A surgeon, too? Stephen was a never-ending surprise. “Why did you go to school for it if you didn’t want to do it after graduating?”
“The money I came into was a surprise,” he said. “To be honest, I never dreamed I’d never have to work for a living.”
“Where did it come from?”
His story enthralled me. How does someone come into what must be billions of dollars and not know it’s coming?
“I can’t share that,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I can’t tell anyone. At least not yet.”
Damn, that’s mysterious.
“What else do you do for fun besides rescuing damsels in distress?” I asked. I wanted him to keep talking so I could listen to that voice more.
He chuckled. “Well, I like taking photos. It was something I wanted to go to school for, but practicality won out. Knowing what I do now, I may have done things differently.”
Interest piqued, I walked a little closer to him. “What kinds of photos?” Our legs brushed against each other every few steps, the fine material of his suit pants against the length of leg left exposed by the short dress I wore.
“Mainly portraits and people, although I dabble in landscapes and anything that interests me. I have a big space in my apartment here I’m planning on turning into a studio.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” I said. “And there’s no reason you shouldn’t get back into doing something you love.”
He gave me a sidelong look. “Have you ever sat for a shoot before? You are stunning.”
My cheeks flamed from the compliment. “Oh, thank you! Funny you say that, I came to Manhattan hoping to model, but no luck yet.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any sense—with looks like yours all the agencies should fall over themselves to sign you to a contract. Mind if I take a look at your portfolio?”
Now my cheeks colored from embarrassment. “I don’t have much of one, just a couple head shots I got a friend to take back home.” I pulled my phone out and pulled up the pictures before handing it to Stephen.
“Oh,” he said as he flipped through the album. “These… are terrible. No wonder you aren’t getting any attention if this is the first thing agencies are seeing.”
I knew they weren’t the best, but his reaction seemed a little harsh. “They aren’t that bad.”
“Liberty, these are awful. Taken with a crappy cell phone camera, and the lighting is just plain brutal. These agencies are looking for the creme of the crop, they won’t waste time with someone who hasn’t even taken the effort to put their best foot forward.”
He looked at me in silence for a few steps. “What would you say to me taking a few shots of you to use going forward? I’d love to get back into it, and I promise you they’ll look a hell of a lot better than what you’ve been using. I obviously wouldn’t charge you anything, it’s not like I need your money.”
No actual photographer had looked at the head shots before.
If they’re that bad… maybe that’s why I’ve been seeing no success sending my information to agencies.
Could I trust Stephen to do a shoot with him? What did I have to lose? Even if he made a move on me, he was handsome and wealthy and seemed like a genuinely good guy. Maybe I wanted him to make a move.
“I’d appreciate that,” I said. “I could use any help I can get.”
He texted himself from my phone so we had each other’s number before handing it back.
“I’ll send you a message tomorrow and we can set something up. I have a designer friend who might need a shoot done for her latest work, I’ll touch base with her.”
“Stephen, that would be-”
A crack of thunder split the night and cut me off, and the darkening clouds overhead opened up. Fat raindrops splashed all around and pelted us with water.
“Shit!” I said. “We’re just around the corner from my place, hold on.” I grabbed Stephen’s hand and pulled him along with me, running as fast as I could in the tall heels I’d worn for my shift.
Stephen laughed as we ran and hopped over puddles, and the sound was contagious. A smile split my face wide open until I couldn’t hold it anymore and laughter rocked my body as we ran through the abandoned, soggy streets.
By the time I slowed to a stop in front of my building the downpour had soaked us. The rain was warm, a soaking summer thunderstorm. The already tight black dress now clung to me like a second skin, the waterlogged fabric conforming to my body in a way that wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.
“This is me,” I said through the puffing as I tried to catch my breath. I looked up into his dark green eyes. “Thank you for walking me home.”
He put his hands on my lower back, leaning close until our faces were right next to each other. With one more traded look, our lips met, his mouth hungry and devouring my own.
Lightning cracked against the sky and the rain poured even harder. I drowned in a sea of sensation as water ran through my hair and down my body, sensuously touching every part of me as I lost myself in the man in front of me.
His hands traveled up my back, bringing me in closer, our kiss deepening and awakening a fire within me. My heart rate had no time to recover after the sprint, instead being driven higher by the skilled mouth, tongue and hands of Stephen.
When we broke apart, his right hand was buried in my hair and his left gently held my ass.
“It was excellent meeting you, Liberty.” The way he said my name was an intimate caress.
Invite him up! It had been a few months since I’d been with a man, and I knew if I took Stephen in with me I wouldn’t be disappointed. The urge was primal, battling against the small town rearing that told me not to be so promiscuous. I struggled with the decision.
Then I lost the initiative.
“Good night,” he smiled and turned away, swallowed up by the blackness as he walked.
A part of me wanted to scream after him, but just like earlier in the bar I couldn’t get the words out until it was too late.
“No. No. No. Dammit.”
I paced around the room, checking my emails. Pacing was a strong word for it—the tiny studio apartment was so small I only had enough room to take two steps before turning around and coming back. It was barely more than spinning in circles.
“Shit.” I threw my phone onto the bed.
Every agency I’d applied for had rejected me without even calling me in for a look. I’d known it might be difficult to break into the modeling world once I’d arrived in New York, but the reality had so far surpassed my expectations I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t have many other options. My biggest supporters had been my parents, but they weren’t around since the accident a year ago.
“Maybe I’m just uglier than I thought.” I stared into the floor length mirror that dominated one wall of the apartment. “Was everyone back home wrong?”
It was my biggest fear. That once out of a small town where being the prettiest meant outshining a handful of farmer’s daughters, I’d find out I couldn’t compete with the wide selection of beautiful women in the city.
And there were a lot of them.
The dress I’d worn last night hung on a peg next to the mirror to dry out. The sight of it made me smile. A night that started off so poorly had ended so much better than I could have dreamed. The only way it would have been better would be if I’d woken up next to Stephen this morning.
Stephen.
My smile widened. It had been a long time since I’d met someone who gave me the sense of connection he did. There was only the one conversation and his chivalry at Dorgo’s to go off of, but it was a promising start.
Not to mention that kiss.
And he was so mysterious.
I flopped on the bed beside my phone, picking it up and typing his name into Google.
“Stephen Devereux.” Was that French? He didn’t have an accent, but that didn’t mean his family couldn’t have co
me from there.
Even though he said he was new to his wealth, I expected to see Stephen’s aristocratic face at the top of the search results. When a retired pilot’s blog was the first result, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The next few links were also duds.
“Aha! Found you.”
The webpage was an article from the Yale student newspaper about rowing championships, dated five years ago. A picture at the top had a group of nine men with arms wrapped around each other and gold medals hanging from their necks. Zooming in on the picture showed Stephen’s face sporting a youthful grin.
That explains the long, fit body.
The article itself gave nothing more away on Stephen, merely listing his name as a part of the winning crew. I couldn’t look at any more Google results—it was time to get ready for work. His origins would have to remain a mystery for the time being.
As I was about to toss the phone back on the bed, a text message arrived. It was from Stephen.
Still interested in doing a shoot? My friend has shots she needs for her new collection.
My heart raced as I read the message. Part of me had assumed that once the adrenaline and magic of the previous night had worn off Stephen would come to his senses and wonder what the hell he was doing talking with a cocktail bar waitress and wannabe model.
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.�
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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 doing 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!”
Steal: A Bad Boy Romance Page 16