by Claire Adams
"Welcome home, son." Dad hugged me warmly, and I returned the embrace. He was thin now, gaunt from the sick liver he'd gotten from being an alcoholic. A lot of people said I should stop trying to fix him, that it was up to him to heal himself, but I always blamed my Mother. If she hadn't broken his heart all those years ago, the rest of his organs wouldn't have followed suit.
Now he had liver damage, just one kidney, and his eyes were failing him. Soon, I'd have to pay for him to have around the clock care, and Mom would be free to have her lovers over in broad daylight without him even knowing. It was just another reminder why I was determined to stay single: marriage killed, it was a plain and simple fact. I was never going to let a woman have my heart and destroy me like my father had let my mother do — even someone as mesmerizing as Kayla Brandt.
"Dinner is ready. We were wondering if we should start without you, since you're late again as usual," my mother chided as we entered the dining room of the house I bought for them and sat down at the elegantly laid table.
"Sorry, I had a problem at work that required my attention."
Mother looked vaguely concerned as the maid served our plates. "Nothing wrong with the new motorcycle line, I hope. What are you calling it? U.S.A?"
"The All-American." My father knew the answer. He and I were still very close and talked almost every day. He was my sounding board for any major decisions I made on the bikes. He was the one who originally taught me how to ride, which is how I got assigned to the motorcycle division at Krueger to begin with.
Shaking my head, I said to them, "No, the new line of the All-American is perfect. We've already got a hundred thousand coming off the factory lines and ready to be sent to the dealers. This had to do with marketing. We're going to feature it on the cover of next month's Speed Magazine, and I want the perfect model to showcase the bike and give readers that all-American feeling I want them to have when they see it. It's the image of the whole line, and very important. So, any little hiccup and I need to give it my full attention."
"So what was the hiccup?" Mother's keen intuition sensed it involved something more than just accounting figures or scheduling conflicts.
"The model we hired for the cover shoot. We couldn't get a hold of her to tell her it had been rescheduled."
"Well, that's easy enough to resolve. Just hire someone else. If this girl can't be reliable enough to keep in contact with you, then fire her." Mother's cold and callous attitude made my blood boil, but I kept my anger in check.
"It's not as easy as that. This girl is the one I want for the cover; no one else even comes close to having her beauty, innocence, and appeal. She is a natural blonde, not one of those bad bleach jobs, and everything else about her is natural, too. She has the most enormous blue eyes, the color of a tropical bay, and her face is like an angel’s. I never saw anybody convey such sweetness and have such a wholesome girl-next-door vibe, while still being sexy as hell. Every guy out there is going to want her and every girl is going to want to be her. The whole world is going to love her."
"It sounds like you already do," Mom said knowingly. "You must be tired of going home to that empty mansion of yours in Beverly Hills and not have anyone to talk you every morning at the breakfast table. Don't you want a wife to share your life with, to take vacations with, and to share the joys of your success with? Stop playing the field with a different date at every party. I want to see my son fall in love and get married. You deserve it."
"Don't start with me and the whole falling in love and getting married thing." We'd had this fight a million times and I was already out of patience for the topic. "I'm interested in Kayla purely on a business level. It will be good for the company if she is the cover girl for our next issue of Speed Magazine, and if readers associate her with our new bike, sales will go through the stratosphere. It's all about money."
"I don't know, son. I think your mother was onto something," my father chimed in. Usually he was so quiet at these dinners, and I was the one trying to get him to join the conversation. Now, I was suddenly hoping he'd butt out. "I saw the way your eyes lit up when you talk about that girl. It's the same way I feel when I talk about your mother."
"Yeah, but Kayla is nothing like Mom. She's loyal to a fault. This boyfriend of hers is a complete asshole, and she's been sticking by him for five years now. You should see the way he treats her. I had to punch the son-of-a-bitch out, and even when he treated like a whore, she still chose him over me. I guess in that one way she is like Mom: she was always willing to pick any guy over me, too."
"That's enough, son," my father stood up from the table in a rage, and I knew I'd gone too far. "I won't have you talking about your mother that way. Sure, we had our rough times when you were growing up, but all couples do. We worked our problems out and I forgave her. One day, you'll have to forgive her, too."
"Maybe then you'll settle down with a girl and get married. I so much want to have grandchildren before I die," my mother chimed in, but it was more than I could take.
"Forget it. I'm never going to expose an innocent child to that kind of misery. Love is a farce, and marriage never ends in happily ever after. It's the one lesson I learned from you two that I don't need to repeat on my own. I've lost my appetite. Goodbye."
I strode from the table, nearly running into the maid and knocking her over as I stormed out of the house. I was furious because they had come so close to the mark.
I had been feeling lately like I was tired of living alone, and I did feel something special for Kayla. Was it love? Was I willing to consider settling down with someone, or at least having a relationship? With Kayla, I thought maybe I was and that, more than anything my parents had said, struck at the very heart of me. I was nervous, scared, and that made me angry. More than that, I was happy, excited, and full of hope.
This Friday, I would get to see Kayla again when she came to the studio for the cover shoot. It would be my one chance to win her over and get her to see that I wasn't a crazy stalker, just a man who wanted to be with her. I just hoped she didn't quit after everything had happened.
If she did, I would leave the company to go searching for her. I would give up my career, my money, everything. I suddenly understood my father so much more than I ever had, and why he was willing to stand by my mother through anything. I already felt that way about Kayla after just one afternoon together. I didn't want to admit it even to myself, but I was already too far gone to ever give her up.
Chapter Eight
Kayla
"Welcome, Miss Brandt. They're waiting for you in hair and make-up whenever you're ready. We'll save fitting you into wardrobe for last. I’m Margie, and I'll be your personal assistant."
The young intern was fresh faced and perky with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a cheap suit comprised of black polyester. At first, I had been nervous about coming to the studio that morning. Was it really a good idea to go through with the modeling job and risk seeing Ethan again? Did I even still have a job? But seeing how empty my checking account had become and knowing that rent was right around the corner prompted me to go through with it. Not to mention, Mick's gentle urgings.
"Do it, baby. We need the cash, and if that asshole bothers you again, just let me know and I'll kick his ass," he had said as I stood in front of my bedroom mirror fussing about what to wear and if I should even go at all.
The thought of Mick beating up Ethan had made me laugh. If my memory served correctly, the ass kicking had gone the other way around the last time, but it would have hurt Mick's pride to say so aloud, so I kept thought to myself.
"Does that mean you're coming to the cover shoot with me?" I asked hopefully.
Mick had gone to my couple modeling jobs. He'd sit in the back, smiling at me encouragingly, and make sure I was being treated right. He'd fetch me water when I got thirsty and hand me a robe between changes in lighting and set design. He made me feel special and it gave me the confidence boost I needed to make it through th
e shoot.
Lately though, he didn't seem that interested. In fact, a lot of times he didn't even bother to drive me there or pick me up and I had to take the city bus. Mick claimed he needed the car in case he got called in for a job interview, but I never understood why he couldn't just leave from the studio if necessary. Still, I hated to argue with him, so I didn't say anything.
"I'd love to go with you, baby, but I think I got an in on a job this afternoon. That friend of yours Samantha said they're looking for a bar-back at the club where she dances. I'm meeting her when her shift gets off and she's going to introduce me to the owner. This will be solid money for us, baby."
"That's great. Congratulations," I kissed him happily. "So I guess I should just take the bus to work."
"Yeah, I guess so. You don't mind, do you, baby?"
"Of course not." I smiled at him like I always did when I was disappointed, and somehow, he always believed I was happy.
When I got to the studio, I half expected it to be locked again, but they were open and the place was bustling with activity inside. Everything looked high-end and everyone seemed so professional, unlike most of my modeling jobs for Mick's business partners. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or even more anxious because of it.
Then, Margie greeted me and my fears melted away. She was so friendly and accommodating, she made me feel like a star. Plus, Ethan was nowhere in sight.
"Can I get you anything? Sparkling water, a latte, or something to eat? Do you want me to read you the L.A. Times while you're in the salon chair?" Margie talked fast and moved even faster.
"Just some flat water would be great, and perhaps some music to listen to. Something upbeat," I said, and within moments, my desires were granted. It was an amazing feeling to be so indulged and I reveled in it. The studio hairdresser styled my long, blonde tresses into fabulously thick waves that curled around my face, framing it perfectly. Somehow she managed to give my normally thin strands endless volume, making my hair sexy and lush, while still appearing soft and having the lightness to flow in the wind. It was amazing.
The make-up artist gave me a smoky-eye look in more natural shades of dark brown that was quite alluring, while keeping my lips such a soft shade of pink they appeared natural with just a hint of glossy shine. The overall affect was sexy without being slutty, intimate without being intimidating.
"What do you think, Mr. Colson?" I heard Margie ask. I looked up into the mirror to see Ethan standing in the back of the room.
"Perfect. Every man will want her. Now get her to wardrobe. The lighting team is almost done setting up, and I want to keep on schedule." He strode from the room without saying a word to me or even making eye contact.
He looked sexy as ever in a dark gray suit the same shade as his incredible eyes, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. But he was a stalker and a sicko. I could never forget how he had barged into my apartment and assaulted my fiancé; even if he was trying to protect me, it was barbaric (although incredibly chivalrous). Then there was the way he tried to buy me as a prostitute — or was that Mick who had tried to sell me and Ethan just happened to be his intended client?
I couldn't tell anymore, but all I knew for sure was that I needed to push my animal instincts aside and focus on the fact that I was supposed to be mad at Ethan. My loyalty lay with my fiancé, I couldn't let myself have feelings for any other man, even one who made me feel alive for the first time in years the way that Ethan did whenever we were together.
"Are you all right, Miss Brandt?" Margie looked at me with a concern, and I saw from my reflection that my cheeks had become flushed.
"I'm fine. It must be all that aerosol from the hairspray," I lied, and Margie turned on a fan to clear the room.
I followed her to the wardrobe room where the seamstress was hand-tailoring a riding suit just for me. Skintight leather pants in royal blue with white stars decorating them and a red and white striped top, mimicking the American flag. The top half of the leather jumpsuit was left completely open, displaying my naked breasts for all the world to see, and I instantly blushed.
"This isn't that kind of magazine," I objected.
"Don't worry, Miss Brandt. Once we get you positioned up on the bike, we'll adjust the top of the suit so your nipples aren't showing. We want it to be clear to the audience that you're naked without actually exposing anything that will alarm the censors. You need to look sexy and alluring, without crossing the line into pornographic."
I recognized the speaker as being Keith Wilkes, the director of marketing for Speed Motorcycles. He'd interviewed me twice before the final meeting when Ethan actually hired me.
Laughing light-heartedly to mask my shyness, I said, "This feels borderline pornographic right now."
"We can remove all non-essential personal from the room during the shoot, but it's really important to Ethan that as much of your breasts be exposed as possible for the cover. It's why he hired you."
"I bet it is," I muttered under my breath.
Keith cleared the room while Margie fetched me some more ice for my water. I knew from experience that those studio lights could get hot, and being dressed from head to toe in skin-tight leather was only going to make it worse.
Keith guided me to the green screen stage where the new All-American motorcycle was standing, looking sleek and modern, while still holding on to a retro vibe. It was perfect. I started to pose with the bike like I'd seen other models do, but Keith stopped me instantly.
"No, straddle the bike like you're actually riding it. We'll cue the fans and it will look like you're actually cruising down the highway with the wind in your hair.
I straddled the bike, and a half dozen assistants started buzzing around me like butterflies, straightening my clothes, arranging my hair, and adjusting the folds of the top half of my riding suit to cover my nipples while still exposing the majority of my breasts. It was awkward and embarrassing, and I felt incredibly self-conscious. As Keith cued the fans, I was blasted by wind and a series of harsh lights suddenly turned on all around me, blinding me.
"Okay, kid. Now smile for the camera and try to look natural. Let's see that happy, carefree, all-American look that got you the job." Keith tried to be encouraging, but what he asked of me was impossible. How could I look casual and care-free when I felt completely ill-at-ease?
Keith did everything he could to get the look he wanted, making changes to the lighting, adjusting the fans, changing the position of the bike, the angels of the cameras, and the way I was sitting. In the end, it became clear that this just plain wasn't going to work.
"Stop. Let's all take a break. Margie, get Kayla some water. Crew, take 15. We may need to just wrap for the day and start again with a new model tomorrow." Keith sounded as frustrated as I felt. I hated to disappoint him, but I didn't know what else I could do. It looked like I was going to lose my big break, not because of Ethan, but because of myself. Perhaps Mick was right: maybe I was too uptight to make it in this business.
"Thank you, Margie." I took the bottle of ice-cold water gratefully from the hand holding it out to me, but as I took a swallow my eyes flew open wide to realize it wasn't Margie who had handed it to me. "Ethan? What are you doing here?"
"I own the company. I can go where I want," he said with an easy smirk that let me know he was teasing.
I had to remind myself not to fall prey to his charms and forced my face into an angry scowl when I really wanted to smile. "I told you that if you bothered me with your stalking again, I would call the police. I'm here professionally, that's all. Now please remove yourself from where I'm working."
"You won't be working at all if Keith has his way. Let me help you. I know you can do this."
"You don't know me," I argued, but inside, I was desperate for help and grateful to him for offering.
"Yes, I do. I know you from that day we went riding together. Remember? Forget these lights, those camera lenses staring at you, and this silly costume I know you'd never really wear. Close
your eyes and just listen to the sound of my voice."
I cocked my left brow at him distrustfully, but he insisted with such charismatic power, I couldn't resist.
"Close them. Good girl. Now, just listen to the sound of my voice. We're on our matching bikes, me in front and you in the rear. I lead you out to that country road behind the corporate headquarters. The sun is shining down on your skin; the wind is blowing over your face and through your hair. We round the gentle curve into the straightaway, and you take the opportunity to throttle up and go buzzing past me.
“Now you're in the lead with nothing before you but the open country road. Can you feel it? Can you feel the wind and the warmth of the sun? Can you feel the freedom running through your veins and the power of the engine humming between your thighs? You can go as fast you want to go, for as far as the road will take you, over the horizon and beyond."
As Ethan spoke softly to me, Keith silently waved the crew back to their stations.
As I listened to Ethan's words, I forgot about the uncomfortable suit and worrying about my bare breasts popping out, and I just remembered the emotions of that day when we'd gone riding together. I didn't know it, but my face began to glow with happiness as a smile of pure joy curved the corners of my lips.
As Ethan backed away from me, he said, "You can do anything you want in this world, Kayla. I believe in you. It's why I picked you for this job. Now open your eyes and give me that beautiful smile that is uniquely yours."
I did, and the one thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ethan standing right behind the camera, watching me with those intense gray eyes and smiling at me with a look of pure admiration and pride. It made me feel beautiful, interesting, confident, and ready to take on the world.
I smiled back at him, giving the camera everything I had from sexy to playful to serious to sweet. The cameras captured it all, giving the editors choices for every mood they might possibly want to print on the cover and providing for a very diverse and interesting photo spread within the pages of the magazine. It was very successful shoot, and by the time it was over, I felt exhausted and yet very proud of what I had done.