5
MARSHALL
One hundred more sit ups, I thought and then I could relax. I had a YouTube stream playing some music videos since having background noise helped me keep going. Staying in tip-top shape was all part of the game even though I still let myself have treats. My favourite cookies were jammy dodgers, and I’d just put in the extra work for when I had some earlier. To me, exercise and keeping in shape wasn’t done out of enjoyment, but part of the career. Plus, I could never resist chocolate cake if it passed in front of me.
I stared at the sketch of Jess on the counter. The dog walker was a talented artist as well. Brenna hadn’t told me much about him or her. Not that I’d asked. I did have a soft spot for anyone creative though. I loved fluid lines and beautiful works of art. That only got me thinking of the hookup from the other night and his graceful body that was like a piece of art.
Then a dance video came up and I tried to follow the choreography. Jess looked at me as if I was insane, and she probably had a point. I’d done this many times before though. An extension of my exercise routine, I thought. I may be able to strut down the catwalk, but my coordination for dancing left a lot to be desired. Just as I did an intricate move, my ankle hit the edge of the table and I crashed down in sheer agony, rolling over it.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” I repeated while holding my ankle in agony. Brenna was going to kill me. I was supposed to fly to Jakarta, Indonesia, tomorrow to walk a runway show and do a photoshoot for the cover of their leading fashion magazine. “Fuck,” I said again. Jess came over and licked me. At least this little one won’t be mad at me.
“What the fuck, Marshall? How did this happen. Can you even get up?” She tried pulling me up but I had to have at least seven stone on her. As soon as I attempted to put weight on my ankle, I moaned in agony and carefully grabbed the kitchen counter to hold myself up. “What about Jakarta? You can’t pass that up.”
I sighed. “I know. I’m really sorry.” Then I leaned back on the counter. “Fuck.”
“Right, let’s get you to the sofa and I’ll get some ice to put on it.”
Brenna had been my agent since I’d gone to a department store ad casting call and she had talked with my mother afterwards. Through all my ups and downs, I’d probably acted like a complete asshole more often than not, but she’d always stuck by me. “Brenna, you’re really great, you know?”
Her brows went up and she gave me a perplexed look. “Ah, Marshall, have you taken any drugs and not told me about it? Where did that come from?”
I shook my head, realizing I sounded like an idiot. I never did answer and instead let Jess jump up onto my lap. Brenna brought the icepack over while still going on about something; I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself. “I still have to go to Jakarta. Sylvia—you know the other model for the shoot, well, I’m representing her now. Apparently, her agent had booked her a bunch of gigs, then asked that they pay her, not Sylvia. She took the money and ran.”
I chuckled and she glared at me. “Sorry, I know it’s not funny, but I needed the distraction.” At least it was taking my mind off the fucking ankle. I threw my head back on the sofa and sighed.
Brenna had called my doctor’s office, and in turn, an on-call doctor came to my flat. After pressing and prodding my ankle, it was diagnosed as a bad sprain and wasn’t broken, but I’d need to stay off it as much as I could and rest it for at least a week.
“What? No. Absolutely not. I have work tomorrow.” I crossed my arms in a huff. I supposed running to catch connecting flights and then trying to strut down a fashion runway wasn’t his idea of taking it easy.
“What Marshall means is … ‘thank you, doctor.’ I’ll make sure he does as he’s told.”
“Make sure you keep it iced, elevated, and your weight off of it. And only move if necessary.” The doctor walked over to the kitchen table and gave Brenna some more information. Then she showed him out of the flat.
She walked over to me, hands on hips and all business. “Do you think you’ll be okay on your own, or who should I phone to take care of you?”
I chuckled almost hysterically. “No, I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Patting Jess, I cuddled her in closer. “But can you send the dog walker a couple of times a day instead of one? That’s all I care about. Everything else will figure itself out.”
“Oh, come on. Let me phone a friend or something. Your mother?” Brenna even cringed at that last one.
“I’m a big boy. Don’t be ridiculous. Just please contact the dog walker to come at say 10:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.” Then I realized how gruff I sounded. “And safe travels.”
She patted my forehead. “Do you have a fever as well? You’ve never once in all our trips ever said that to me.” Shoving her hand away, I put Jess down on the floor carefully and swung my legs off, about to get up. “No, mister. No unnecessary movements.”
“Hate to disappoint you. But I need to use the little boy’s room.” She bowed, letting me hobble past.
6
STUART
“Wow, Jess’s owner needs me twice a day for the next week or ten days,” I told Jamieson, as I hit End on my phone. “This is awesome. I love Jess. She’s the cutest little Cavalier King Charles spaniel. So, how’s it going for you?” I asked. “Still home for a while or heading out again?”
“Yeah, I’ll be away the next three weeks unless there’s any more weather calamities, so feel free to bring Marshall over. And take video.” I batted him on the arm. Not that I hadn’t thought about the mystery man a lot, but that was a lost cause. What was I going to do? Go hang out at the club every night and hope he returned. I wasn’t the type for repeats and I certainly doubted he was either.
“I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Good night.” And I sashayed through to my bedroom. Sketching kept me calm and I was drawing a highland cow that I had captured in a field a few miles from my parents’ house. The hairs needed intricate details and concentration. Once I got in the zone, I worked on it for a couple of hours, and then put it to the side. After a while, I drifted to sleep.
The next morning, I grabbed coffee and decided to take the scenic route to Jess’s place. Brenna told me the owner would be there too. Why did I feel nervous? Ridiculous. I walked around the park and by the pond, sipping my hot beverage, then stopped in at the art supply store since I still had an hour before I was expected at the loft.
Gareth greeted me with open arms. “Ah, my favourite customer. Look at these new watercolour pencils that just arrived.”
“You say that to all your customers, don’t you?”
He blushed as I hugged him and then I walked around the store. I noticed he hadn’t answered but I let it go. “Do you have any of that special paper. I can’t think of the name, but it’s really good for watercolours.”
“Ahh, yes,” I followed him to an area at the back of the store. “Here are the archival papers. You can choose any of these,” he said pointing to one rack, “and you’ll be all set.”
I took them up to pay and bought some watercolours also. “Oh, right. I have to go walk Jess. Can I come back this afternoon to pick it up, darling?”
“Of course. Holding it for whenever you make it.”
“Okay, must dash.” Then, I walked briskly down the road towards Jess. Letting myself in as usual, I heard Jess’s little paws click towards me on the hardwood floor.
“Hey, Jess. Hope you’ve been a good girl for your owner.” Rubbing her under the chin, I stood up and went through to the main area of the loft. It was strange that someone would be there too. A shiver crept up my back and I wasn’t sure what caused it. The air wasn’t exactly cool.
Turning the corner from the hall, I saw dark hair and a body sprawled out on the sofa, so I walked around to face Jess’s owner, with Jess close on my heels. “Hello, I’m …” Suddenly I was tongue-tied and stopped talking. There sat Mr. Broody a.k.a. Marshall Easton, if Jamieson was to be believed.
“Wait, what happened to your ankle?” I noticed it was
iced and raised on a few cushions. “No one is here with you?” I said in a rather rushed, high-pitched voice. “Should I get you something?”
“I don’t need a nurse or a babysitter,” he growled. “And what are you doing here?”
I wasn’t going to bow down to this ignorant jerk. “Nice to see you again too. Are you so rude to everyone you sleep with? Because if you weren’t, I’d say I was here for a repeat,” I snapped, which was very unlike me. Shit, and this was my boss, technically.
“Sorry. Can we start again? I’m Stuart. Stuart Little. And you are?” He smiled then, which completely transformed his face. It was like a unicorn on a rainbow. Jamieson would laugh at my whimsical description.
“Please tell me your mum did not really name you Stuart Little?” he asked in a calm manner. He waited for my response, but within moments, his lips pressed into a thin line and his demeanour turned back to his moody self. That glimpse I’d caught of a nicer person was gone.
“Well, no, but it made you smile.” Still no response. “Anyway, it’s Stuart Livingston, but I got that nickname way back in school and …” I was about to ramble on when I remembered the situation.
“So, ah, Mister?” I definitely was not going to guess his name or admit I had any inkling he was an international model. “I’ll take Jess out for about an hour and then return her. Brenna said I should do it twice a day for the next little while. Is she here?”
Jess jumped up onto his lap while I waited, bouncing from foot to foot. He petted and stroked her gently as she made little noises. I’d started to believe he’d forgotten I was there, so I cleared my throat. “Ah, Mister—”
Cutting me off, he said, once again in a sharp tone, “You can call me Marshall. And there will be no repeats. I don’t do repeats.”
“No. Same for me. Glad we’re on the same page.” My face started to blush. “We’ll continue the dog-owner-slash-dog-walker relationship.” I wasn’t sure how to react. I couldn’t react. After all, I’d slept with the hottest male model of this decade. I had read up on him in Jamieson’s magazines and then Googled his name. Was he gay? Bi? Because it certainly wasn’t common knowledge. The fact that I worked for him, even if it was only caring for his dog, was all too much to comprehend.
“Sure, Marshall. Want me to pick you up anything while we’re out? It’s no problem.”
He leaned his head back, sighing. “Stuart, I do need something from you.” The fact that I was so happy to oblige his grumpy self was a bit off-putting for me. Usually, I made my own rules and took the attitude of love me or leave me. I didn’t care what anyone thought and would hardly waste my time on someone who was as moody as he seemed to be.
Jess jumped up, pawing at my leg. “Okay, one minute. We’ll go soon,” I said, patting her head. “You’re such a good girl.” She sat down again, waiting patiently for me.
I looked back to Marshall. “Sure. Anything.” Somehow I could tell from his tone he wouldn’t be asking me for mint chocolate chip ice cream, chocolate cake, or Maltesers. Of course, I happened to find the list of his favourite sweets in one of the magazines.
“Take Jess out for her walk?” He looked at me questioningly, brooking no argument. “Now.”
Clicking the lead on Jess, we left the loft and went out on our usual walk—except it wasn’t our usual walk in the slightest. Everything had changed now, thanks to Marshall Easton.
I talked to Jess as she trotted beside me. “Well, Jess, you never told me that was your daddy. You really do know how to keep big secrets.” A slight breeze picked up as we continued the walk around the park. Such a beautiful day.
My thoughts strayed back to Marshall. Surely, he had someone to take care of him. No friends, family, or anyone? Even his personal assistant had just left him. That would be sad. Then another thought occurred to me—maybe he was too stubborn to let anyone. Well, we’d see about that, wouldn’t we? Two could play at that game.
Jess and I took a detour through an outdoor market and I picked up a few magazines—not the ones Marshall was in—but some with puzzles and crosswords. Then I phoned in a lunch order at the deli near his flat for two sandwiches and two soups.
The girl working at the counter was kind enough to bring the order out since I had Jess. I paid her cash and thanked her. The hour flew by and soon we were back at Jess’s place, well, more Marshall’s place, now that I knew his name. After unlocking the door, I unclipped the lead and put it on the hook near the door.
I took lunch through to the kitchen and set it down on the counter, then pulled the magazines out of the bag and brought them over to Marshall. “Here you go. To occupy your time.” He looked down at them and back up at me.
“What’s that smell?” He seemed baffled.
“Lunch. Now, can you get up and come to the table, or do I have to bring the food over to you?”
“I’m perfectly capable. Thank you.” He let out a grunt.
While rummaging in the kitchen to find spoons and plates, I noticed they all seemed to glisten as if they’d never been used.
“Okay, I’m not meaning to be rude, but”—I detected a smile behind his stern face, though I was sure he thought I wouldn’t notice—“do you ever use this kitchen?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, well, not since the disaster of 2015.”
“What happened then?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it. I work a lot. I eat out. It’s not a big deal.”
“Ah, is that why this place has no personal stuff and seems sterile?” I asked, then backtracked. “Sorry. Apologies, Marshall. I have this tendency to say anything I’m thinking.” I looked at him and pleaded, “Don’t fire me. I love Jess and this job.”
“No, it’s fine. Point taken.” He had hobbled over to the table now as I set down our lunch from the deli. “It’s true. All I’ve ever known is work. Since I started and shot to fame, becoming a top model, more and more contracts came in. More deals. More travel. It’s just the way it is. I haven’t really known any other life.” Then there was silence as if he realized he’d said far too much and wished he could take it back.
“Do you want a drink? I’ll bring it over,” I asked, walking towards the fridge. If he wanted to tell me more, I figured he would in his own time. Or not. He was the strong, silent type for sure. I was surprised he was even talking at all. I presumed I’d have to coerce him far more.
“Sure. One of the diet sodas in the fridge. Help yourself too.”
“Uh, okay, thanks.” Jess followed me around and then sat under the table at our feet. Awkward silence descended over us as we ate. “Who’s staying with you overnight? And you still haven’t answered how you injured yourself.”
He glowered at me, the crease between his eyes becoming more prominent. “Do you ever stop talking?”
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. I grinned and looked up at him. “No, not really.” A half-smile appeared before he continued eating. This time, the silence was a bit more companionable. Then I got up and took my plate over to wash it in the sink and dry it.
“Ah, just put it in the dishwasher,” he said.
“There’s no point for only a few things,” I replied. Looking over, I saw he was staring at me. Intently. And then he continued eating.
“See anything you like,” I said, snapping my hip out. No reply, of course, so I bent down to Jess and she followed me over to the toy basket. “Pick something, Jess, and we’ll play.” As I threw the pizza-slice toy around and Jess chased it, I could sense Marshall’s eyes on me. He may think he was intimidating to me, but I could give as good as I get.
7
MARSHALL
Watching Stuart in my home, the hot hookup I thought I’d never see again, was putting me off balance. He was here. He knew I was gay: my deepest secret that virtually no one knew about. Nothing seemed to faze him and that was the scary part. Most people found me intimidating. One grunt or shake of the head or piercing stare and they would scurry away. I had probably created my own lonel
iness without realizing it. Funny how that thought barely crossed my mind before. Even the gossip mills and tabloids told stories of a brash and not-so-nice man.
I strived for perfection and focused solely on my job. Even when I had tried to befriend someone, they’d leave before any time had passed because I wasn’t willing to open up much, playing my hand close to my chest. Trusting people was hard for me. I’ve always assumed they’d want something more from me. Money. Gifts. There was always an ulterior motive. Surely, the women Brenna set me up with did: a more expensive restaurant to be seen at by photographers or a fancier dress to wear to a major event. There was always something. My career demanded I look the part of a straight man. So, I had the dates and then went my separate way after a few weeks.
Jess was pawing at my leg again. “Hey, Jess. There’s my little princess. Let me get to the sofa.” I pushed up and hobbled over to spread out again. I wasn’t used to this much down time. I hadn’t had anything like this since summer holidays at school. It would get old, really fast.
Stuart walked over then. “Okay, I have to go run a few errands, but I’ll be back tonight. Where do you want me to stay?” My ears burned red and I bounced up, forgetting about my ankle.
“Fuck, fuckity, fuck!” I held my leg in sheer agony. “What on earth do you mean?” Stuart rushed over and positioned himself under my shoulder. He smelled like an ocean breeze. Where the hell had that come from? I sounded like one of those ads I starred in.
“Lean on me. I’ll help you out.” There was no other option at this point.
“You said no one is staying here, and you can’t be left alone. I’m staying to help you out. End of discussion.”
“Ah, no—”
“End of discussion. See you later, Marshall.” And he walked out the door, leaving me dumbfounded and Jess sitting by the door looking lost. What the hell had just happened?
Marshall (Mayfair Model Series Book 1) Page 3