“I can’t go home with you,” I state plainly. “Naomi needs me to share a cab with her so she doesn’t go home with Bennett.” I keep my eyes pinned on the concrete floor in front of my heels, but he isn’t convinced. He steps closer to me, tugging my elbow so that I have to stop and look at him.
My face reveals nothing. Not a single emotion. I’ve perfected this hollow glance. It’s what I fed Dr. Francis for months.
“Don’t do this, Charley.” He rubs his stubbled chin with an exasperated sigh.
I feign confusion with a shrug and a narrowed gaze. “I’m not doing anything.”
“I can feel it. Do you think those walls, that facade you’re hiding behind, is subtle?” He leans in dangerously close and a shot of fear and lust saturates my nerves. “I see straight through you, Charley. I’m scared too, but I’m not the one running. You are.”
Before I even fully register his words, Jude is brushing past me. He nods to Bennett and Naomi before disappearing through the club, leaving me behind.
…
Jude
Does she think any part of this is easy? Does she not realize how much I’m stepping out of the boundaries of my old life? There were no games; I told her exactly what I wanted on that dance floor.
It was the hardest hour of my life, letting Hudson talk to her while I looked on from across the table. He didn’t even pay attention to her. He treated her like I’ve treated every girl before her, like a dime a dozen. I needed her to know how wrong he was. That’s why I licked her hand when she spilled her drink. I wanted her to feel beautiful and cherished, and it worked. Hudson’s gaze could’ve sliced my body in half. Smug prick.
I would have stolen her away earlier, but I had to be sure she felt the same. If she wanted to be there with Hudson then I would have let her enjoy her night, but it didn’t take long for me to realize he completely repulsed her. As he f**king should have. Then the brunette girl locked onto me as her prey for the night. I eventually just walked away from her. The brunette was in the middle of a sentence, but I didn’t give a shit. Charley looked up and I nodded to her, asking if she wanted to leave the VIP area. When she climbed down those black stairs, I followed right after her, not caring about a single other soul in that club.
Everything was falling into place; we were acknowledging the connection between us, we were thriving off of it. Then she withdrew. The second we returned to VIP, she recoiled and we moved back to square one. I feel like I’m at a complete loss. I want to force her to face her fears, but I know that won’t work. She’s like a wild horse; I have to slowly coax her away from the isolated life she’s made for herself. I know she’s had it hard; I can see it behind her eyes, but she can’t hide forever, and I want to be the person that saves her. I want her to be mine.
The vibrations from my phone stir me out of my thoughts and I glance down to see it’s a work call. Really, on a Sunday morning? Then I realize I’m in my office, checking work emails.
Whatever, they don’t know that. I tap my thumb against the sleek, modern desk as I swipe a finger across the screen and answer the call.
Why is the director of my upcoming shoot calling me so early on the weekend? If they’re changing the location from Hawaii, I’ll drop. That’s the only reason I agreed to do the job in the first place.
“What can I do for you, Ryan?” I ask in a clipped tone.
“Candace is out of the shoot.”
“What? Are you joking? She was picked for the cover!” The shoot in Hawaii is for a prominent men’s sports magazine. Every year they do a swimsuit issue boasting some of the sexiest women in the entertainment world. Candace Hill was picked for the cover after a painfully long and drawn out elimination process months ago.
“Yeah, well when you’re nursing injuries from a motorcycle accident, you can’t really model bikinis,” he barks. Oh man does he sound pissed. The photo shoot is next week and we’re out of a cover model.
“She rides a motorcycle?”
“Her rocker boyfriend was driving and she wasn’t wearing leathers, so she has road rash, but nothing too serious.”
I drag my hand through my hair, staring off at the canvas photo hanging across from my desk. A small boy with sad eyes stares back at me.
“So we’ll bump one of the girls from a centerfold to the cover?” Normally photographers aren’t involved with the casting process, but I’ve made a name for myself in the past few years. I’ve got a good eye and it commands top dollar.
“Looks like we’ll have to, but there’s no one that feels right for it.”
I close my eyes, envisioning crystal blue eyes, bright blonde hair, and golden ivory skin.
“Wait, Ryan. Look up Charley Whitlock.”
Oh shit. Did I really just offer her name to him? It was impulsive, spurred on from my desire for her, but now it’s too late to ignore my suggestion. I lose focus on the photo across my desk once again, waiting for his reply.
“I’ve heard that name before,” he admits. The sound of clicking echoes through the phone as he types her name into Google.
A moment later, there’s a loud thud and I’m sure he’s slammed his hand on the desk. “What the hell. Why wasn’t she brought up when we were doing first rounds?”
“She isn’t famous or dating a famous person.”
“Yeah? Well she will be after this. She’s got it. I want her for the cover.”
“Good. You’d be an idiot to choose anyone else.”
“I’ve gotta go and call her agent. For all I know, she’s already booked.”
“See you on the plane.”
“Yeah, thanks, Anderson.”
When the line goes dead, I toss the phone onto the table and recline back into my black leather chair. Was that a good idea, or did I just complicate things even more with Charley? If she accepts, which she’d be insane not to, we’ll be in Hawaii together for three days. So much for taking it slow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Charley
With a contented sigh I push my apartment door open and slip my heavy keys onto the chipped ceramic holder hanging on the wall. I woke up early and ran until my limbs ached. I hadn’t realized how far I’d actually gone until I looked at my exercise watch a moment ago: 13 miles, almost half of a marathon. I was hoping the run would take longer, but the endorphins definitely helped. I’ll just have to ride on their momentum as long as possible.
Maybe after I shower I’ll go down to a bookstore and browse around for something to take my mind off of last night. I can’t let myself think about it. Every few seconds, when something threatens to remind me of Jude, I shut it down and carve out a new thought from my brain. It’s torturous but necessary if I don’t want to spend the entire day wallowing in self pity, which I don’t.
The blinking screen on my phone catches my attention and my heart leaps in anticipation of seeing his name. But as I approach, I sigh in defeat. It’s just my agent, Janet.
“Morning, Janet.” I try smiling in the phone so she won’t be able to tell I was hoping it was someone else.
“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts into the phone excitedly.
What? What could have happened since I chatted with her on Friday?
“I was out on a run. What’s up? You don’t normally leave me a dozen voice-mails before noon on a Sunday,” I quip.
“Pack your bags, Charley!” she squeals through the phone.
“What? Why?” My hand clasps around my neck protectively.
“You booked a COVER! Of the freaking S.O. Swimsuit Issue!”
Silence fills the airwaves as I let her sentence sink in. No. There’s no way.
“Are you insane? They pick celebrities for that.” My heart races. There’s no way they’d choose me. I’m a nobody. I didn’t even have Janet send them my portfolio for review. I didn’t think there was a point, and to be honest, that’s the way I wanted it. I don’t want to be a celebrity.
“News Flash: you’re sexier than any celebrity out there! You fly out on Friday…”
“This Friday!?” I squeeze my temple with the pads of fingers as I pace my tiny room.
“Yes! I had to move around a few other jobs to make it work. You cannot pass this up.”
“Who’s on the shoot?”
“The magazine will provide their own makeup and hair crew. Ryan Kelly is the shoot director. You’ve never worked with him before, but he’s amazing. Everyone raves about his vision.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him before.”
“And Jude Anderson will be lead photographer.”
I nearly drop the phone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m dead serious, babe. You get the sexiest photographer in all of New York for a three-day shoot in Hawaii. Thank the karma Gods, Charley, because you must have been really good in your past life.”
Fucking Jude.
“What if I don’t want to take this shoot, Janet? What if I’m not ready for my life to change?”
“Charley. Let’s just say that this one shoot will give you plenty of time to lie low and paint. You’d be crazy to turn down the amount they’ll be paying you.” And her. She doesn’t say it, but I’d be the worst client ever if I turned down a commission that big for her. She’s a great agent and she deserves to have a pay off. I’ll deal with any new fame the way I handle everything else: by hiding away from it.
As we hang up, there's one last piece of the puzzle nagging my mind and it has Jude written all over it.
I look at my phone, scroll down to the “J’s” and hit send.
Two slow rings later, his deep voice wraps around my senses.
“Hello.” God, he says that word so alluringly I almost forget my anger. Almost.
“Did you have something to do with me landing this freaking job?” I snap.
He chuckles lightly, “Good morning, Charley. You sound radiant.”
God I want him. No! Damnit.
“Jude! What the hell? Did I book this job because of you or because they actually wanted me?”
He pauses and I rub my hand anxiously along my hairline.
“They had originally booked Candace Hill, but she is injured and they needed a replacement. I mentioned your name to Ryan, yes. However, he chose you on his own accord. You should have been on the list, I just expedited the process.”
“Damnit, Jude!”
“You sound even sexier when you’re angry. Maybe I should piss you off more…”
“I hate you. This isn’t a game!”
A sexy chuckle spills through the phone.
“Don’t forget to pack a few bikinis, Charley. The weather is warm in Hawaii and we’ll be staying in a hotel on the water.”
With that, the line goes dead and I hurl my phone against the pillows on my bed. That bastard. This is a perfect example of why we shouldn’t be in a relationship. The last thing I need to be worrying about is whether or not people in the industry assume I’m sleeping around to get jobs.