by Sierra Riley
The heat in Briar’s cheeks was definitely from the Fireball. “Maybe,” Briar snorted. “But after Austin…” he trailed off.
Vince looked sympathetic. He reached over the table to squeeze Briar’s hand, then picked up the cocktail menu and turned it over to scan the list. “You’ll get through it.”
“I fuckin’ won’t. I told you back then, and I mean it—I’m done dating,” Briar told him, his voice harsher than he meant it.
Vince knew better than to look skeptical. He just nodded slightly. “Forever is a long time.”
“No more strings attached to me. It’s great.” Briar’s eyes flickered down to Vince’s wedding ring. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Oh, I know,” Vince assured him, a laugh bubbling in his chest. “You know I know.”
True: Vince had worked his way around just as much as Briar. But he’d chosen right, and Briar had ignored his gut instinct in favor of a pretty face.
Briar rubbed his face. Enough thinking about this shit. He had meetings in the morning. “One more drink for the road.”
One more drink, and maybe he’d forget about Austin’s hard-edged smile when he leaned over the desk to tell Briar he was out.
11
Gabriel
It was his first time on a transatlantic flight, and Gabriel tried his hardest to ignore the churning nerves in his stomach. He hated even domestic flights, but a shot at the bar before they took off could always take care of that.
This time, he had eight hours to sit through before they got to London, and he was a little terrified.
The plane was big enough that the takeoff was smooth, but every little shudder of turbulence made him dig his nails into his palms while he folded his arms tightly.
Damn it, they insisted on keeping the window blind open for takeoff, too. It would be a little better if he couldn’t see the ground rapidly falling away from under him.
And he didn’t want to show his nerves around the other models. There were six of them in total, all sitting in one section of premium economy. He was on the aisle, and the guys in the middle and window seats—Adam and Jon, if he remembered right—were busy talking.
Just as well, since he didn’t feel like wasting the flight talking to them. He could mentally rehearse instead, going through everything he’d learned from Julius and Vince, from the photographers over the last two weeks, and from a lifetime of watching male models strut down the catwalk.
His job was pretty simple: final fittings, walk down the catwalk from dawn ’till dusk, then attend parties all night.
From what he’d read online, it was going to mean working his ass off, but at least he had natural talent. He didn’t have to work at looking elegant.
Unlike Adam. Jesus, he was a klutz. Somehow he managed to turn that off on the runway, but the rest of the time? He practically tripped over his own two feet. How the fuck had he ever been spotted? Had he fooled them in an open call until he’d been signed? Or was he just drugged up?
Gabriel pursed his lips in judgment, focusing on that instead of the shuddering of the plane. When it finally felt like it was leveling off, he let out his breath and unfolded his arms, leaning forward to grab his water bottle.
Those five pounds were gone, his stomach a little leaner and body fat percentage a little lower. He just couldn’t eat a proper meal until the end of the week.
God, he was sick of salads, but it was worth it.
“This is your first fashion week, isn’t it?” That was Adam, addressing him now.
Gabriel turned his gaze to Adam and nodded once. “I have a good idea what to expect.”
“You’re the last-minute guy, right? You’re replacing the diva who walked out?”
Gabriel raised a brow. “Or they kicked him out for me.” He preferred to think of it that way.
“Yeah, from what I heard you’ve got a better walk,” Adam chuckled. “He’s gonna be pissed. He only just got signed for the show, and then when he ran out on the test shoot, Julius moved him to another show this week. He’s walking for someone else. You know Jameson?”
Gabriel snorted loudly, unable to resist a moment’s sarcasm. “Do I know Jameson?” Duh. The menswear designer who practically set the trend of knitted ties back into motion last season? If he didn’t know him, what the fuck would he be doing in this industry?
“Just asking,” Adam shrugged, but a smile flickered across his face. Was he testing him? The asshole.
“I wasn’t born yesterday. I just look like it,” Gabriel told him, reclining his seat and looking down the aisle for the booze cart. It couldn’t come fast enough.
Adam laughed. “Yeah, I have a suitcase just for my skincare regimen.”
“Oh, I don’t need one,” Gabriel told him loftily. He’d been blessed with good skin, after all.
“Really?”
“Not much of one.”
“Lucky,” Adam whistled. “I have to get facials weekly.”
“I bet you do.” Gabriel pushed his tongue behind his teeth, and Adam’s expression darkened for a moment before he laughed.
Gabriel laughed along, even if he’d meant it more snidely than Adam probably suspected. There was no way Adam had gotten here on talent alone. He had to be fucking someone. Briar, maybe? Julius? Vince? Someone had their dick invested in him.
“You hear where our hotel is? It’s great. We’ve got a bunch of adjoining rooms,” Adam told him, smoothly changing the subject. Gabriel noticed that.
“In case we want to have sleepovers?” That sounded like hell. Gabriel wasn’t going to let them see him when he wasn’t ready to walk. Nobody got to see him at night unless he was in their bed.
He had an image to maintain now, after all. And that image included two vodka shots that were a couple rows away from him.
Thank God. If Adam was this chatty, he was going to need them.
12
Briar
The Strand was busy with commuters this time of the evening. As Briar gazed down from his suite, he wondered how many of them were unaware of one of the fashion industry’s most important weeks happening right beside them.
Everyone was on edge: photographers, designers, show producers, models, buyers, makeup artists, agents…
Hundreds of attractive men—and others, of course—in the city for one high-pressure, high-profile week of shows and after-parties and schmoozing.
Normally, he might have been counting his condoms into his wallet, but he didn’t feel the same stir of interest as usual. He took a breath and let it out, rubbing his face as he moved to grab some anyway, along with lube. Just in case.
It was probably the pressure of networking, knowing he’d be running into certain familiar faces.
About this time, Julius would be going over the expectations for all the new faces. Gabriel would be trying to hide his wide-eyed unfamiliarity with London behind his cool façade, and the other models would be pouting and lounging around, trying to subtly one-up each other even in these behind-the-scenes moments.
Briar smiled to himself. It was kind of cute to witness, really. Maybe he’d drop in and see how it was going.
He had to meet a whole slew of people this week, though. He’d barely have time to watch the shows his own models were working, and when he did, it would be alongside very important people and their important attitudes.
“Dinner,” he murmured to himself, running a hand back through his hair. He was expected to join the table reserved by his agency and show his pride and investment in his models.
And he was proud of them. He was confident in Vince’s choice of this slate of new faces, none of them more than a couple years into their careers. All of them had been carefully honed and trained over the last months or—in Gabriel’s case—weeks, at least.
They wouldn’t fuck up.
Every one of them except Gabe had years of experience, and half of them had been here last year.
Gabriel was the wild card, but Briar was willing to put his
neck on the line to show him off. He wanted everyone to see who he’d scooped up from the street and what he could turn him into in a matter of weeks.
No other agency could brag that.
“Remember: each one of you represents the top male modeling agency in the world.”
It was the same speech Briar had given last year, but every model was hanging onto his every word.
Every model except Gabriel, who was watching red buses circle Trafalgar Square, his arms folded.
“And as such, you’re representing me. I’ve spent a long time building up Exposed’s reputation as the go-to agency. Every year, we get better and better. That’s why we’ve taken the chance on all of you: we can show a slate of fresh faces who perform just as well as the same tired old hags they drag out every year.”
There was a ripple of laughter, and Briar indulged them with a small smile.
“You’re going to kill it. I’ve watched every one of you in front of the camera, and most of you on the runway.”
His gaze flickered to Gabriel. With two weeks’ notice, they hadn’t been able to squeeze him onto a real-life runway before. They’d trained him, over and over, but there was nothing like the narrow strip of land in the sea of judgmental, admiring, and critical faces watching every tiny movement.
This was the break of a lifetime for Gabriel, and the gamble of a lifetime for Briar, but he always listened to his gut instinct, and that told him Gabriel was going to shine.
Just in case, the biggest shows weren’t first. There were smaller shows for the first two days, and then the events got more and more important. They could pull Gabe at any moment and fly someone else out for the next night.
It was a trial by fire.
Despite how thoroughly disinterested Gabriel looked, he was barely breathing.
He’s scared shitless.
Briar tore his gaze off Gabriel before the other models noticed him looking. He didn’t need jealous attention from the rest of them this week, of all times.
“But don’t get complacent. Never get complacent. Every step you take is going to be photographed and watched by people you wouldn’t believe,” Briar told them. “This will move most of you from the new faces department into the runway department. Your careers will be made or broken here.”
Now none of them were breathing that much, the smiles gone as all eyes were fixed on his every word.
“Luckily, Vince, Julius, and I picked all of you because—well, because the client wanted you, and also because we believe in every one of your abilities to do the job and do it right. Enjoy your meal and your night’s rest. Makeup begins at…” Briar trailed off, waiting for Julius.
Julius took over. “Five o’clock. On the dot. I don’t want to see any of you stumbling in fifteen minutes late. All of your wake-up calls have been arranged already. Don’t ignore them.”
They all nodded.
Briar glanced over as the waiter arrived with the glasses of champagne he’d ordered, setting one in front of each of them.
“Now,” Briar said, clapping his hands once. “Have a drink, have a good meal, and get to sleep. The parties begin tomorrow night. This will be your last relaxing evening for a week—and if things go really well for you, for a long time.”
Briar’s eyes flickered to Gabriel as he raised his glass slightly once the waiter handed it over.
Gabriel raised his glass in return, followed by the rest of them in short order. As the fizz tickled Briar’s lips, Briar couldn’t stop remembering the bubbling desire between them and every filthy hot kiss they’d shared when they last saw each other two weeks ago.
All it took was seeing that face, even among a sea of other pretty boy models who wanted to catch his eye, to set his body on fire with the need to taste Gabriel again.
He swallowed those desires with the sharp, bubbly drink that burned his throat.
13
Gabriel
“You have perfect cheekbones, darling.”
Gabriel’s face burned at the close-range inspection by the makeup artist who was turning his face this way and that, gripping his chin between two fingers.
“Do you have any makeup on already?”
“Just a little under the eyes,” Gabriel told him. His skin might have been clear of spots, but months of financial and relationship stress had left him with dark circles that were only just starting to improve.
“We can take care of that,” the guy clicked his tongue. What was his name, again? Charlie? Casey? Something starting with C. He had a strong jaw and masculine face, but he wore lipstick and eyeshadow that drew all eyes.
“Charlie,” someone called out. That answered his question. “ETA?”
Charlie clicked his tongue as if irritated but smiled anyway. “Give me fifteen minutes, darling.”
Gabriel closed his eyes to let Charlie swab sponges along his cheeks and lids, evening out his skin tone and creating a perfect base coat for the rest of the makeup to stick to.
“This is your first fashion week, hm?” Charlie was working fast, his fingers swiping along Gabriel’s jaw and cheekbones. “I’ve heard about you. Bold choice for your agency.”
“Briar got me in.”
“Ohhh,” Charlie whistled. “I can’t wait to see you in action, then! He must have been blown away by you. Last model he fast-tracked… well,” he clicked his tongue again.
“Hm?” Gabriel sounded. Was he talking about Austin Hall? It was public knowledge that sudden superstar Austin had had some kind of thing with the CEO, but the agency had dumped him or vice versa, and neither had kind words about the other now.
And rumor had it Austin had stolen at least several thousand dollars’ worth of shit on his way out the door, but Briar had had such a thing for him that he’d let it slide.
“Oh, you must know.”
“I do,” Gabriel murmured, then closed his lips to let Charlie swab over his lips.
“Nobody really knows what happens. There’s about ten versions of his story floating around. You’ll probably run into him, too. He’ll be the one with the most photographers around him,” Charlie chuckled. “I did him for his first three shows.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows twitched upward.
“His makeup, darling. Shame he got so… excuse the language, but bitchy. It happens all the time, though. Fame goes to their heads,” Charlie lamented.
Gabriel couldn’t help a slight snicker, even if he couldn’t move his lips. “Mm.”
Charlie fell silent for another few minutes to work on him. After a light coating of lip gloss, Charlie told him to smack his lips and check himself out.
The moment Gabriel opened his eyes, he couldn’t take his eyes off himself.
Oh.
Holy shit.
He looked good.
Sure, he was hot the rest of the time, but Charlie had done something with contours and shadows to enhance the angles in his face. This was what everyone had been looking for when they searched his face over the last few weeks.
He looked the part. Now he had to act the part.
“Final fitting!” Charlie told him and clapped his shoulder. “That way, darling.”
Before he could look around the makeup room at the other guys, he was whisked away by a short woman with a clipboard and dark hair tied back into a long ponytail who confirmed his name and sizes.
Gabriel’s head spun at how fast everything moved behind the scenes. He barely had time to be nervous, so many people were talking to and around and about him.
And then he was face-to-face with the designer who took one look at him, picked out three combinations of clothes, and told him to show the small audience one at a time before he came back and finalized the decision.
T-minus four hours.
Gabriel stepped behind the screen, not that it made that much difference with the number of people hurrying into and out of the room, and dropped his jeans.
He was going to be doing a lot of that this week.
“You know what to do?�
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That was Adam again, surely thinking he was being helpful. Gabriel barely bit back the impatience in his voice as he muttered, “Yes, for the last time.”
His shoes pinched, the jeans pulled tight around his ass and his ankles were cold. For that matter, his nipples poked out through the thin t-shirt that draped across his body, the rips in it strategically highlighting his chest and stomach.
This was a relatively small menswear show compared to what was going on in the ballroom next door, but nobody in it was treating it like a small deal. Every time a model emerged from the runway, a flurry of activity surrounded him to get him changed into his next outfit and picture-perfect in sixty seconds or less.
The models for different designers stood in clusters, surrounded by their own pit crew of makeup artists and managers and frantic designers. All of the Exposed guys were dressed and ready, and Julius kept murmuring their order, tugging them to line them up so they were ready when the show producer gave the signal.
Gabriel stood still as their designer adjusted his shirt for the third time, staring at Adam’s back.
Their collection was next, and his palms were sweaty. He’d eaten barely enough to keep his stomach from growling, and good thing he hadn’t had more anyway. He was almost sick with nerves.
Fuck this. It’s just one show, and Briar picked me because I’m damn good.
All he had to do was relax and be himself.
“Julius, you ready?” That was the show producer, pressing his headset into his ear as he scanned their group absently. “Thirty seconds.”
It was one minor show.
He was going to blow them out of the water.
Adam was out.
Then Jon.
He was fourth.
Gabriel straightened up, every thought leaving his mind as he waited for the push on his back.
He was so wired and tense that the moment he felt the brush of fingers, he was walking like he owned the place.