by S. L. Scott
From the sidelines, the photographer instructs, “Touch her breasts.” When I do, he adds, “So hot. Keep going.”
Two hours later, Simone lies on the bed, her gaze is lowered, her body exposed without care. I try to stand, but she stops me by grabbing my waistband and tugging. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll be booked together again. See you around, Simone.”
“See you around.”
Fifteen minutes later, I walk out pulling my T-shirt down over my head. “Hey, Becs, I’m late meeting the guys. Got anything I can snag from the shoot to wear?”
“I’ve spoiled you in the past, but you know you’re not supposed to take anything. We have to turn in our expenses and return all of the clothes.” She takes a navy blue button-down shirt from the rack and hands it to me. “So don’t get caught. Wear it like you already own it.”
I tug the shirt off and swiftly slip on the other. “Thanks.” I kiss her on the cheek as I button up.
Good-humoredly, she shoves me away. “Go, handsome. Get out of here and have some fun.”
Shining my million-dollar smile, I reply, “You’re the best.”
“Always the charmer, Danny.”
“You know it.”
“I think I see you on a shoot next week anyway, so go.”
“If you miss me in the meantime, you’ve got my number.” While heading for the door, I waggle my eyebrows.
“Oh, I have your number all right. Go, ya big flirt. Go find someone who will fall for that line.”
“What about these abs and my sparkling personality?” I rub my abs to tease. “No love for these?”
With her hand on her hip, she continues to play along. “Those abs are easy to fall for.”
“Ouch. Nothing for my personality?”
“Go!”
Laughing, I sneak out before I get caught with the shirt. “See you next week.”
“See you then, playboy.”
Checking the time, it’s just gone ten. I jog to my Jeep, which is parked down the block. Dinner with the friends has long passed. I’ll catch hell for missing it… like I always do. I rev the engine to life and take off so I can catch them for the second half of tonight’s festivities.
Tempted to drive home instead, I turn on the radio to mentally amp up for the night. I have a feeling tonight will be the same as Wednesday and the Sunday before that. I’m ready for something different, a change in scenery, a change in company, something or someone that makes me excited to go out.
Silver lining: every night is a new opportunity, every day, a second chance to make things right.
I arrive at the club and toss my keys to the valet, who gives me a welcoming nod. “Dan Man.”
“When did you start working here, James?”
“Last week. The hotel canned me for taking a lady for a ride in a Ferrari.”
“Did you at least score points with the lady?”
The valet smiles and purses his lips. “You know it.”
“Way to go, but I imagine the owner of the Ferrari wasn’t too happy.”
“He was more upset about me borrowing his car than his wife blowing me. My boss didn’t like that either.”
Bursting out laughing, I fist bump him. “Oh shit. Well, take care of the Jeep. No joyrides.”
“You got it, bro.” Just before he hops in, he calls to me, “Good luck and have fun.”
“I intend to.”
CHAPTER 2
~Danny~
THE LARGE METALLIC Illustrious sign gleams in the LA mid-morning sun. Illustrious is the most prestigious modeling agency on the West Coast, and my name carries weight there. Star power. It’s not arrogance that allows me to acknowledge this fact. It’s my hourly fee. I don’t come cheap. Some call me a supermodel, though personally, I hate that term.
The elevator opens on the fifth floor and I push through the glass doors, greeting the new and very cute blonde receptionist when I pass. I hear the chatter before I round the corner into The Pit—the area where all the agents work—no walls, but rows of desks, ringing phones, and trendy California agents. I take the corner and am met with a glare from my agent, seen through the clear glass of the conference room wall that separates him from me.
Joining me as I walk toward the meeting being held on the other side of The Pit, Mark’s assistant, Jody warns, “You’re late and he’s in a foul mood. Tread lightly.”
“I had a late night.” I smile. Nah, I give her a full-on smirk. “When isn’t he in a foul mood? Oh, that’s right. Payday.” Checking her out, I say, “Looking good, Jods. Working out?”
Adding a little ass wiggle while she walks to show off her hard work, she says, “Spinning down at Hollywood Cycle.”
“It’s paying off.”
“You should join me sometime. Those women would eat you up.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I send her a wink and push open the conference room doors. She veers off in the opposite direction, leaving me to deal with Mark’s bad mood on my own. Shit.
Mark stops speaking and greets me like his long-lost son, adding a few pats on my back for good measure. “Ah, here he is. The man of the campaign.”
“My apologies for being late. Traffic sucks in this city. I’m sure you under—”
Blood rushes through my ears; my heart’s pounding hard enough to make me worry my chest has been split open by the dagger that just hit me.
Soft waves of brown hair flecked with gold frame her face. Starry-blue eyes stare straight into my browns.
The one that got away.
The only one who ever could have brought me to my knee—my left to be precise—is sitting in front of me. A gentle smile that always melted my heart settles into her expression. I haven’t seen Reese Carmichael in ten years, but looking at her now, my heart’s forgotten the pain it once endured. Stupid heart.
Mark interrupts our moment by making introductions. “Danny Weston, I’m pleased to say you’re now the face of Vittori. They have a new campaign to shoot for fall and you’ve landed it.”
Another man wearing a deep-purple pinstriped suit stands and reaches for my hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” His smile is wide, all blinding white teeth against his too tanned skin. Yikes. Sunscreen never hurt anyone.
“Nice to meet you…” I leave it open for him, though there’s a vague familiarity about him.
“Vittori. Tonio Vittori.”
Fashion Designer—best known for art-inspired designs on the runway and high-end dresses. I’ve seen him at Fashion Week, but never met him. “This is quite the honor. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Felicissimo. Delighted, and the honor is all mine.” The short man with slicked-back black hair ogles my midsection, then lifts my hand as if he’s about to kiss it. I pull back and steal a glimpse of Reese, who’s snickering under her breath.
“Mr. Vittori,” Mark cuts in. “I know I speak for Danny, myself, and the Illustrious staff when I say, we are truly excited to be launching your new line of menswear.”
I stand to the side and listen to him speak, but my gaze keeps drifting to the brunette with eyes so blue the skies are envious. Stunning. She’s absolutely beautiful. My memory didn’t serve her well, but that might’ve been the heartbreak clouding them.
Just as I let my gaze slide down to her left hand, Mark elbows me. “Mr. Vittori and his team will be in town for two days. We’ll be taking them out tomorrow night. I hope you’ll be able to join us.”
My eyes shift to Reese again. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
I finally turn to her, but before I can say anything, she says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Her blues hold a secret message only meant for me, and I pick up on it, though I don’t understand yet why we’re pretending. “Believe me, it’s all mine, Mrs.?”
A smile spreads across her lips and a light blush colors her cheeks. “Carmichael. Ms. Carmichael.”
“Very nice to meet you, Ms. Carmichael. I
look forward to working with you.”
A throat is cleared and I’m well aware it’s Mark before I even turn around, so when I do, I get the added bonus of a hard glare, one he quickly covers after delivering his silent warning. “Ms. Carmichael is the lead on the campaign. She works for Klein, an advertising agency out of New York, and will be the main contact.”
Joining in, she says, “This campaign is going to be amazing. I’ll make sure of it.”
Mark says, “All of my information is in the file Jody emailed you. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled to be working with Illustrious. We’ve worked with the Manhattan and Paris offices. But Danny,” she says, stopping to look my way, “he’s something special. I knew he’d be the perfect man to represent Vittori’s new collection.” When she turns back to Mark and the others, a charming smile curves her lips. I remember how different the one she used to give me was—reaching her eyes, relaxed, happy, sincere—not just congenial.
Shaking Mr. Vittori’s hand, Mark turns and does the same to Reese, and says, “We’ll see you tomorrow night and if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me personally.” He hands her a business card and then heads for the door. “Your car has arrived. I’ll walk you out.”
When Vittori leaves the room, Reese stays a beat or three longer, remaining next to me. She looks up and whispers, “It’s good to see you again.”
She double-steps to catch up with the group and I’m left here watching her sweet little ass in a tight black skirt leave me completely stunned in a different way. Six words in that melodic voice I could never forget. She sounds even better than in my memories and I want her to stay and say more, anything to me. Taking a seat at the large table, I run my hands through my hair while staring down at my reflection in the shiny black surface.
When I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect to be blindsided by the one woman who broke my heart. I sound like such a pussy for admitting that, much less, twice now, even if only to myself. What stage of grief is that anyway?
Shit.
Am I still grieving the loss of her ten years later?
Six words. It’s good to see you again.
Oh shit, my heart still hurts. Fuck.
I pull my phone from my pocket and text the second number on speed dial.
Me: Free tonight?
You asking me out, pretty boy?
Me: My place at 4?
Make it mine at 3:30.
Me: Done.
Mark walks back in and sits down across from me. With his fingers laced together in front of him, he says, “Don’t fuck this up. This account is not only huge for you and your career, but my career as well, and for Illustrious.”
What the fuck? When have I ever let him down? Sitting back, I sigh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I have no doubt you just saw something you’d be willing to put this whole deal on the line for. She’s a client. You know the Illustrious policy. No sex with the clients.”
Feeling like a smartass, I say, “I don’t think that’s the verbiage in the handbook.”
“You know what I’m saying. Don’t screw this, or her, up. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
He stands and exhales a loud breath, big victorious smile on his face. “Glad to hear it. You need to hit the gym and be in top shape for this campaign. It’s their new menswear line that will include undergarments—underwear, under tanks, and more… or less. Whatever they want. Be prepared.”
“Where are we shooting?”
“They’re out of New York. I know there will most likely be a shoot there. I’m trying to convince them of one here. We’ll find out more over dinner. Mr. Vittori said he’ll have a better idea by then.”
Following him to his office, I remain in the doorway while he sits behind the large desk in the corner. He’s earned his title of Director as well as his corner office. I like to take a lot of the credit for that. He’d agree when he’s in a good mood. As long as I’m landing the good jobs and the big paychecks keep rolling in, I don’t need the glory when he’s in a bad mood. “When and where’s dinner?”
“Spago at eight.”
“Spago? For real?” Shaking my head, I know what Spago means. It means celebrity stalkers, paparazzi, gawkers, and schmoozing. Yep, that’s right up Vittori’s alley from his over-the-top appearance. I mean, what’s the point of putting that much effort into your clothes if no one sees them? I look down at my jeans and old, worn black Adidas.
When I look up, Mark is now shaking his head at me. “At least you showered for the meeting.” He grabs papers on his desk, pushing through them, looking for something. Holding up a photo of a small bottle, he adds, “Vittori International has a new cologne coming out at the same time as the menswear line. If shooting goes well, the job will be yours. You want this job, Danny. Make sure that happens.”
I salute him, then nod. “Will do. See you tomorrow.”
As I’m walking away, I hear him yell for Jody to get me the updated schedule for the next two weeks. She comes running up next to me and matches my pace step for step. Handing me two sheets of paper, she says, “I emailed the schedule to you, programmed it into your online calendar with added alerts. Here’s the hard copy. You have a fitting right now down the street at Vargo. They’re waiting on you.”
“Got it, doll. Thanks.”
She stops at the glass door while I keep walking. When I press the elevator button, she says, “Congrats on the new campaign and let me know if you need anything.”
“I’ve got your number. Have a good one.”
She’s already heading back to the big boss’s corner office before the elevator arrives. She’s a good girl. I’m lucky to have her on my side.
As soon as the elevator doors close, my back hits the mirrored wall. Sideswiped by the one and only, Ms. Carmichael. I smile; glad to hear she’s a Ms. over Mrs. Through the double doors and down the sidewalk, I make my way to where I parked down the street.
The sun is out with no clouds in the sky. This is a perfect Thursday. A day I’d normally drive to the beach and catch a few waves, I’m now comparing the sky above to the color in her eyes. I wasn’t close enough to see if those flecks of gold still encircle the soulful blue and black of her pupils. I wish I had been…
The drive to Vargo isn’t long enough for me to get lost in any visions of our past, but I know I’m not looking forward to any downtime I have ahead.
After an hour of being pinned and tucked, and not in a good way, I’m done. The clothes for next week will fit like a glove. “We’ll see you next week, Danny,” says the stylist as I head out.
“See you next week.”
Two fifty. I stop into a convenience store and grab a six-pack of beer before heading into the Hollywood Hills. No gates in this community. No barriers or tall fences. No celebrities, but a few moguls who like to play the part happily live here until they can move to Los Feliz or some other hot neighborhood a few income brackets higher than their current one.
The door is open, music playing loudly through the speakers. I walk in like I own the joint. I once did. That gives me some residual claim over the place if you ask me. “Luke?”
“Be down in a minute,” he calls.
I look toward the stairs, to where I heard his voice trail down. “I’m drinking.”
“Go ahead.”
Pulling a beer from the box, I go to the kitchen and set the rest down. As I stare out the back, through the large windows of the modern home, I twist the top and start drinking. In the distance, there’s a slight view of downtown. It’s gotten smaller since I owned the place and the trees have gotten taller. I’m glad he kept the trees.
“I’ll see you later.”
Turning back around, Luke is walking a girl to the door. She looks familiar but I can’t place her. There is this little wave with her fingers she does as she says, “Hi, Danny. Coming back to yoga?”
Yoga. The hot teacher. Ah. It’s all coming back to me now. “I’m more of a hiker or weights guy these days.”
“It shows. Looking good.” She lifts up and kisses Luke on the cheek. “Bye, handsome. Call me soon.”
“I will.”
The door shuts and when he looks at me, he says, “Or won’t.”
“Ass.”
“She’s got a nice one if that’s what you’re referring to.”
“I wasn’t.”
He walks by me, holds up his hand, and we bump knuckles. Grabbing a beer, he opens it and joins me at the window. “You miss the old digs?”
“I prefer the beach.”
We walk outside onto the deck and settle into our usual spots. Mine is a faded green patio chair. His is the wood bench against the railing so he can stretch his arms out, which he’s doing now. With his beanie in place even on this warm day, he pulls his sunglasses from his pocket and puts them on.
“So you’re fucking Janet now?”
“Jenna.”
“Jenna, Janet, Mary Sue Elizabeth. Does it matter?”
“No,” he replies looking away from me.
“Then why are you still doing this? What point are you trying to prove?”
“No point. Just trying to move on.”
Eyeing him, I say, “Why try so hard?”
Leaning forward, he looks uncomfortable, but he shouldn’t or I’d be more worried. He picks at the label on the bottle, and says, “What if the prick asks her to marry him?”
“He won’t. He’s an ass. Unfortunately, you have to wait for her to figure that out on her own.”
“I’ve loved her since I was sixteen. Half my life.”
“Then why’d you wait for her to find someone else before telling her?”
Sitting back up, he rests against the wood and crosses his ankle over his knee. “I thought it was understood that we’d be together when the timing was right.”
“Man, it sucks. It does. Jane’s a good girl.”
“But? I hear the but already.”
I sigh, blowing out the reality he’s now faced with. “You waited too long. She’s a smart girl, but sometimes even smart girls make bad decisions. You blew it for now. With that said, I don’t believe she’ll marry that dick.”