by Stella Gray
I can’t hold back, and all too soon my cries are echoing against the ceiling as an intense orgasm crashes through me, the contractions pulsing deep and so fast that I wish I could slow it down. I’m groaning his name, panting for breath, making the sounds I know he wants to hear.
Luka always gets what he wants. The thought plays in my mind as he slips his fingers inside me and strokes soft and slow until a second helpless wave of ecstasy rocks me to the core.
He finally pulls away and smooths my skirt, looking up at me while running his hand over his mouth. Slowly, he stands. His eyes seem softer now, less antagonistic. Maybe it’s my post-orgasmic state, but I find myself reaching for him as I try to recover my breathing.
But of course, he moves away, either not noticing or not caring.
“I’ll be in my office the rest of the night if you need anything.”
My legs are still shaking when I push away from the counter and head to my room to take a shower. Another brief episode of connection, only borne, once again, through sex. It makes my body feel good, but it does nothing for my heart.
I know plenty of women would give up everything to be in my place.
Too bad I feel like it could all disappear in an instant.
Luka
Chapter 22
The stress is killing me. If I weren’t blowing off steam with my wife from time to time, I’d probably be in the bottom of a bottle somewhere in Belize by now. But even though it drives me crazy sometimes, I have to admit it’s been nice working side by side with my brother.
Growing up without much of a father figure, our younger sister Emzee and I always looked up to Stefan. We followed him around like baby ducks, copying everything he did, fighting over his hand-me-down superhero tee shirts and impatiently waiting our turn to play videogames with him after school. I even got my MBA degree just like him, because I had no idea what I wanted to pursue in terms of higher education. Ever since I started working for the family business, though, it’s like I’m five years old all over again—just trying to impress my brother and make him proud. He took me on when I was recovering from an alcohol problem, and I want nothing more than to prove to him that the decision he made was the right one.
So yeah, no pressure on today’s big meeting at all.
The advertising head of Maxilene is due at the DRM offices any minute now, to go over the biggest campaign that we’ve ever entertained. I’ve got to be on my A-game.
Not just for Danica Rose Management, but for Brooklyn’s sake too.
Stefan is staring at me from across his desk, tapping the end of his pen on his desk calendar like he’s drumming in a rock band. It’s one of those things he does when he’s lost in thought or trying to work something out. I hope he’s working it out.
“You know what kinds of questions you’re going to ask them?” my brother finally asks.
“Yes, of course,” I lie.
I’m not going to tell him that I plan to just go with the flow, per usual. According to Stefan, any venture embarked upon without the proper planning (down to the last detail), isn’t worth doing—but I’m really not in the mood for a lecture on my unpreparedness.
“I’m surprised they asked to meet with you and not me.” He tosses the pen down. “That leads me to assume they’re interested in casting your wife specifically.”
I shrug noncommittally, but inside I’m tense as hell. This is Brooklyn’s dream. I potentially hold it in my hands as I meet with the Maxilene exec today. The thought that I could fuck this up for her has me more on edge than I’ve been in a while. Because truthfully, the tension between my wife and me is about to break us—and this could change all that.
Yet despite being ready to figure out a way to move forward with her, I can’t seem to banish the part of me that’s still angry with her. Every time I try to let it go, I find a new reason to pick a fight. She let the dog chew up my handmade Italian leather shoes. She didn’t pick up the right protein powder at the store. She leaves the house too often. She’s always at home. It doesn’t matter what Brooklyn does, I somehow find a way to twist it into a fresh argument.
“Elite is still encroaching on our territory,” Stefan reminds me. “They’ve wooed three of our best models into their greedy hands and grabbed a handful of high-profile campaigns right out from under us—”
“I’m aware,” I interrupt, trying to soothe him. “I’ll do everything I can to clinch this.”
My brother pops out of his chair and stalks toward the window, arms crossed as he paces.
“I know you will. I have faith in you. But with Dad’s trafficking trial still all over the news, it doesn’t matter how positive the agency’s image is—in the media, and the public eye, we’re still part of his legacy. DRM needs a win, and we need it now.”
We aren’t the PDA type, but I go to him and clap a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. And I’ll handle it. Okay? Just let me get in there and schmooze my ass off. This Maxilene guy won’t know what hit him.”
He nods and drags a hand through his hair. I know he wants to believe in me, but at the same time he’s not convinced I’m the best person to be meeting with the cosmetics empire.
I feel like he’s forgetting just how much all of the public relations work that Brooklyn and I have been doing has paid off. We’re seeing a hell of a lot fewer negative comments on social media, replaced with reposts and shares of our adorable photos of Mr. Kibbles. If I’d known a dog could single-handedly change so many people’s minds about us, I would have done it months ago. So, sure, our father’s trial is still going on, but people are rooting for DRM. And if I play my cards right at this Maxilene meeting, I’ll have the entire industry talking about us.
A knock at the door has us both swiveling to attention. It’s my assistant, Damien, looking about as nervous as I feel. “Sorry to interrupt. Luka, your two o’clock is here,” he tells me. “I set him up with an espresso and showed him to conference room 513.”
My pulse kicks into double-time. “Thanks a lot. I’ll be right there.”
As I straighten my cuffs and head toward the door, Stefan stops me.
“Listen, if we can’t get Brooklyn signed for this, any of our models will do. Okay? Don’t play favorites when it comes to this campaign. Just give them whatever they want.”
“It’ll be her,” I snap. Tempering myself, I try again. “She’s the best fit. She’s what they want.”
Stefan smiles. “You haven’t been married a whole year yet, so I know you didn’t forget your anniversary…”
I frown. “What?”
He punches me in the shoulder, brotherly-like and a bit too hard. “I’m just wondering why you’re kissing her ass, man. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.” My hand is on the doorknob.
“You seem to be defending her pretty hard,” Stefan mocks from across the room.
I look back over my shoulder. “Have you seen my wife? Can you honestly tell me there’s anyone hotter than her for Maxilene?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I’m surprised you know it, considering the tight leash you’ve put on her career.”
“If Maxilene makes an offer for Brooklyn, she can pose nude and spread eagle if that’s what they want,” I shoot back. “I’ll circle back with you after we’re done.”
With that, I leave Stefan’s office, kicking the door shut behind me.
As I stride down the hall, I can’t help thinking about the fact that ever since I met her, Brooklyn’s wanted one thing: the chance to really prove herself. She’s spent the last decade hustling, taking every job she could get, working her way up to one day be the star of a serious national campaign. She’s done everything she’s been asked to do—certainly everything I’ve asked her to do—and now it’s finally time for the world to see her shine, front and center.
I want that for our family name and reputation, yes.
But I want it for her more.
Entering
the conference room, I greet the Maxilene exec with a grin.
“Sommers,” I say, offering a firm handshake. “Great to meet you in person.”
“Call me Guy,” he says, grinning right back. “And I’ll call you Luka.”
“Perfect,” I agree, pouring myself a coffee from the carafe Damien left on the sideboard. “Let’s get down to it.”
Guy is exactly how I imagined him after speaking on the phone. Early forties, very tan, his bespoke suit perfectly on point. His bright brown eyes are sharp and intelligent, and I imagine he usually has no trouble getting what he wants out of a negotiation with just one look. He could be intimidating, yet there’s a relaxed and pleasant air about him that sets me instantly at ease.
“Thanks again for meeting with me today,” he says, setting his espresso back down. “I know it was short notice.”
It was extremely last minute. In fact, I’d thought DRM was out of the running completely at this point—particularly since Elite seemed to be banking on it with their contract. For once I’m pleased to have been wrong.
“I always have time to chat about new ventures,” I say smoothly. “And beyond that, it’s just good business to have friends in the industry. To be honest, we’ve never had a strong contact at Maxilene, so it’s my pleasure to host you.”
His eyes stray to the arrangement of framed black-and-white photographs on the walls. They’re all DRM models; Emzee switches the photos out every few months to keep it fresh.
“You’ve got a lot of unique faces here,” he says admiringly. “I appreciate the diversity. The last meeting I attended, they showed me nothing but smoky-eyed stick figures with lip injections. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but…” He sighs a little, then points at one of the photos. “Now this here’s a model that really draws the eye. Reminds me of my wife.”
I get up to look at the photo he’s gesturing at. It shows a grinning dark-skinned model named Tessa Wilde from our Curves division, roller-skating in a pinup-style party dress.
“She’s new,” I tell him. “My sister Emzee shot that for her portfolio, down at the Fleetwood Roller Rink.”
“Your sister’s instincts are great,” he says. Then he sets down his mug and leans back in his chair. “Look, I like you. And I like your agency. I think what you and your brother have done in the wake of KZ’s scandal took a lot of guts and a lot of hard work. You’ve been straight with me from the get-go so I’ll be straight with you, too.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, though I have no idea where he’s going with this.
“I’m here today to give you the rundown on our plans for the new campaign. We’re always on the lookout for fresh faces, but it’s essential that we find exactly the right model to represent our brand. Personally, I’m always open to unknowns. I like setting trends, not following them—and I hate when things in this industry get stale and predictable. You see the same face everywhere, you stop paying attention to the product.”
A blip of excitement turns in my gut and I take a seat in my chair. “Agreed. I can’t wait to hear what you’re up to.”
“We’re talking a full-spectrum campaign, Luka. Cosmetics of course, perfume, skin care, and wellness products. This is print, it’s television, maybe some live pop-up appearances at The Grove in LA, Bloomingdale’s in New York, Macy’s here in Chicago. We’re gonna take Maxilene’s new face to industry events, fashion shows, all of it.”
“International?”
“Of course. Come on, you know this company is everywhere. We’re going for total brand recognition here, the world over.”
“I got you. World domination, essentially.” We both laugh, but I’m still not sure if he’s telling me all of this because he already has one of our models in mind, or just to make his intentions clear.
“I know you do,” Guy says. “That’s why I flew out here. I went to meeting after meeting to cast this campaign and they were all exactly the same. Finally I was like, if anyone has what we need, it won’t be one of these stodgy old agencies we have legacy deals with, all full of the same old, same old and run by a bunch of egotistical grandpas in their retirement years. It’s gonna be one of these upstarts with a lot of balls and nothing to lose, an agency that isn’t afraid to take chances with their client list. That’s you guys, am I right?”
My heart ticks up. I know this game. And it is a game.
“Absolutely,” I say with a grin. “Between us, my brother and I were just talking about the former head of the agency—and though I won’t go into detail about our father for obvious reasons, I have to say we’re both glad to be at the helm now. It’s not just about taking over the family business with more of a punk aesthetic in mind, but making sure we’re really representing the faces of America and not being afraid to rewrite the book on how an agency is run.”
“I love that. And you’ve sure as hell been through a lot. I respect that.”
I raise my coffee mug in a toast. “Appreciate it, man.”
There’s an opening here. He’s relaxed in his chair, obviously in no hurry to leave. Despite the genuine camaraderie between us, I still can’t totally read him, and he hasn’t ponied up his intentions. If I can just get him to open up a little bit more…
Time to take a calculated risk.
“How about this,” I say. “Let me take you to the South Side, buy you a beer at this locals-only sports bar that won’t be full of executives on their lunch breaks. What better way to keep this conversation going than by tipping back a pint and getting some Chicago deep-dish?”
He regards me for a moment and I have a twinge of discomfort that I’ve pushed too far. If I screw this up, Stefan will never let me forget it.
“You know what? I’m gonna take you up on that. This city has the best pizza in the country, and I skipped lunch.” Guy checks his watch. “Now good for you?”
“It’s always a good time for me.”
We rise and he slaps me on the shoulder. Brooklyn would be losing her mind right now if she knew who I was schmoozing. As I walk to the bank of elevators with Guy, I send my wife a quick text, knowing full well how happy she’ll be.
Taking the campaign head for Maxilene out for a drink.
Almost immediately, I get back a series of astonished face emojis, followed by a paragraph’s worth of pink hearts. I grin.
I’m pitching you, I text. Keep those fingers crossed.
The elevator doors ding open, and I gesture for Guy to go ahead. “After you,” I tell him, silencing my cell and slipping it into my pocket.
It’s time for the real schmoozing to begin.
Brooklyn
Chapter 23
“So, what are you guys doing for Luka’s birthday?” Emzee asks, ripping open a bag of peanut butter pretzels.
We’re at a park near her apartment, her dog Munchkin doing his best to keep up with Mr. Kibbles as they frolic around the fenced-in area for smaller dogs. Who knew a pudgy French bulldog and a greyhound would be such good friends? They make quite a comical-looking duo.
I cringe. “Uh, I’m still working on it.”
Truthfully, I had no idea his birthday was coming up. Some wife I am. Then again, I’ve been too busy fighting with him to remember I also secretly love the guy. Sometimes.
“Then you have no plans yet!” Emzee says around a mouthful of pretzels, and I get the impression she’s strangely pleased that I’ve dropped the ball on my wifely duties. She swallows and clears her throat. “This is perfect, because I know exactly what all of us need.”
“All of us?” I repeat. “You mean, like…the whole family?”
She nods, passing me the bag. “A spur-of-the-moment Bahamas getaway at an all-inclusive resort. We could really use a distraction from the trial news that’s all over social media and on TV, and plus it’ll give us all a chance to reconnect. It’s a win-win.”
I give it a think as I chew, debating the pros and cons. It would be nice to have a break from all the tension lately, and there’s no way Luka will
stay in a pissy mood when he’s around his family. And bonding with the whole Zoric clan would be a major step in the right direction for our on-the-rocks marriage.
“That actually sounds amazing,” I finally admit. “And with Luka’s birthday coming up, it’s the perfect time for him to take a few days off. Although I doubt he’ll agree.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Emzee says. “Stefan’s a total workaholic too, and Tori convinced him in one day. Or should I say one night…”
She gives me a devious eyebrow wiggle and I have to laugh.
“I’ll do my best,” I tell her. “But I can’t make any promises.”
“That’s too bad,” she says. “Because I already booked the trip.”
My jaw falls open. “What?”
Emzee clasps her hands in front of her like she’s praying. “Don’t be mad! The deal was too good to pass up and I was afraid it would sell out! I’m sending you the itinerary now. This place is so gorgeous, Brooklyn, you’re going to love it. Me, you, and Tori can get manicures at the spa and sit around the pool all day drinking rum punches with those little paper umbrellas.”
“That would be heaven…” I admit, my mind already filling with images of palm trees.
She whips out her cell and taps at it with a look of triumph on her face, and my phone pings almost immediately with an email. My sister-in-law jumping the gun on booking this trip does not surprise me in the least, but it does make me feel panicked over how exactly I’m going to get my husband on board with all of this.
But God, I’d love to feel like things are normal again. Like I belong.
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you have your ways. You’re his wife. You know all his weaknesses.”
I laugh along with her, but in reality, I still have a lot to learn about my husband. Thanks to our disaster of a honeymoon, I didn’t get the chance to extend the “get to know you” game that couples usually play. Nor has there been a natural progression in intimacy between us, so…