by Randi Rigby
“Wow,” I said, watching her leave. “Who says romance is dead?” I spun through my combination. There was a satisfying click as it unlocked and dropped open. The sooner I could get my project out and be gone the better.
“I’ve never gotten any complaints,” Blake shrugged.
I extracted what I needed and closed the door. “Really? Then they deserve you.”
He whistled. “Little judgy, don’t you think?”
“If I ask you an honest question Blake, would you give me an honest answer?” My blue eyes searched his gray ones earnestly. I was wearing boots with a three inch heel today so he had to look up slightly to hold my gaze. I liked being taller than him.
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on the question.”
That was fair. I braved it. “What happened between you and Whitney?
He blinked in surprise. For the briefest of moments he was unarmed and vulnerable then just as quickly the wall of cockiness was back up, fully fortified. “That’s ancient history, Grace Kelly. And I’m not going there. Not even for you.” He wrapped an arm around me, his voice rumbling close in my ear as we started to walk down the hall. “But tell me again what it is that women really want. I promise to pay close attention this time.”
The second bell rang just as I wriggled out of his grasp and stepped inside World History. “You’re late,” I tsked at him over my shoulder safely from inside the classroom.
“And you play by too many rules, Grace Kelly.” He smiled as he disappeared down the hall.
“That’s cheating, Kel,” Q protested as I helped Brody knock his croquet mallet against his ball.
“New rule: anyone under three,” Noah shook his head at me and pointed at his chest. I quickly amended. “Anyone under six can have help if he wants it.”
“I’m going to win by myself.” Q made a face.
“I’m sure you will,” Sam said, surveying our game. “I’ve seen Kel play. Gran says you’ve got a five-minute warning before it’s time to wash up for dinner.”
“So tell me about Liesel.” I set Brody loose with his mallet. He was almost two. He drug it behind him on the lawn and headed straight for Charlie, who wisely made a break for it.
Sam frowned. “Landry told you?”
“Is it supposed to be a secret?”
“No. Yes. I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Her.”
“Really?” Now he had my full attention. “Come on, Sammy. What’s she like?”
His face was turning pink. I’d never seen Sam flustered before. “She’s different. Special.”
“Details, please.”
“She actually said she’d go out with him,” Cade said, joining us. “That’s different.”
“I’m going to kill Landry,” Sam muttered.
“After you wash up,” Cade said primly, picking Noah up and throwing him, squealing, over his shoulder. “Time for dinner guys.”
The first Sunday of the month Pops and Gran did a collective birthday party for everyone in the family who had birthdays that month. November was Aunt Jill, Jules (Justin’s wife), and Brody. Not everyone came to family dinner every Sunday but for Birthday Sundays we all made an effort. Which meant I was at the kids’ table—one of three kids’ tables, to be precise. I was eating with Landry and Q. Sam dropped heavily into the fourth chair.
“I told you not to tell anyone.” He glared stonily at Landry.
“Tell anyone what?”
“Don’t give me that.”
“I think he’s referring to Liesel,” I interjected helpfully.
“Of course I’m talking about Liesel. What else would I be talking about?”
Landry tore apart his dinner roll. “I’m not always sure. Pass the butter please, Q?” He used his knife to spread it. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“You’re the only one I told.”
“Sure about that?”
“Well, you and Ben.”
I smiled. Sam’s eyes narrowed. “When did you talk to Ben?”
“When I was in New York last week. He met Aunt Shae and me at my shoot. Turns out it was just around the corner from his office.”
“Aunt Shae knows?” Sam groaned.
“Everyone knows,” I confirmed.
“I’m going to kill my big brother.”
“Killing’s not nice,” Q said, reaching for his milk.
Landry grinned. “You tell him, bro.”
“So Sammy boy, I hear you finally got yourself a girlfriend,” Uncle Bryce said, leaning back in his chair. “How’d you manage that? Poor girl.”
“Okay. Here we go,” Sam sighed.
Drew made it just in time for dessert; he had to work today. Gran saved him a plate piled high with food, which she’d just warmed up for him. “I hope you brought your guitar, young man.”
“Yes ma’am. It’s in the hall. You bring yours?” He asked me, tucking into his dinner.
“I did.” The McCoys couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket; any musical talent I could claim was all Kingston. Gran had somehow maneuvered a standing two or three song concert out of this boy every Sunday after dinner. And lately I’d been getting roped into it. “I stashed mine in the side guest bedroom.” Hal was walking now. Between him and Brody it just seemed safer. “Eat. I’ll put yours with mine.”
“McDreamy!” Uncle Bryce said in his booming voice as he passed me by on his way to Drew. “When did you slip in?”
Drew stood up for his requisite hug and back pounding. “Just got here.”
Aunt Jill caught me in the hall and asked about New York. By the time I returned to the kitchen all the guys had either pulled up chairs or were standing around the table talking football with Drew. Even Pops had joined them.
“Help me serve pie?” Gran smiled, shaking her head. “I’m afraid they’re going to be at that for some time.”
In accordance with McCoy family rules if you didn’t cook, you cleaned. Gran looked in at the progress I’d made on Dad’s sweater, Aunt Jill gave Aunt Shae pointers on her forehand, and Claire, Jules, and Sarah talked politics while the men did the dishes and Justin changed Hal’s diaper. I could hear them still giving Sam a hard time about Liesel as they washed up. Q, Noah, and Brody were running Charlie through all his tricks in the backyard. I’m not ready to leave this, I thought. I made the right choice.
It’ll still be here when you get back, a little voice, probably my mom’s, slid in underneath all my surety and satisfaction, bumping it a bit so it never quite felt as solid as it once did.
Monday morning Kirstie called while I was getting ready for school. “I have someone I want you to meet, Kel. What’s your schedule look like in the next few days?”
I stopped outlining my lips. Once school started Drew moved my guitar lessons to Sundays. Homework was never ending. “I can do later today. After 4:00?”
“Perfect. Let’s say 4:30 at my office.”
Today was a tutoring day. Camila sat on top of the desk in our usual spot, swinging her legs and leaning over the dividers to chat with Analy in San Sebastian Middle School’s library but she excitedly hopped off when she saw me coming. “Look!” She held her science mid-term in her hand. There was a bright B+ circled in red.
“Rock star!” I high-fived her, which didn’t actually require me to go all that high. Camila was really short, even for a Latina. “Good job, you! Hey Analy.”
Camila’s grades were slowly but steadily improving. My hip hop not so much. They were all so much lower to the ground that I just looked awkward next to them, even on beat. But I’d taught Val and Martina how to do side splits and Elena could now pirouette seven times in a row, plus I knew all the words to Super Bass, a song I would never be singing for Gran. And I’d picked up a fair amount of conversational family Spanish—I was practically fluent in being able to tell someone’s little brother to get lost. Extra bonus? Senorita Mendes had made it her life’s mission to fatten me up. She always sent me home with tinfoil trays of her homemade tamales. Dad and Drew adored her.
/> I showed up at Adderson’s Modeling Management at 4:20, got myself a glass of ice water and chatted with Rosie, Kirstie’s assistant who had just returned from maternity leave and already had several framed pictures of her adorably plump, identical twin baby girls, sprouting bows as big as their heads and a lot of frills at her desk. “They’re absolutely gorgeous, Rosie. But how on earth do you tell them apart?”
“They put anklets on them at the hospital as soon as they were born—that helped. My husband Nate won’t let me take them off. He’s still worried he’ll mix them up. But you can tell Nikki is a little chunkier in the face than Nora is.”
I squinted at the picture. Must be a mom thing, I couldn’t see it.
“Oh good, you’re both here. Come on in.” Kirstie said, crisp in her power suit as she opened her door at exactly 4:30. The guy folded over his phone in one of the pristine white chairs I was always afraid to sit down in, in case I somehow got it dirty, suddenly got to his feet.
He was just shorter than me by maybe an inch, leanly muscled and wiry with wavy brown hair and perfect Bradley Cooper scruff—just enough to let you know he could have a fairly decent beard if he wanted one but it hadn’t been more than three days since his last shave. “After you,” he said with a nod of his head and a bit of a smile. He wore a white button-down shirt and khaki pants with brown leather ankle boots. He was definitely not unattractive.
“Kel, this is Jack Donnelly. Jack’s a marketing consultant and I’m making you his first assignment for the next six months. Jack, Kel McCoy. She’s one of my top models and despite being a teenager, is woefully lacking in social media savvy.”
I blinked in surprise. Not at her assessment of my inability to self-promote, she gave me grief about that all the time. Nor was I surprised by her bluntness—it was her trademark and one of the things I loved most about her. But top model? That seemed like a real stretch. Still, if I’d learned anything about Kirstie in the short time I’d known her it was that she never did or said anything without a reason. I just wasn’t sure what it was. “Nice to meet you, Jack,” I smiled.
“Likewise.”
“Please, take a seat,” Kirstie said, indicating the chairs across from her desk.
I sat down in the chair closest to me, crossing one long leg over the other, folding my hands in my lap, and sitting up straight—slouching wasn’t an option. For me. Jack leaned back in his chair and made himself comfortable.
Kirstie outlined my previous miserable attempts at building my brand. Apparently they were worse than I thought. “Clients have a checklist when they’re looking for a face to represent their product. Kel checks a lot of their boxes but she doesn’t really have any traction when it comes to recognition. If you have to choose between two beautiful girls you go with the one who already has a built in following. I know I’m preaching to the choir here Jack, but I want you to help boost her online presence. She’s already handicapped by her height—there isn’t anything we can do about that. This we can change.”
Jack listened impassively and then slowly turned his swivel chair in my direction. It felt like I was on a conveyor belt going through airport security. “I’ve checked out your social media, Kel—at least everything I could access. You’re not a big user. Can I ask why?”
I shrugged. “My parents, my mom especially, wanted me to be present. I guess I just never got in the habit.”
He nodded. “The best way to build a brand is to build it around who you really are. Authenticity connects. Would you be okay with me spending some time with you this weekend so I can get to know who that is?”
“I have to work Saturday,” I said, mostly to Kirstie. “We’re shooting add-on Christmas promos for the mall.”
“That should be fine,” she nodded. “I’ll call ahead and let them know Jack will be there. I don’t think it will be a problem.”
Apparently, this was happening. “Okay. What time would you like to get together?” I asked Jack. We arranged to meet at the shoot just before it was scheduled to begin at 9:00 a.m. and exchanged phone numbers.
Saturday morning I had to force myself to get up and run. I was tempted to skip it all together but after my late night last night I was pretty sure I’d need the energy kick running gave me just to make it through the day. Striker threw a party after the football game and Drew really wanted to go. I didn’t make it home until almost 2:00 a.m.
I showed up at the studio in black-cropped skinny jeans; a thin, short-sleeved, white cotton turtleneck; and black, ballet flats. I was a clean slate: no make-up on, my bushy blonde hair left air-dried, hanging straight, and held back off my naked face with a black Alice band. I had a protein shake in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
“Where’s your phone?” The first thing out of Jack’s mouth. He was frowning.
“In my bag,” I began defensively but then a familiar face stepped into view. “Stefan!” I squealed, my hands still full of liquids as I bent to give him a hug. “I didn’t know you were on this job. It’s so good to see you again! How have you been? How’s Pandora?” Pandora was his dog—a very spoiled poodle.
“Sassy as ever.” He rolled his eyes like a proud parent and pulled me into the little station he’d set up. “I’ve got pictures I’ll show you later. Come. Sit, Kel. Let me just absorb you. Gorgeous. And this skin of yours! I just want to—” Jack had followed us in, interrupting Stefan’s rhapsody. Stefan raised a haughty eyebrow at him in the mirror.
I quickly put my drinks down and shrugged off my bag. “Sorry! Stefan, this is Jack Donnelly. He’s from the agency. He’s…getting to know my brand.”
All business, Stefan draped a cape around my shoulders as Jack settled into a nearby chair. “She brought me cookies.”
“I’m sorry?” Jack said when he realized Stefan was talking to him.
“Homemade cookies. Maybe the best oatmeal chocolate chip I’ve ever eaten.”
I blushed. “I’m glad you liked them. Full disclosure—my grandma made those. The ones I brought today I made myself. You’ll want to drastically lower your expectations.”
“See?” Stefan said to Jack as he clipped my hair back. “She bakes. And just look at this skin.” He framed my face with his hands in the mirror. “Have you ever seen anything like it? It’s practically poreless. There’s her brand.”
“There’s my brand,” I nodded sagely. No wonder I needed Jack’s help.
Today I was Santa’s helper, a female version of Will Ferrell’s too tall to fit in, elf. Something for Everyone was the ad campaign slogan. We shot with the whole elf costume, a series of wardrobe changes where I was still wearing the elf hat and posing with possible gift items from the mall, and ended with me sitting on Santa’s knee in a short skirt, no hat—just a good girl telling him what I wanted for Christmas. Santa was built like a UFC fighter and a little frisky. He’d also been drinking. You could smell it on his breath.
“Not happening,” I warned him while still smiling sweetly for Joe, the photographer. Santa’s fingers were creeping up under my skirt on the hand that was hidden from the camera angle. I stopped his progress with a tight hold on his wrist.
“You want to get together after we’re done here?” He squeezed my leg and adjusted his beard.
Ew. “Tempting, but no.”
“I think we’ve got everything we need,” Joe finally said, putting down his camera. “That’s a wrap everybody. Nice work today, Kel. Bruce, you can leave the costume with Nan.” I quickly hopped off Bruce’s lap and out of his lecherous grasp.
Jack handed me my empty cookie container. “They were a big hit. I had one, it was pretty good.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you have time to grab some lunch? I know it’s getting late but we haven’t had much chance to talk just the two of us.”
“Sure. Just give me a minute to change?”
He took back the cookie container.
“Do you ever get used to people staring at you?” Jack asked, looking around as he held the
restaurant door open for me.
“My dad is 6'10". People have stared at us my whole life.”
“Two please,” Jack told the hostess. He waited until we were seated in a booth, the waiter had given us the run down on the lunch specials and left us with plastic-coated menus before leaning in, elbows on the table, his hazel eyes watching me thoughtfully. “Do you like it? The staring?”
“Would you?”
“I might.”
“It makes me uncomfortable. Like they’re just waiting for me to trip. Which used to happen. A lot.”
“Is that why you did ballet?”
“Yes. My mom knew it would help. It did.”
“You don’t do it anymore?”
I was pretty sure he knew about my mom’s death. I wasn’t going to bring it up. “I’m a little tall for a ballerina.”
We ordered. Jack’s gaze was inscrutable as he watched me from across the table. “So then you turned to modeling?”
“Then I turned into a receptionist—for my father, so I’m not sure that counts. The modeling thing just sort of fell into my lap.”
“Do you always bring cookies for the crew?”
I smiled. “No. But I love to bake and we don’t really eat a lot of desserts in our home. It’s kind of a win-win.”
“Santa seemed like a real pervert.”
I blinked. “You noticed?”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Occupational hazard,” I shrugged, taking a sip of my water.
“How old are you, Kel?”
“Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in February. How old are you?”
He leaned back in his bench. “Twenty-four.”
“Why marketing?” I asked.
“I’m good at it.”
“Why Adderson’s?”
“I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions,” Jack said gently. He pushed his glass away. “I was given two options, a modeling agency or an accounting firm. This one had a much better view.”