Taking Flight (A Devereux Novel)

by Whiskey, D. G.

  I entered a response as fast as I could, hampered by the need to go back and correct a few typos from shaking fingers.

  Of course! I’d love to, just let me know when and where you want me.

  Once the message sent, I stood there holding the phone and staring at the screen. Scenes and scenarios flitted through my head, from what the shoot might be like to how this would fill my portfolio and give me the experience I needed to be more successful in my hunt for work. Would this kickstart things going my way?

  Minutes passed lost in daydreams, but no new text came. I snapped out of my contemplations, putting the phone down on the bed and rummaging through the little cloth organizational cubes that held most of my clothes. I still had to be at work in an hour.

  Every few seconds I looked at the phone on the bed, willing it to give the ding that signaled a new text message arriving.

  I was in the middle of straightening my hair when it did, and nearly burnt myself when I dropped the iron to leap onto the bed.

  I want you. Tomorrow at eight, my place. I’ll have it set up for the shoot.

  My breath caught in my throat. Only then did I realize what I’d written to him sounded like a proposition. Did he take it that way? His text made it seem like it. Was his phrasing an accident? I didn’t know enough about how he wrote in messages to be sure.

  I’m reading way too deeply into this.

  Another text arrived with his address—no surprise there; it was in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the city, and one of the most expensive. More proof he wasn’t just lying about being wealthy.

  I’ll be there! Can’t wait. :)

  I reread the short response five times before I sent it, deleting and re-adding the smiley face each time. When I lay back into my pillows, awareness of the heightened arousal of my body crept into my consciousness. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end, and I couldn’t miss the familiar sensation between my legs.

  I allowed myself five minutes to daydream about the shoot tomorrow, how things might go. What might end up happening. I knew for sure that Stephen was a great kisser, but that wasn’t enough for my overactive imagination.

  Is that how I want this to go? Stephen was a total catch, but this shoot with him was also now my best shot at finding work and success as a model. I’d never wanted to compromise my values and have sex with photographers for work. If I slept with Stephen, would it be any different?

  It was getting close to when I needed to leave for work. Against the wishes of every bone in my body, I hauled myself up from bed.

  When I stood in front of the mirror to check my readiness, my reflection forced a fit of laughter from me. I’d forgotten what I’d been doing when Stephen’s text came in, and I stood there with only half a head of straightened hair. My hair was more wavy than curly in its natural state, but there was still a big difference between normal and straightened. It looked ridiculous.

  I won’t attract anyone with that disaster on my head.

  The shift crawled by at a snail’s pace for most of the afternoon. The shoot with Stephen was set for a couple hours after I finished, and it was the only thing I could think about. I’d been checking my watch for the time at least a few times a minute, and eventually I had to leave it with my purse in the back so I wouldn’t sit and stare at the thing all shift.

  Afternoons at Dorgo’s were always busy. Thanks to its prime location and sterling reputation, bankers and traders came to talk business over drinks from before noon all the way until the doors closed late at night. Dorgo’s was the neutral middle ground where an account manager at Goldman Sachs could shoot the shit with a commodity trader from Morgan Stanley without worrying about talk of colluding or insider trading.

  A steady stream of expensive gins and scotches flowed from the bar through my hands to the tables. The bar didn’t bother stocking any of the typical liquors served at most pubs—its clientele weren’t the kind to drink the cheap stuff.

  The tips were always good. If living in the city wasn’t so expensive, I would have been able to save up a good amount of money just from waitressing.

  My thoughts ground to a halt when I visited my newest table and looked into the face of the drunken asshole from the night Stephen saved me.

  “You. What the hell are you doing here?” Icy distaste colored my voice and I did not try to hide it. My heart raced, and I wanted to run away and hide in the back.

  Paul spread his hands out, palms up. “Hey, take it easy. I came to apologize for the other night.”

  “Is that right.” I eyed him. His face was open and smiling, but it held more than a hint of a smirk. “Why do I not care? You fucking grabbed me you asshole.” I half-turned to see if I could get John’s attention.

  He put a hand over his heart. “Ouch. Come on, I was too drunk and I made a mistake, it happens. I’m sure you’ve seen it before. What’s your name?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want this creep to know anything about me, not even my name. “Liberty.”

  “That’s a pretty name, Liberty, and you’re a beautiful woman. I think I was just very taken with you that night and I wasn’t able to control myself because of the alcohol.”

  He was a very smooth talker. Unluckily for him, the events of that night still stood sharply in my mind and I would not let him sweep them under the rug. In my experience, if someone is drunk they may make mistakes, but it’s rare they would do something completely out of character. If Paul was a good man, he wouldn’t have acted like he did no matter how much he’d drank.

  “I don’t care why you did it. What matters is you did, and I want you to leave.” I turned again to find John and wave him over.

  “Do you model?”

  The question turned me back and earned Paul a sharp look. He reclined in his chair with his legs crossed as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I do.” I left out how unsuccessful I’d been so far. He didn’t deserve that knowledge.

  “I knew it. You have such a gorgeous face, and that body is to die for. You know, I have a couple friends who are big name designers—I could arrange a photo shoot or maybe even a modeling contract with one of them for you.” He smiled the way a wolf would when sweet-talking a sheep. “As a peace offering.”

  I gritted my teeth. He was such an asshole, but could I turn down an opportunity like that, even if it came about this way? I couldn’t know how the shoot with Stephen would go tonight—if it would lead to anything major. More options were never a bad thing.

  “I don’t know if I trust you,” I said.

  “How could I screw you over?” he asked. “It’s just a show of goodwill, you don’t have to do it.”

  He still sported a smug smile. I wanted to slap it off his face, but that wouldn’t help anything.

  This guy pisses me off. I wouldn’t have to model for him though, and if he wasn’t lying then I’d at least make the most out of having to deal with such an asshole.

  “Fine. I’m not saying I’ll do it, but I’m not saying no. Give me your number and I’ll think about it.”

  He slipped a card out of his jacket pocket and passed it to me. “That’s my private cell number. Just call and I’ll put you in touch with the right people.”

  I took it and slipped it into my bra without looking at it.

  “Now,” he said, “how about you fetch me a scotch, princess.”

  My hand clenched, and it took all my strength not to slug him in the face at the tone of his voice. That was the problem with men like him. They always thought they could game any system, and all the people in the world are their pawns to play with as they choose.

  I got to the bar to punch in the order and looked at John. “That douchebag from the other night is here again. I would give almost anything to slap him as hard as I could in the face and then kick him in the balls so hard he could never father another child.”

  John leaned over to get a look. “Do you want me to kick him out, Liberty? I shouldn’t be do
ing that—Paul is a big roller, and I know the boss would be upset if I gave any of the elites a reason not to come here any more. If he’s bothering you that much I’ll make an exception.”

  “No, don’t do that,” I said. “He says he came to apologize and offered to set me up with a modeling gig with friends of his.”

  “That’s good, right? You’ve been looking for modeling jobs for ages.”

  “Yeah, I have.” I tapped the bar with my thumbs as I thought over the situation. “It’s been hard to find anything, but now I also have a shoot with Stephen tonight. I trust him a lot more than Paul—hell, he’s the one who saved me from Paul the other night!”

  “It’s all up to you,” John said. “If I were you, I’d explore both options until you have the power to turn down jobs you don’t want.”

  As much as I wanted to tell Paul to shove it, I knew John had a point—I’d thought as much myself. Would I ever get to the level where I could choose only the most interesting work? I’d dreamed about it my whole life but it still felt impossibly far away, and I wasn’t getting any younger. Models had an expiration date.

  “Right here, thanks.”

  I climbed out of the Uber and looked up at the condo building. It was so many orders of magnitude nicer than the dirty building I lived in that I felt like Cinderella coming to the ball.

  “Hello miss,” said the doorman as I walked up.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Stephen Devereux?”

  “You must be Liberty, he let us know you were coming. Please, go right in and take the third elevator to the penthouse.”

  Jeez, Stephen wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to come here and enjoy his money.

  I’d expected the entrance foyer of the building to be large and overwhelming, but instead it was cozy and intimate. Marble floors, warm oak trim, and modern artwork contributed to a comforting welcome—tastefully applied and expensive but not overdone.

  The third elevator was off to the side and it had no button, only a magnetic card reader. It was next to a security desk attended by a young man in a crisp uniform.

  “Hi. I’m Liberty, to see Stephen Devereux. The doorman said to take the third elevator?”

  He smiled and pressed something hidden in his desk. The elevator door slid open. “Go right in, miss. It will take you straight there.”

  Even the elevator is nice. The decor matched the foyer. There were two buttons for floors in the elevator—G and PH.

  At the top, the doors didn’t open onto a sterile shared hall like I expected, but instead gave out directly into the apartment. Halls went in three different directions from the entrance space—left, right, and straight ahead.

  “Hello?” I called, pitching my voice to carry as I peered down the halls. “Stephen?”

  “Coming!” his voice came back. “You got here earlier than I expected.”

  He rounded a corner down the hall to the right from what appeared to be the kitchen—the edge of a stove was visible on the far wall. Dressed far more casually than when I’d first met him, the jeans and light sweater he wore suited him well and did nothing to hide the powerful lines of his body.

  “Sorry, I don’t like being late,” I said. “I didn’t mean to…”

  The words trailed off as Stephen kissed me, putting his arms around my back and pulling me up to him as my mouth opened for his. I swam in the sensation, holding onto reality only enough to make sure I didn’t fall as he enveloped me.

  He broke the kiss before I wanted him to, pulling back with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you don’t mind me cutting you off, but I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I stopped kissing you two nights ago.”

  That is damn hot.

  This time I pulled him to me, my hand on the back of his head as I showed him he wasn’t the only one who wanted more than we’d gotten before.

  Hands roamed down each other’s backs, and I lost my breath when he palmed my ass and squeezed gently. When I slipped my hands under his sweater intending to pull it off, he broke the kiss off again and took my hands in his.

  “Did you want a tour of the place?” His eyes twinkled as he saw me realize we hadn’t left the entrance yet.

  “Oh. Right. Yes, that would be wonderful.” I straightened my dress and gestured him forward. “Lead the way.”

  The apartment was enormous. The main living rooms had double high ceilings with huge banks of windows that would let in an abundance of natural light during the day. On the other side of the apartment, the bedrooms and guest rooms and bathrooms had regular ceilings. The reason for the discrepancy became clear when Stephen led me up a staircase in the living room to a small balcony with a patio door.

  The patio took up half the roof area, a wide expanse with a small fire pit and seating areas, along with a cleverly designed garden space.

  “Wow, Stephen, it’s incredible!”

  He looked around and nodded. “Isn’t it? It’s funny, I always knew places like this existed, but I never thought I would live in one. This is still new, having access to such large amounts of money. The world is a different place when you are rich enough to do anything you want.”

  Stephen’s eyes were glowing in the moonlight as he looked around at his residence. He had a wonder to him I’d never seen in the wealthy bankers I served drinks to all day—it was endearing. I grabbed his hand and stepped close to him. “Try not to lose that feeling. I’ve seen a lot of jaded rich people in this city.”

  We shared another kiss, tamer this time, as Stephen took his time in exploring my mouth.

  “Are you ready to take the photos?” he asked. “That is why you’re here, after all.”

  I smiled. It was easy to forget plans when I was wrapped up in Stephen and enjoying his presence. He was easy to talk to.

  “Let’s do it.”

  I touched up my makeup in the bathroom, taking the time to make sure every detail was perfect. These photos would be every agency’s first look at me—the mediocre quality of my current head shots might be the reason I wasn’t getting any favorable responses to my inquiries.

  Stephen had set up a studio area with lighting and backdrops. A long, stylish couch sat crossways in the area for something to pose on.

  “Let’s start with the head shots and get those out of the way before we move on to the shots Denise wanted for her collection.” Stephen moved around setting up his equipment. “We’ll see if we can’t have a little fun with that.”

  The head shots took only twenty minutes and a few poses. I’d worn my favorite dress that gave me the most confidence to wear—I knew it made me look my best. I caught Stephen’s eyes dropping to my cleavage more than once, and it made me hot and want to fidget.

  “Are you ready for the real shoot?” Stephen asked. “I want to warn you—Denise only has one collection she needs shots for, and it’s… a little revealing. If that makes you too uncomfortable to model for me, that’s okay, I understand.”

  I laughed. It couldn’t be much more revealing than the dress I was wearing. “I’m sure it will be fine, Stephen. I’m a grown woman.”

  “You sure are,” he said, eyes trailing down to the curve of my hips. “Follow me, I’ll show you the bedroom where the clothes are hung up and ready to go.”

  He left me in a spare bedroom and told me to pick something out of the closet and come out when I was ready.

  My mouth dropped when I opened the door.

  I pulled out a hanger. These weren’t scandalous dresses—they were sets of lingerie! Heels in different colors lined up along the closet floor.

  Doubt filled me as I stood there with a wisp of lace in my hands. I trusted Stephen and loved the way we got along, but here he was setting me up to wear lingerie for him the second time we’d seen each other.

  Is this over the top though? Last time I was upset I hadn’t invited him up to spend the night, why wouldn’t I want to model lingerie for him?

  My body, primed from the make out sessions and flirting with Stephen, grew flush a
t the thought of posing in lingerie for him. I wanted to see the look on his face when I pushed him to his limits, drawing him under my spell. Besides, I’d be wearing lingerie and bikinis in shoots all the time if I made it big—no sense in being prudish in front of the camera while I still had something to prove.

  I looked through the collection to get a feel for what the options were. Some were simple bra and panty sets while others were more involved. One appeared to be a bodysuit with wide swathes of fabric cut out, exposing an erotically large amount of skin while still covering the essentials and tantalizing with lace and ribbons.

  I settled on a stunning red number with straps connecting the panties to the bra, crisscrossing each other several times in an interesting pattern. There was a cute pair of candy red heels to wear with it. It took a long time to figure out how to put it on properly. Once I succeeded, I spun around in front of a convenient body length mirror and checked myself out.

  Now that is a sexy piece of clothing. I can barely resist touching myself—I can’t wait to see the look on Stephen’s face.

  A robe hung in the closet, and I almost grabbed it to wear over top for the walk to the studio, but that would dampen the effect on Stephen.

  Buoyed by confidence from the exotic clothing, my pace settled into a sexy strut as I walked out into the big open studio space. Wearing sexy clothes and hot heels always filled me with power, and the sound of the heels striking the floor in a steady staccato echoed through the big apartment.

  Stephen stood to the side looking down at the camera in his hand. He glanced over as I walked up. “Okay, ready for…”

  His mouth dropped as I continued my walk, placing each step and rolling my hips as I went, my brunette hair falling in a sheet that waved from side to side.

  I stopped a few feet from him and placed my hands on my hands, striking a pose with one foot forward.

  “Does this one work?”