Six hours later, I stood nervously in front of my full-length bedroom mirror, staring at the way the black cocktail dress hugged my body. It was something I’d bought a few months ago but had yet to wear, and I was still self-conscious of the way it pushed my breasts into a high cleavage.
Still, it was probably the best thing I had for a date with Deacon at Marcus & Fine, one of LA’s newest and most expensive steakhouses.
Sliding into the backseat of a cab, I pulled a mirror out of my purse and glanced at my reflection. With my hair teased and slightly over my forehead, the last of my bruises was all but invisible. Inside, though, I was feeling more nervous than I’d ever felt in my life. More nervous than when I auditioned for my first pageant, and much more nervous than I’d felt when I’d
