Chapter 12
Ashlyn
The next morning, I take advantage of the bathtub.
Despite how luxurious the house is, I had a difficult time sleeping and then woke up before the sun.
Honestly, it worked to my advantage because it meant taking a bath without worrying about Zane moving around on the other side of the wall.
Not that he’s never seen me naked before.
But after the way he behaved, I’m not going to give him the advantage of a second showing.
After I get out of the tub, I walk over to the linen closet and open it, only to find it empty.
“Seriously?” I snap, checking every nook and cranny of the cupboards in the bathroom only to come up short.
I know I saw some in the hallway bathroom.
The sun still hasn’t risen, so I tiptoe my way to the bedroom door and look around.
All the lights are off except for the lighting under the cabinets in the kitchen.
I feel it’s safe to assume the coast is clear.
I tiptoe towards the bathroom, crossing through the living room and past the kitchen. But just as I pass the couch, I hear a voice, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Morning,” Zane says, and while he has his back to me, I have no way of knowing what he saw.
“Shit!” I shout, grabbing one of the throw pillows off the couch and covering my tits. Then switch to my lower half. Then I grab another pillow and cover both.
Where the hell is the throw blanket he had on the couch before?!
“Do you always lurk in the shadows of your kitchen at six in the morning?” I snap.
“Do you always walk around other people’s houses naked?” he asks, turning around with a steaming coffee mug in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“There were no towels in my bathroom!” I hiss. “You can stock soaps and candles, but not towels?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you thought I was going to be your maid,” he says, taking a sip.
I glare at him and start to walk towards the bathroom. Zane just stares.
“Do you mind?” I snap.
“Not at all,” he says, still staring.
I roll my eyes with a disgusted sigh and walk away, switching the pillows to cover my ass.
So much for a relaxing, Zane-less morning.
* * *
“You’re late,” Alice says as I toss my things on my desk and take a sip of the coffee I grabbed from a donut shop on the way into work.
“I’m aware,” I say, savoring the last drops.
“You’re never late,” Troy says.
“I know,” I say, sitting down and pulling out my laptop.
When it goes quiet after that, I know they’re just staring at me so I sigh and swivel my chair to look back at them.
“He’s crazy,” I say.
“Of course he is,” Troy says. “He’s a model.”
“Wait. Crazy good or crazy bad?” Alice asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Crazy bad,” I say, and I know I’m raining on her parade. “He’s a pain in the ass.”
“Again…he’s a model,” Troy says.
“Isn’t his house the size of an outlet mall?” Alice asks.
“More or less, why?” I ask.
“Because if he’s that bad, why don’t you just avoid him? You stay in your wing, he stays in his,” Alice says.
“Oh, trust me, I’d love nothing more than that. But there’s no towels in my wing. Only candles that apparently smell like my you know what!”
“What?” Alice asks.
“Exactly,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I know it’s only been one day, but I am starting to go crazy. He makes me want to pull my hair out,” I say as I pull my hair back from my face and hold it there for a moment. A moment too long…
“What is that?” Troy asks.
“What is what?” I ask.
“On your neck,” Troy says.
“Is that…” Alice trails off before laughing. Then she covers her mouth with her hand. Meanwhile, I grab my phone and turn on the camera, flipping it to selfie mode.
“Shit!” I said a little too loudly. Then I lower my voice to a panicked whisper and say it again. “Shit.”
Here I am walking around the office with my nerves frazzled and my hair a mess from rushing out the door, and those things aren’t even the worst of it. On the side of my neck, right in the same spot Zane was doing oral acrobatics, is a giant purple hickey.
“So…he drives you crazy in a good way too, then…” Alice says, and while I am glaring at both of their smiles, I can’t deny the blush warming up my cheeks.
“I thought physical stuff was off limits behind closed doors,” Troy says.
“No, she told us sex is off limits. She didn’t say anything about fooling around a little,” Alice grins.
“No, no,” I correct her. “That stuff is off limits too. We just…got a little carried away, that’s all.”
“Right,” Troy nods, though I don’t think he believes me.
“It’s not going to happen again,” I say.
“Right,” Alice says, and I look at both of them.
“What? It’s not! Trust me, I don’t want to have anything to do with him. In fact, I think I’m going to move out,” I say. And when neither of them respond I go on. “Seriously. I mean it. I regret all of this. I don’t care about the contract or his big house. I’m done.”
“Ashlyn?” Prudy suddenly appears in my cubicle, her eyes sweeping over the small box with annoyance. “Why is it every time I come over here the three of you are having some kind of block party?”
“We’re fun people, what can we say?” Alice jokes, but Prudy isn’t laughing. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Prudy laugh.
“Deborah wants to see you,” she goes on.
“Me?” I ask, and she nods. “What did I do now?”
“Now,” she says before walking off.
I grab my purse and pull out some tinted moisturizer, frantically dabbing it on my neck before rushing off to Deborah’s office.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, running my hand through my hair in an attempt to cover the hickey.
“I do,” she says while cutting wheat grass with a tiny pair of scissors. “Sit, please.”
I do as she asks, mostly because I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t. For a moment, she’s quiet, other than the sound of her blending together her breakfast in a cup. I start to wonder if she’s forgotten I am here until finally she speaks again. “Concealer works better, you know.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, and Deborah turns around.
“To cover up hickeys. Concealer works better because it counters the bluish-black pigment of under-eye bags and makes the skin look brighter. Hickies have a surprisingly similar hue,” she says with an unamused smile.
“Right,” I nod, clearing my throat.
“Oh, don’t look so worried. I think this is great,” she says, and my eyes flash up to meet hers.
“You do?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she says as she sits down in front of me on the other side of her desk. “From the looks of it, you two are getting close.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I shake my head. But Deborah just stares at me before clicking her tongue.
“The way I see it, Ashlyn, nothing but good things can come from this.”
“I guess I don’t understand,” I tell her. Deborah answers by reaching under her desk and pulling out a camera box. She sets it down in front of me, and I stare at it before looking back at her, even more confused than before.
Deborah laces her fingers together and rests her hands on the desk. “Ashlyn. You have an opportunity in front of you.”
“Is that…are you giving me a new camera?”
“You can use that camera, yes,” she answers, and now that I feel like I have permission to touch it, I pop the box open and pull it out. It’s even fancier than the one I had before, and I feel like a kid on Christmas. “To take photos…”
“Of course,” I say with a giddy laugh.
“Of Zane Calloway,” she adds, and I nod.
“I’ll take photos of any model you want,”
“In his home.”
With that, I stop, my eyes flashing up to her. Slowly, I set the camera back down.
“Is something the matter?” she asks sharply.
“No. It’s just…” I grapple with the words I don’t want to say but feel like I must.
“Well, spit it out, girl, I don’t have all day,” she presses.
“It’s just that I don’t think Zane would be too fond of the idea of me taking photos of him around the house,” I explain.
In fact, I am pretty sure he’d be pissed.
And God knows what happens when he’s pissed.
Cameras get busted. The very thought of anything happening to this one makes my stomach turn.
“So don’t tell him,” she says casually as she sips her smoothie.
“You mean…take candid photos?” I ask.
The tiniest hint of amusement plays in the corner of her lips. “Yes. You know, do the thing I pay you to do.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” I say, and I almost surprise myself.
“What do you mean?” she asks coldly.
“It’s one thing to sneak around yards and hide in shadows and behind bushes for photo ops. But I live in his home now. I’m his…we’re dating. And I just don’t think it would be right to go behind his–”
“Miss Hart,” Deborah cuts me off. “What did I hire you to do?”
“Take photos,” I answer in a small voice.
“Photos of who?”
“Celebrities,”
“Precisely. And why do I hire people to take photos of celebrities?” she asks.
“Because photography is art?” I ask.
“Because the personal lives of rich people sell magazines, Miss Hart. You moving in with one of the hottest models on the planet is one of the best things that could have happened to us. Sure, people like fresh meat like Jett Navarro and Luca Ramos, but they’re amateurs.
Zane Calloway is seasoned, and ever since he settled down, he’s been hotter than ever.
Women want what they can’t have, Miss Hart.
And thanks to you, no one can have Zane Calloway. Unless…”
“Unless what?” I dare to ask.
“Unless the woman sharing a bed with him shares a glimpse of what it’s like to be you.” Deborah smiles, but now I’m the one who’s not amused.
“I just don’t think–”
“Exactly. Don’t think. Use that camera to get me some photos of your new beau, photos that will have the world gasping and swooning. Take pictures of everything people do when they have nothing better to do than drool over men they can’t have, or you can say goodbye to the camera. And your job.”