or lead a glamorous lifestyle, or hang out with celebs, but I'm happier than I've ever been with the small, peaceful life I've carved out for myself.
"Your turn," I say, lifting my chin. "Give me the two-minute Darby insert-last-name-here overview."
A light chuckle comes through the door. "My last name is Adams."
Darby Adams.
Smiling, I reply, "That's a good name."
"Thanks. I kind of hate it though."
"Oh?"
