LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 1

      Paris

      Indigo DuCharme’s chin wobbled as she held up her head and bravely looked over the busy ballroom. She stood at the top of a stairway that curled down to the marble dance floor. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t focus on the waltz played by the orchestra. Her eyes threatened to tear up, but she blamed this on the brilliant glints from half a dozen chandeliers suspended above the dancers.

      Clutching her pink tulle skirt with both hands, she toyed with the embroidered red poppies she’d added days ago. She’d also sewn a pocket in the skirt to keep her cell phone. She forced herself not to check her text messages again. For the sixth time. Or maybe the thirteenth time. Because...

      He had jilted her.

      The last text she’d read from him, ten minutes earlier, had the audacity to state: Sorry, hooked up with Melanie this evening. You and me? Sex was great. But never connected beyond the sheets, yeah?

      Fingers curling into her palms, Indi winced as her perfectly manicured fingernails dug into her skin. Never connected? Beyond the sheets? She’d been dating Todd for over a month. They’d seen each other practically every day. She’d cooked for him. Shopped for him. Had sex with him and made sure he was a happy camper, meaning that she didn’t always orgasm but he did. All week she’d been planning her dress and hair for tonight’s date. The Summer Soiree charity ball was one of her favorites. And she looked...

      ...so pretty.

      Indi had felt like a star when she arrived by limo two hours earlier. Todd always met her for dates; his work as a stock trader kept him at the office at all hours. Indi had glided out of the limo, her long, lush, poppy-red-and-pink tulle skirts floating about her legs. The beaded bodice hugged her like a dream and she had dusted her décolletage with fine glitter. Her blond hair was pulled up in a messy bun with tendrils framing her face. She wore a pink, cat-ears tiara, which she sold through her online business, Goddess Goodies. Her makeup was dramatic and sexy. Todd loved the smoky eye shadow and her dark matte red lipstick. Or so he’d said.

      Had it all been a lie? Had she merely been a prolonged hookup? Who the hell was Melanie? And just how long could Indi hold off tears before she risked mascara running down her cheeks?

      A waiter, wielding a tray of goblets shimmering with bubbles, appeared before her. “Champagne?”

      Indi shook her head and forced a smile. She felt no mirth whatsoever. Reaching up to adjust the cat ears, she remembered how putting them on tonight had reminded her of the joy she’d felt as a kid. She’d worn cat ears for fun as a child, and then, after a few bad romances in high school, as a sort of confidence boost.

      The cat ears had been the first of many luxury accessories she now offered at her online store. Goddess Goodies bought out-of-season and damaged designer gowns—sometimes they were donated directly from the designers. Indi refurbished them, and then rented them for the price of shipping and cleaning. As well, she sold some gowns outright for a pretty penny. Indi’s business was designed to boost confidence and empower women, and to give the opportunity to those who might not be able to afford a pretty dress for prom or an important event. Goddess Goodies was treading toward its first million-dollar year. And that should make her feel on top of the world.

      It was difficult to celebrate her feminine power when her goddess had just been trampled on by an asshole. Would her love life ever catch up to the success she was experiencing in her business life?

      “Doubt it,” she whispered, and sniffed back a tear.

      Screw it. She grabbed a champagne goblet from another passing waiter’s tray and tilted it back. It was number five, or six, that she’d consumed since realizing Todd had dumped her.

      “One more,” she muttered, and veered toward another waiter, her footsteps a bit unsure. “And then I’m going to blow this Popsicle stand.”

      “Indigo!”

      Dread climbed Indi’s neck at the sound of a familiar and falsely friendly voice. Sabrina Moreau, who hosted this ball, had never met a strand of pearls she didn’t like, or, for that matter, an older married man. She tended to wear both as if battle prizes strung about her neck.

      “Bree,” Indi said, while sweeping another goblet of champagne off a passing tray. Her world wobbled, but she ignored the easy drunk that was riding her spine and up the back of her neck.

      “That is the most gorgeous dress I’ve seen,” Bree cooed. “One of your creations?”

      “Of course. It’s Gucci restyled. Mint green certainly is your color.”

      Bree blushed, which only emphasized how terrible the pale green did look on her artificially tanned skin. “Jean-Paul likes me in green. Where’s your date? For as lovely as you look this evening, it can’t be solo. You always have a handsome stunner on your arm.”

      “Todd is...” An asshole. And her heart split to even think that she’d thought she could love the guy. Had she thought that? No, not love. Certainly not so fast. But she’d invested a lot of time in him over the past month. “We broke up. And you know me, I’d never miss a ball, especially when I’ve got the dress.”

      “Oh, sweetie. That’s so sad.”

      Tell her about it. Tightening her lips seemed to keep the tears at bay. Why had she stopped to talk to Bree? She needed to be out of here. Away from the too-happy glow of crystal chandeliers and laughing couples. Now. Someplace dark and quiet so she could lick her wounds.

      “How old are you, Indi?”

      Indi quirked an eyebrow at that delving question.

      “Well, you know what I mean. We’re not getting any younger, are we? Time to wrangle one and get him to put a ring on it. Am I right?” Bree rubbed Indi’s forearm and patted her on the shoulder. “Do you want me to fix you up?”

      “No.” Because she was no longer in the market for rich assholes who liked to spend weekends on their yachts while working all hours and making business calls between kisses and—oh, yeah—between orgasms that never quite pleased her. “I’m good, Bree. Really.”

      Not really.

      Where the hell was the exit?

      “Well, if you need—”

      Indi’s tolerance level dropped out the bottom of her Swarovski crystal strappy heels. She turned and fled from Bree’s prying questions, suspecting she might look like Cinderella fleeing the ball. It was near midnight. But she couldn’t wear the false smile anymore.

      And tears had started to spill

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