Boss Empire

by Victoria Quinn

  He was damn gorgeous.

  There were a few other interviews with the models, all gushing about the designer they worshipped like a god. Maybe they were being genuine, or maybe they were just kissing his ass to get a better spotlight. The show was taking place in Milan. Then then camera turned back to Lacey Lockwood.

  “Conway Barsetti is always looking for the perfect woman to show off his art. I was sitting in a coffee shop when I was approached. My life changed forever in that moment, and I couldn’t thank him enough for giving me this opportunity.” The camera turned back to Conway, showing him shaking hands with a few other men in suits.

  As I sat there pissing away whatever money I had left on a good drink, I watched this beautiful man living the dream. Rich, admired, and a level of beautiful that could only be described as stupid, he had everything. Women were plentiful, and money wasn’t an issue. He could order as many drinks in that bar as he wanted.

  I’d never been jealous like this before.

  I was never rich, but I’d always had everything I needed. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, family, and an education. If you ask me, that was living the American dream. With the snap of my fingers, it was all taken away.

  And there was nothing I could do about it.

  I stared at the screen a while longer, watching the images change as they showed more aspects of Conway Barsetti’s life. It showed his Italian villa in Verona, surrounded by vineyards and gorgeous land. It showed him posing outside a building in Milan, a bicycle leaned up directly beside him. Every image was more beautiful than the last, and not just because he was in it.

  It was a beautiful place.

  I’d never been to Italy. I’d never been outside the U.S. I’d been too busy being broke and going to school to afford such a lavish trip.

  But now I had nothing. Just enough money to buy a plane ticket.

  Knuckles threatened to hurt me even more if I ran. In three days, I would officially be his possession. Calling the cops wasn’t an option because he’d kill every friend I had. But the idea of letting this man have me made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t going to wait around until he caught me off guard and wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t going to let someone turn me into a slave. I wasn’t going to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.

  “Conway Barsetti’s team just announced they’ll have a special one-time opportunity for women to audition for a spot on the runway. The auditions will be held in Milan…” The reporter’s voice trailed away once I tuned her out.

  I left some cash on the table and grabbed my bag from the floor. Knuckles might be watching me that very moment, but I wasn’t going to sit around until he appeared out of the darkness. I was going to run like hell until he caught me.

  And I’d never stop.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Sapphire

  Even with only a few bucks in my pocket, Italy was a beautiful place.

  The most gorgeous place I’d ever seen.

  The small towns were surrounded by vineyards, flowers, and marketplaces full of fresh produce along with homemade cheeses. Wine was more plentiful than water, and strangers had no problem sharing with someone they didn’t even know. Not having money to pay for food wasn’t an issue because everyone was so generous.

  If I were in America, I’d look like a beggar on the street.

  I took the bus to the neighboring towns around Milan and explored them. It was easy to be a tourist when the most beautiful sights were all free. I slept under the stars because it was warm, and I showered in public restrooms. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either.

  It was still better than being a slave.

  At first, I looked over my shoulder every other minute, expecting to see that horrific man watching me. But three days had come and gone, and he obviously knew I was no longer in New York City. After a quick search, he would find the manifesto of the plane I was on. There was no doubt in my mind he’d tracked me to Italy. But since I was only using cash and not checking in to hotels, there was no way to trace me.

  It was like I didn’t exist.

  Being homeless was a freeing experience.

  The feds would keep searching for me since I owed so much on my mortgage, and they wouldn’t stop until they put me in prison or took all of my wages from whatever job I managed to pick up. I would work forty hours a week just to be piss poor for the rest of my life. I couldn’t even afford to resume my education.

  Starting over in a foreign country sounded like my only option.

  I just hoped no one caught me.

  I didn’t have a false sense of my appearance. I understood I was pretty, but I certainly wasn’t model material. But if I could ask for a job doing something else, like sewing or being an assistant, I could make some money to get by. And I would also work for a very powerful man. It might make it difficult for Knuckles to touch me. That was also the last thing anyone would expect me to do, get a job working for a famous man. People would assume Conway Barsetti would turn me in, but judging by the empty expression in his eyes, he wouldn’t give a damn who I was running from. He had more important things to do—like count his money and his women.

  I returned to Milan later that night with a bag full of bread, cheese, grapes, and crackers. The villagers I met had pushed more food into my arms than I could carry. I ate most of it when it was fresh and saved the rest for dinner. I slept in a hostel that night and had a bed and a real shower after a few days without that kind of luxury.

  Tomorrow, I would head to the audition and hope for the best. I didn’t have nice clothes, but my clothes shouldn’t matter because I wasn’t looking to be a model.

  I’d even be a janitor—if it paid enough.

  ***

  I had to check in like everyone else and was given a number to stick against my clothes. All the women there were already in heels and lingerie, dressed up for the part. Beautiful, skinny, and with enormous hair, they were all qualified to be the next model for Conway Barsetti.

  I was the only one fully dressed—and that made me feel naked.

  Most of the women raised their eyebrows when they looked at me then whispered something to their friends in Italian. Some even laughed at me, like I was an idiot for showing up dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. My makeup and hair were done, and I dressed nice for a walk through the park, but in that context, I looked like the biggest freak on the planet.

  Numbers were called, and women worked the stage like it was the real deal. They strutted, pivoted, flipped their hair, and threw smoldering gazes at the men sitting behind the table.

  Conway Barsetti wasn’t there.

  He must have more important things to do than pick out his next model. Or maybe he was watching—but he couldn’t be seen. I was a bit crestfallen when he was nowhere in sight. A beautiful man like that was fun to stare at.

  They finally called my number, 228.

  I walked up the stairs and passed the woman who just hit the runway. She didn’t contain her laugh as she passed me, wearing a silver bra and panties and heels that were so tall she was practically walking on her toes.

  I ignored her and walked up to the table where the three men sat. All dressed in suits, their eyes moved over my body, taking in every feature with experienced gazes. It wasn’t the look I received from men when I went downtown in a short dress. It was pragmatic, completely observational.

  The one in the middle spun his finger. “Turn and walk.”

  “I’m not here to audition to be a model.” I kept my hands by my sides and didn’t bother with a fake smile. I wasn’t there to impress them with my appearance, but my mannerisms. “I have a lot of other skills I think will be useful to the Barsetti lingerie line. I can sew, clean, cook, organize…anything. I’m looking for work, and I’m willing to fill any position you may have.”

  The man in the middle had dark hair and eyes. A pen was held in his fingertips and he absentmindedly rotated it within his fingers.
His eyes were dark like coffee, with just a splash of cream. “Modeling is the position we’re trying to fill. You want it or not?”

  I immediately wanted to challenge him until he caved and directed me to someone who could hire me in a different field, but judging by the hostility in his eyes, he was already fed up with me. It was unlikely anyone spoke to these men that way, not when they could make dreams come true. “Do I look like the modeling type to you?” I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt with flat sandals on my feet. I wasn’t photogenic like the rest of them. I didn’t smile with perkiness or smolder with my sensuality. I was plain and boring. I knew it—and they knew it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You haven’t walked the runway yet.”

  “I don’t think my ability to walk is the deciding factor here.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look, I’m desperate for work. I just moved here, and I’ve got twenty euros in my pocket. I can do anything.”

  “Then walk the runway.” He flicked his wrist and indicated to the stage with his pen. “Or leave.” He challenged me with his dark look, telling me his patience had been officially drained. The other two men watched me in silence, hardly blinking.

  I swallowed my pride and did as they asked. I’d seen two hundred and twenty-seven women walk that runway all afternoon, so I knew exactly what to do. I knew how to hold my shoulders, how to shake my hips, and how to pivot. I felt like an idiot for doing it dressed that way, but I was desperate.

  And desperate people did desperate things.

  I walked to one point of the stage and then turned back, walking with a straight back and tense posture. I didn’t smile or wear a smoldering expression. That was where I drew the line.

  The man in the middle set his pen on his clipboard. “Scars?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have scars?”

  “No.”

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “I need to see your skin,” he said. “Blemishes, acne, etc.”

  “Just take my word for it.”

  He made notes on a piece of paper then snapped his fingers at me.

  I placed my hands on my hips, regarding him with an ice-cold expression. Something told me that snap was specifically for me—and I didn’t care for it. “Do I look like a dog to you?”

  “Woof.” An asshole smile spread on his lips. “Get your ass over here and take this. It has your instructions.”

  “My instructions?” I slowly inched forward, my eyes on the small piece of paper he held in his hand. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re going to the next stage.” He placed the paper in my hand. “Show this to the men at the door otherwise you won’t get in.”

  “Whoa, hold on.” My eyes scanned the information written down. It had an address as well as a time. “You’re seriously considering me?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.” He still wore that asshole smile.

  “Don’t call me that.” Anytime I heard that name, I felt the terror constrict my throat. Knuckles was the only man to ever call me that, so I’d developed a deep aversion to the horrific nickname. No man would ever call me that for the rest of my life. “And are you insane? Do you see all the gorgeous women out there?”

  “You don’t think you’re gorgeous?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter what you wear. Real beauty can’t be hidden. Now get off the stage. We have a lot of women to see.”

  I stared at the paper again, unable to believe what just happened. I didn’t know how much models got paid, but it was definitely enough to get an apartment and have a hot shower every day. It could be enough for me to start over. “When I said I wanted a different position, I wasn’t lying. Is there really nothing else?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re the dumbest woman who’s ever graced this stage. You just won the lottery, but you’re too stupid to realize it. You’d rather sew in a factory than be a Barsetti model? No, you’re the one who’s insane.” He leaned forward and stared up at me, his eyes burning like a raging forest fire. “Are you gonna take it or not? We’re supposed to hand out ten invitations. If you don’t want it, I’ll give it someone who actually gives a damn.” He reached his hand out to snatch it from my grip.

  My hand immediately formed a fist around the paper, concealing it within my palm.

  He leaned back and smiled. “Good…maybe you aren’t that stupid.”

  “You’re only choosing ten women?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m one of the ten?” There were thousands of women lined up in the street, all dressed in their best. They were exotic, beautiful, and eager. I showed up hoping for a job mopping the floor or sewing buttons and lace, but I was given something they’d all kill for.

  “Yes.” He nodded to the stairs. “Now go before I change my mind.”

  I kept the invitation tucked into my palm, feeling my pulse pound around my grip. It was a sunny day in Milan, and the sun was beating on the back of my neck. I felt the sweat collect underneath my breasts in my top. But those physical nuisances paled in comparison to the choice I had before me.

  The last thing I ever wanted to be was a model. I didn’t judge women who took off their clothes to make a living, but I’d never been interested in the lifestyle. I didn’t have the right attitude, and I was far too stubborn to follow directions. Knuckles threatened to torture me worse if I ran, but I did it anyway. Anyone would have told me it was the dumbest mistake of my life, but I didn’t care.

  I’d rather run than surrender.

  Modeling for Conway Barsetti wasn’t ideal, but it would give me something I couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Protection.

  I’d be surrounded by people all the time, living in the shadow of one of the greatest designers of our generation. A man worth billions had serious power. He wouldn’t care about protecting me, but he would certainly care about his brand.

  Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Sapphire

  10.

  They stuck the number against my tiny black bustier. It was so tight I could only take a half breath. Even though models didn’t wear thongs on the runway, I was required to wear one—that way every detail of my body could be seen.

  The black thong matched the lace of my top, and there was a tiny pink flower right below my cleavage line for color. I’d never worn lingerie in my life, so it was my first time being put on display like this.

  And I had to wear it in a room full of strangers.

  A woman did my hair and makeup, transforming me into a woman I hardly recognized. Body makeup was rubbed into my skin, hiding even the slightest blemish from being visible. My hair was three times bigger than usual, and there was so much mascara on my lashes that my eyelids actually felt heavy.

  I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

  But what other option did I have? Anyone could judge me for making money with my body, but when I was on the run from a psychopath, I didn’t have many options. I didn’t speak Italian, so finding work was difficult. I needed something that required very little talking.

  And modeling required no talking.

  The other nine girls were perfect for the part. Tall, beautiful, so thin I wondered if they ever ate, and perfect. Some of the girls made friends with each other, and none of them could contain their excitement for being selected in the top ten. I wasn’t sure how many models they were looking for, but I would assume only half of us were likely to be picked.

  I doubted I would make it to the next stage.

  But then again, I didn’t know how I got here to begin with.

  “Line up.” A middle-aged woman in glasses clapped her hands and pointed across the stage. We were inside one of the Barsetti studios, an entire auditorium full of rows of seats. The balconies were decorated with elegant Italian designs and an enormous fresco was painted across the ceiling.
r />   The girls filed in a straight line, starting at number one.

  From left to right, we formed a line. I was the last one in line, and I wondered if my placement had anything to do with my odds. Maybe the best candidates started at the front.

  The man who had selected me stood in one of the aisles, the other two men sitting with their clipboards. He held his phone to his ear, listened to something, and then shoved it into his pocket. “Conway Barsetti is arriving.” He sat down with the other two men, leaving the aisle seat open.

  It turned dead silent in the auditorium. People weren’t even breathing. The girls sucked in their invisible stomachs and pinned their shoulders back, ready to impress a man who was impossible to impress.

  I straightened my posture and mimicked them as much as possible, but it didn’t stop me from feeling stupid. I didn’t know how to be sexy. These women were masters at it, knew exactly what a man like Conway Barsetti wanted to see. I was totally clueless when it came to stuff like this.

  But if he didn’t pick me, I would ask for other work. I wasn’t leaving this place until I had an income. Italy was expensive, and I couldn’t rely on good people giving me free food all the time. I had to carry my own weight. I would clean toilets if that’s what it came down to.

  The silence continued to stretch endlessly, everyone afraid to breathe too loudly like it would disrupt the anticipation. I hadn’t seen a room become this tense for anyone in my life. Even when the President of the United States appeared on TV, people weren’t this rigid. It seemed like I was waiting for a king.

  A ruler.

  At the exact same time, both doors swung inward and opened the entryway. Sunlight entered the room, and the silhouette of a man was seen. In a black suit and royal blue tie, a man carrying broad shoulders and endless power entered the auditorium. His presence infected every inch of the room, filling the air with his potent authority. I felt it with every breath I took.