Chapter 6 Ashlyn
Ashlyn
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
Those were some of the most difficult words I’ve ever spoken to a person because Zane Calloway isn’t just any person.
His presence alone is dominating. He’s confident and sure, and comfortable with who he is.
His presence fills the space, leaving little room for any ego but his own.
Not only that, but he’s unrealistically attractive.
I’m talking Photoshop attractive. It’s unfair. And yet, so enjoyable.
Focus, Ashlyn! This man followed you to work. He doesn’t get a get-out-of-jail-free card for that, no matter how delicious his lips and all the things attached to them are.
“I came to see you,” he answers as if it’s obvious.
“You…you did? I mean…why?” I switch tones real quick, from stuttering idiot to unimpressed working woman, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m trying to look authoritative.
I’m also trying to cover the fact that just standing close to him has my nipples so hard, you can see them poking through the padding of my push-up bra. “To make sure I lose my job?”
“Actually, I have a deal for you,” he answers.
“Let me guess. Tell the world I took advantage of you last night, or you’ll tell my boss I slept with you on the job?” I ask.
“I think the photos circulating the internet were taken by another photographer,” he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He’s wearing nice, fitted blue jeans and a white henley.
His hair is gelled just enough to keep it out of his face, other than one rebellious stray.
His eyes are masked behind shades that look like they cost more than my car, and they probably do. I drive a 2006 Dodge Stratus.
“So you’re not blaming me?” I ask with enough salt in my tone to properly season scrambled eggs.
“Well, considering the activities you were participating in when the photos were taken, I’ve used my best detective skills to rule you out as the perp,” he says spicily.
Lordy, if we were making an omelet, it would be tasty enough to serve a queen.
“Cute. Well, now that you’re an official member of the Scooby Gang, have you figured out who the photographer actually was?” I ask.
“Still working on that,” he says.
“So what is this deal you’re wanting to make with me?” I ask because in the midst of our verbal tennis match, we seem to have gotten off track.
Zane takes off his sunglasses and hangs them on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt before locking his sunburst eyes on mine before answering the question. It’s almost like he’s trying to throw me off my game before he gets to the point.
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says, and I literally spit out a laugh. I think some of my saliva may have sprayed in his direction.
“You’re funny. I thought you were just cute, but it turns out you’re funny too,” I say before turning to walk away.
But before I can take even two steps, Zane grabs me and whips me back towards him like we’re going to tango across the parking lot.
“I’m serious, Ashlyn,” he says, and the way my name sounds on his tongue makes me momentarily think about all the other things he can do with his tongue. “I came here to ask you to be my girlfriend.”
I don’t know what he’s up to, but whatever it is, I can tell he’s not going to budge on it. So I take another angle myself.
“And if I don’t want to be your girlfriend?” I ask, fully aware that his hand is still on my arm.
“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” he says and I yank away from his grasp.
“You’ll what?!”
“You heard me,” he says.
“I’m not the one who took those photos!” I snap.
“No, but you were on my property and in my bed. It looks kind of bad,” he says with a patronizing cringe.
I snort out a laugh. “It looks bad that you got laid? Please. And besides, my face is barely visible in those photos. Whoever the photographer was, he or she obviously doesn’t do it for a living because they were very amateur.”
“That may be,” he smirks. “But they’re clear as day on my security cameras. As well as other parts of your anatomy.”
My mouth pops open at the audacity of this man.
“That’s blackmail!” I hiss.
But Zane just chuckles. “Please. You’re paparazzi. Since when do you care about gray morals?”
With that, I am officially insulted and start to walk away again. But he stops me by quickly moving in front of me and putting his hands up halfway in a surrendering pose.
“Okay, that was mean. I don’t know you–”
“No, you don’t.”
“And I should not judge your life choices.”
“No, you should not.”
“But I need this. I need you to help me,” he admits. Desperation looks good on him. To be honest, a burlap sack would look good on him.
“You need my help…” I echo, and he nods.
“You might find this hard to believe, but this industry is pretty hard on us models,”
“I do find that hard to believe,” I say dryly.
“I’m serious. It’s very competitive. Especially with all the new guys coming in.”
My lips tip into a smirk. “You mean the younger guys?” I ask.
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” he answers without answering. “Can I be frank with you?” he asks, stepping even closer. Close enough I can smell his fresh but sweet cologne. Close enough that if I wanted to, I could kiss him. Not that I really want to. Not really…
“I mean, it would be nice if we stopped doing the cha-cha in the parking lot. I am on the clock, you know,” I answer.
“Of course, of course. You see, my boss thinks that I need an edge. To stay on top, you know?” he asks.
“Of course…”
“And he thinks that having a girlfriend, you know, something serious, it would give me that edge. More committed and less–”
“Fuckboy,” I finish the sentence for him.
“I was going to say rebellious, but that works too.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say. “You’re losing your edge–”
“I didn’t say that exactly,”
“And you think that having a girlfriend will make you more desirable to all your thirsty fans. Because after all, people always want what they can’t have,” I say.
“I mean, when you put it that way, it makes even more sense than when he said it,” Zane says.
“Right.” I nod, tapping my finger on my chin in thought. “Yeah, I think I’m good,” I say as I walk around him.
“You’ll do it?” he asks.
“No. I mean, I’ll pass,” I say.
“But you just said I was cute.”
I look back at him with a small, saucy smirk. “I say a lot of things. My morals are a little murky, remember?”
With that, I walk off.
Right before I reach the door, I hear him call out.
“You don’t have to answer right away. Give it some thought. You’re cute too, but I don’t think orange is your color.”
The tiny smirk that was starting to tug on my lips flips down. I take a step inside and stop, watching as everyone backs away from their windows and goes back to their desks, pretending they weren’t all staring.
Jesus. I never thought working for the paparazzi would put me in the limelight. If I had, I probably would have found a different line of work.
I’m about to head back to my desk when Prudy cuts me off.
“Can we not right now?” I ask. “I’m not in the moo–”
“Deborah wants to talk to you,” she says, and I blink. “Well, don’t just stand there. She’s asking for you, and it sounds urgent.”
Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t my Monday just be a drab, sluggish, uneventful day? Aren’t they meant to be?
I step into her office and wonder if I should just start packing my things now.
“Sorry if you were looking for me, Deborah, I was talking to–”
“How long has that been going on?” she asks.
“How long has what been going on?” I ask.
“Don’t be shy, girl. If you are friends with Zane Calloway, I want to hear all about it. Hell, I would have liked to know when you were applying for the job,” she says.
“I don’t understand,” I tell her.
“Zane Calloway is all the rage right now, if you haven’t noticed,” she tells me as she stirs a green smoothie.
“I thought Jett Navarro was all the rage,” I say. Not that I’m a Jett Navarro fan. He’s too young, lanky, and cocky. If I had to guess, he’s all talk too.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Jett Navarro,” she says.
“Really? You might be the only woman on the planet,” I mumble, and Deborah rounds her desk to stand in front of me. I suddenly find myself wishing I could take my words back. Swallow them the way she’s swallowing her grass smoothie.
“I’m also the only woman on the planet who knows that average photos of Zane Calloway are worth more than nudes of Jett Navarro. If you were friends with him, you know, had connections–”
“I’m not. And I don’t,” I say.
Her mouth snaps shut, and she studies me. “Well, that’s a shame. Photos of Zane living his everyday life could be worth a lot. Maybe even a promotion…”
Damn.
I know what she’s implying, but I can’t say that I’m interested. As I walk out of her office, she calls out again.
“Oh, and Ashlyn…?”
I turn around.
“If you’re not up for the job, I am sure I can find someone else who will do it. In fact, I am sure I can find someone else who would be willing to do your entire job.”
Shit.