by Stella Gray
I’m pissed at Luka and upset that Mateo’s leaving Chicago. It feels like my life is falling apart. All I can do is pour all the fire and feelings of overwhelm into this photo shoot and dream about drowning my emotions in wine and chocolate later.
“…comfortable with that, Brooklyn?” Cyrus is saying.
I’ve totally zoned out, but I flash a smile and nod. “Perfectly.”
Cyrus goes on, “If it gets too intimate at any point, or you’re out of your comfort zone, I want both of you to feel safe calling for a pause or suggesting an alternate position, okay?”
“I don’t think we’ll have any issues,” Mateo says with a grin.
He’s right about that. In fact, I want him to practically fuck me in front of the lens—or at least, make everyone who sees these images think that’s what happened. It won’t just be the position of our bodies, either. It will be the way he looks at me. Touches me. And the way I touch him back. Like he’s the only man in my life. Eat your heart out, Luka Zoric.
Mateo gets ushered behind a curtain to get ready while I’m given my “beachy” outfit, if you can call it that. The top is basically two pasties connected by glittery strings, and the bottom is the equivalent of expensive dental floss. The wickedness of my smile shocks me as I assess myself in the mirror. My smoky eyes, my dark lips, the bronzer shimmering on my cheeks.
Oh, Luka. You messed with me one time too many.
I’m shown to the set by the assistant. We’re shooting on a flight of marble stairs that I suppose are meant to look like the ones you’d see in a lavish hotel lobby. Mateo and I will be photographed in a variety of positions, as if we’re rushing back to our luxury suite from the beach because we can’t keep our hands off each other any longer.
“The company’s goal is to market themselves to couples looking for a high-end vacation experience that caters to their every need,” Cyrus explains. “I’m sure that much is obvious.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
He goes on, “So all I need you two to do here is act like you don’t have a care in the world beyond your own pleasure. Think you can project that?”
“Piece of cake,” I say, already grinning wickedly.
Just then, Mateo comes out in a very tiny pair of black swimming briefs—basically a Speedo. His body has been oiled, which shows off every mound and curve of muscle.
He stands by me and gets a recap of what Cyrus just told me, nodding along. We wait a few more minutes for the lighting tech to finish setting up the lamps to perfectly highlight Mateo and me. Once Cyrus approves the lights, he claps his hands a few times.
“Okay, let’s get started. The first layout will be black and white. Mateo, we really need your physique to pop in this first shot. Brooklyn, if you could drape yourself over his shoulder, maybe a palm on his chest, look up at him, and yes—that’s great.”
This is barely work, as far as I’m concerned. The hardest part is not cracking a smile at the way Mateo keeps gazing down at me with his signature “sultry” face. In fact, I have to bite my lip and lower my eyelids to keep a serious expression—but Cyrus likes my look so much that he makes me do it again and again as he snaps away with the camera.
Next, Cyrus has Mateo push me up against the wall, directing me to reach down the back of Mat’s briefs like I’m trying to get a handful of his ass. As the photog moves to get a better angle, Mateo looks down at me with hunger in his eyes. It’s so potent, I almost think it’s real.
It’s the same way Luka looked at me when we made love the other night.
My stomach flips.
“Good, good. Now if you could slide your hand up the side of her breast and slip a finger under her swimsuit strap—great, perfect. You’ve been lying on the beach all day watching each other tan, and now you’re desperate to get back to your room and rip those suits off. Show me.”
Mateo smiles and lifts a brow as he cups the side of my breast. I lean into him and look toward the camera, my lips parted seductively. My pelvis crushes against Mateo’s and I feel the bulge of his cock press against me. I have a flicker of guilt. It’s a quick flash and then it’s gone.
Did Luka feel guilty while he was superglued to Monica’s tits? Didn’t look like it to me.
I put my hand on Mateo’s thigh, squeezing as I thrust my breast harder into his palm. He gives me a shocked look but quickly recovers as Cyrus kneels in front of us for a new angle. We’re arranged multiple ways, each time bringing our body parts intimately closer. I can’t help feeling relieved that I’m doing this with Mateo, not some random other model. But more than that, I wish it were my husband that I was wrapping myself around.
In fact, pretending I’m doing this with Luka is the only thing that gets me through the rest of the shoot.
Luka
Chapter 19
Things had been going so well between us.
And then, inevitably, I fucked it all up.
As I sit in my office reviewing a fat stack of portfolio shots for models seeking to audition with Danica Rose, I can’t help replaying that ugly scene on Saturday with Brooklyn and Monica in my head, over and over again. It’s making it impossible for me to concentrate.
With a sigh, I toss the photos aside, get up from my desk, and make myself a coffee. Then I stride over to the window to look out at the city view.
I’ll never forget the look in Brooklyn’s eyes as she stood there on the sidewalk staring me down. She was so pissed, I barely saw her for the rest of the weekend. It’s probably for the best, though. The worst thing I could do is start falling for my fake wife. Especially considering the fact that I’ll never be able to put my faith in her again.
She did a shady thing by making that deal with Elite Image. Planning to completely sell me out, along with my whole family and the company we’ve worked so hard to build, and for what? Fame. Fortune. A guarantee that she’d score the Maxilene job.
Brooklyn Moss is only out for herself.
Admittedly, I’ve had no indication of further backstabbing beyond Monica texting me that picture of Brooklyn’s Elite contract back in Paris…but that doesn’t mean my wife isn’t sneaking around behind my back finding other ways to betray my trust.
Just like my father always said, the people who see you weak and vulnerable are the ones who have the power to hurt you. And that makes Brooklyn very, very dangerous.
I don’t know why my dad’s voice is so strong in my mind lately, but his words ring true. And I’ve learned from both of my parents that the more you rely on people, the more destroyed you are when they leave you in the end. My mom died when I was four and my relationships with women have been complicated ever since. And my father? I can’t believe I spent my life secretly hungering for his approval. He’s more than just a criminal—he’s a monster. I guess I should be glad he was never around when I was a kid. The last thing I’d want to do is follow in his footsteps.
Settling back into my desk chair, I answer a few client emails, but I can already tell this work day is shot. I need to get my head in the game before my inbox eats me alive, but I can’t stop thinking about my wife—this is exactly what I’ve been worried about.
Getting attached to Brooklyn is playing with fire.
The truth is, I do feel guilty for signing Monica. I shouldn’t. By all accounts, she’s an asset to DRM. This was a good business move, and I know she’ll raise our profile, provide some good PR by reminding the public that we’re a legitimate agency, and rake in a nice commission for us along the way. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is the worst thing I could have done to Brooklyn—and our relationship. I wouldn’t be surprised if Monica’s got something sneaky up her sleeve, too. The whole situation has been too good to be true from the start.
Oh, fuck this. I can’t keep second-guessing myself. What’s done is done. Maybe I can find a way to make it up to Brooklyn and smooth things over, but now isn’t the time to worry about it. I have a conference call in a few minutes and I need to look over some notes. Meanwhi
le, Brooklyn is at a photoshoot this morning for a luxury hotelier, and it’s the first time I won’t be there to supervise. I left very explicit instructions with the photographer, and I’m sure it will go well. She knows better than to stray from the image I’ve created for her.
Sweet. Wholesome. Innocent.
Thinking of her thick-lashed, dark eyes and those lush lips curved into a squeaky clean, girl-next-door smile, my brain suddenly strays to the last night we had sex, and how amazing it was. Our bodies were connected, totally in sync, but it was more than that. It was like we were the only two people in the world, like I’d finally found something safe and solid—with her.
God, I’m an idiot.
I can’t believe I actually let myself—
“Mr. Zoric?”
My office door opens a crack and my assistant, Damien, pops his head in.
“What is it?” I say, sounding a little more peevish than I’d like.
He points at the phone on my desk, which I now realize has a red light blinking on the display. “Your conference call’s on line four. They’re waiting.”
“Shit, thanks,” I tell him, grabbing the phone and wedging it between my shoulder and ear. “It might be a while, so go ahead and take a long lunch. On me.”
I flip open my wallet and hand him a few bills, then wave him out of the office. The kid smiles as he heads out. He’s barely out of business school and there are days I run him ragged, so I owe him a little break here and there. “Thanks, boss.”
Punching the button for line four, I get on the call with a breezy, “Luka Zoric.”
Before I know it, it’s well past two p.m. and I’ve got a brand-new athleisure brand’s first major campaign to cast. I’m about to take a well-earned break to go grab something to eat when a shadow outside my door grabs my attention. My chest feels lighter as Brooklyn strides in.
She’s wearing black skinny jeans that look painted on, and a billowy white blouse that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is windswept and loose, and remnants of dark makeup circle her eyes. I get the impression she tried to wipe it off but then left the smudges for me to see.
She smiles warmly and sets a bag of Thai takeout on my desk.
My pulse picks up and I feel a weight lift off me at her presence. It’s almost as if I’ve willed her here. I’m happy to see her. And a little touched that she thought to bring me lunch.
“What are you doing here?” I ask gruffly.
Her smile doesn’t waver. “I thought you might be hungry. I figured you must have a very full day since you couldn’t make it to my shoot this morning, and seeing as how you’re so involved with managing all my business, I figured you’d want all the details.”
She’s up to something, but my growling stomach won’t let me sleuth just now.
“Thanks.” I pop open a box of glass noodles and start digging in. “What details?”
She sets down her to-go cup of iced tea and sits across from me, crossing her legs loosely as she tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“They decided to go in a different direction than what you discussed,” she says.
Mid-bite, I set my fork down, my stomach clenching. “In what way, exactly? The hotel’s tagline is ‘Get away from your every day,’ so how much different could the direction be?”
She pauses to dig around in her bag and then holds out a USB stick toward me. “For your approval, here are the new images of my—I mean, your—body.”
I take the stick and lean over to plug it into my computer’s USB port, my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Tell me what’s on here.”
“You’ll see.” Shrugging, she adds, “I thought I should show you right away, before you heard about it from someone else.”
Her smile turns wicked and daring, as if she’s taunting me. The venom in her eyes says she’s definitely not over the whole Monica thing. I get the sudden feeling that we’re on the brink of war, Brooklyn and me.
I open up the file on my computer screen, and thumbnail images start loading before my eyes, one after the other until the entire spread is right there for me to see. My nearly naked wife draped all over a nearly naked Mateo. His skin is slick as if he’s been greased, the black and white photography showing off every glistening monotone ripple of his physique. And Brooklyn’s loving it. Her hands grip him like a lover, her eyes radiating sexual hunger.
Her breasts are pushed into him. His hand cups her ass like it belongs to him.
All I see is red. I would smash my computer screen, but more images are still loading—and like a car accident on the side of the road, I can’t tear my eyes away.
The next batch of images are all in color. Brooklyn’s hair is mussed in a few pictures and she wears that freshly fucked expression that I know all too well. She grips Mateo’s inner thigh, her hand way too close to his dick. In another, she’s reaching down the back of his swim briefs.
“Well? What do you think?” She cocks her head slightly to the side and blinks.
I’m on the brink of losing my goddamn mind, but I can see what she’s doing. Point taken. Closing the folder, I take a few steady breaths through my nose and look directly at her.
Then I slide my food back over. My insides are tight and wound, but I’m going to fucking drag this out. Let her sweat a little.
She starts to rise from her seat.
“Sit down,” I bark. “We aren’t done.”
“I should go,” she protests. “Leave you to your lunch.”
I gesture at the chair. She’s not running out on this so fast. “I said, sit your ass down.”
I know now why the makeup is still smudged around her eyes. She wanted me to know, before I really knew, that she did something I wouldn’t approve of. She’s paying me back for Monica. She and Mateo planned this as a payback. I almost laugh to think that I felt guilty for not apologizing to her.
She sinks back into her chair, hands gripping the armrests. Pouting, practically.
Smiling at her, I eat, allowing the motions of it to calm me down. After a few minutes, I feel more in control of myself.
“So,” I finally say. “You clearly thought it would be a good idea to not only go against my stipulations for your image, but to do it with your…friend. I assume this was some childish attempt to one-up me over Monica. Nice try. Not your best work, but a good effort.”
I steeple my fingers and hold her gaze. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t respond.
“You still haven’t learned that I’m in charge,” I go on. “Me. Not you. Your image belongs to me and you will do everything I tell you in order to uphold and maintain it. Get up.”
She doesn’t move fast enough. She’s too busy fuming. I come around my desk and take her by the elbow, leading her down the hall and out into the central reception area. DRM’s creative director, various assistants, marketing people, a few models, and many admins are all within earshot, some of them milling around as they go about their usual afternoon hustle.
I pull Brooklyn with me to the middle of the room and squeeze her into my side.
“If I could have your attention please!” I call out, loud enough that even the execs behind closed doors are poking their heads out now. “Attention, all DRM employees and associates!”
“What are you doing?” Brooklyn hisses, covertly trying to pull away from me.
People are waiting and watching, eyeing us with interest and curiosity.
“Thank you all,” I boom. “I’d like to make an announcement. I’ve worked tirelessly to build an image for my wife, Brooklyn Moss, in the interest of promoting her success as a DRM model. That image is clean. Wholesome. Sexy, in a good girl kind of way.
“Therefore, under no circumstances is she to be booked for any campaign that does not exemplify these same values. There are no exceptions, and I’m to be informed immediately if anyone hears or sees otherwise.”
As I look around the room, meeting eyes and accepting nods of understanding, I can feel Brooklyn’s shock and anger boring into me. I d
on’t care. She wants to see what happens when she pushes me, then I’m going to show her.
“Furthermore. I’m a hands-on kind of boss. I will frequently be seen in public with our models. Out to dinner. At events. One on one. As often as I need to.” I look at her and smile. “I trust we all understand that this necessarily coincides with the responsibilities of my job title as Executive VP of Talent.”
I wait for the nods and murmurs of agreement.
Fraternizing with models like Monica just became company policy. My darling wife can accept it or not; I don’t really care.
I wink at her, speaking softly as I head back to my office. “Checkmate.”
Brooklyn
Chapter 20
I’m so furious that I want to throw something heavy at Luka’s retreating head.
I don’t care that the entire office was staring at us. Probably still is, as I hurry after my husband and follow him back to his executive suite. He’s about to shut the door in my face, but I grab it in one hand, and with more strength than I knew I had, wrench it open.
“What the hell was that back there?” I hiss.
His eyes go wide, and it takes all my will not to punch him in his handsome face.
“What was what?” he asks.
“Your pathetic attempt to keep me in line?”
Luka’s eyes dart down the hallway and he murmurs, “Keep your voice down.”
I don’t let up. “Ah, or maybe it was your way of ensuring you have plausible deniability whenever you’re seen out in public with one of your whores. ‘Hands-on,’ as you put it?”
“Brooklyn, stop.”
“Make me.”
He drags me inside his office and shuts the door, then locks it before pulling the shades. Crossing my arms, I lift my chin and prepare for whatever he might throw my way. I’m beyond caring anymore. He doesn’t just want his cake so he can eat it, too. He wants to roll around in that shit and wear it like a badge of honor.