Chapter Twenty
Dominic
I knew what you were thinking—did Dom ever work?
The answer was yes, I did.
But the life and career of a model could be fickle.
Sometimes I worked once every three months, other times I had work three to four times a week. It all just depended on what the companies wanted. This was an industry where subjectivism ran strong.
I hadn’t had a gig since fashion week. Sometimes that happened. But Jeff submitted my tape and marketing materials for a couple auditions recently that led to gigs. One you knew about—the cologne campaign I’d be doing with Maria soon. The other I was doing today—modeling underwear for a big-name brand. My photo would be splattered on billboards across the country from New York City to Los Angeles.
It was scheduled as a ten-hour shoot with one break and eight underwear changes. Not the worst I’d done, but also not the best. The best would be an easy four-hour shoot with one or two outfit changes. Wanted to know the worst? Twelve hours, one break, and twenty-eight outfit changes. The payoff, though, especially for this underwear shoot, was worth it, and that was really all that mattered. Because, sure, I loved my job, but a man had to survive.
I walked into my dressing room at the studio and sat down, waiting for hair and makeup to come over and do their thing. Not ten seconds later, the girl came over to work on me, starting with my hair.
I’d never met her before, but she introduced herself to me and was nice as she got started, running her hands through my dark brown hair and applying some product to it. Nothing like Maria had done to poor Isabella’s hair for her dance recital. “You have great hair,” she noted casually.
“Thanks.” What was I supposed to say? I grow it myself?
While she continued working, I felt my phone vibrate with a text in my pocket, so I pulled it out.
Maria: I have a break at work and need to get Isabella’s birthday gift. Want to come with me?
Dominic: As much fun as shopping sounds, I have to pass. Sorry.
Maria: I’m shocked you don’t want to spend hours with me at a mall.
Dominic: I would because it’s for Isabella, but I’m working.
The truth was I detested shopping as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t lying when I said I would for Isabella. There was surprisingly little I wouldn’t do for that little girl. Or Maria.
Maria: I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say anything before now? What’s the job?
Dominic: Underwear shoot.
As I waited for her reply, I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. Would she think it’s no big deal? Would she get jealous? And how fucked in the head was I that part of me wanted her to get jealous? Any reaction at all would’ve been good. Just something to tell me that maybe there could be a shift in the way things were between us. Don’t get me wrong, friends with benefits was great, and there was little I enjoyed more than entering Maria, praising her for taking me so well, feeling her slickness on my fingers as I drove multiple digits inside her, or watching her come, but I still loved the woman. I still wanted more. And that right there told me exactly what I needed to know—I had to tell her.
She needed to know the truth about my feelings. I was sick of keeping them from her. Yes, I’d broken a rule, but fuck the rules, I never cared much for rules anyway.
Maria: They have the right man for the job, that’s all I’m going to say. I can’t wait to see the photos.
I sat on that one for a minute, not sure how to respond. Mostly because I wasn’t sure what she was saying. Like most men, my read-between-the-lines skills could be crap—this was one of those times.
Maria: Should I wait for you to go shopping?
That answered that. . . .
Dominic: No. If you have the time, you should go as planned. Maybe call Jade. Could be nice.
Maria: I was thinking the same thing. Thanks!
I laid my phone down on the table in front of me and closed my eyes as I was hit with a powder storm on my face. Before I knew it, I was being tapped on the shoulder. “All done.”
With her gone, I locked the door and changed into my first outfit (if you could call underwear an outfit). They were black low-rise trunks with the brand name printed in big, bold white lettering on the elastic.
A quick rap on the door, and I knew it was time.
An assistant led me to the studio floor where I met with the photographer for the first time. Ramos Fike. He was legendary and known for his raw, natural style of photography.
“Dominic Deluca. The name rolls right off the tongue,” Ramos spoke with a heavy accent. “I need you here,” he said, walking and pointing to where he wanted me. Then he gave me a few instructions on how he wanted me to pose.
I was nothing if not an excellent listener, so I did as asked.
“Wonderful. Wonderful.” Ramos took several shots. “Now give me energy. That charisma you’ve got.”
Following his lead, I posed a few other ways before his assistant brought out a giant pillow.
“Let’s get you on the floor now.” He pointed and directed me, snapping photos as I sunk against the pillow that sat uprightsand hugged my back. “Spread your legs out in front of you.”
Done.
“Just like that. Excellent, Dominic Deluca.”
This same routine continued as I got my makeup touched up and rapidly changed into the various underwear they had for me. Everything from hip briefs to boxer briefs. There was even a thong in there—not my first pick for underwear, but it was all part of the job.
Somewhere around my break time, Jeff showed up, which meant no break at all.
“We’ve got to talk, Dom,” Jeff said seriously, passing me a water bottle as I shrugged into a robe and walked to my dressing room.
Make no mistake, when Jeff said we had to talk, what he really meant was he had to talk, and I had to listen. Maybe make a decision or two. So, I answered just how I knew he wanted me to—“I’m listening.”
“Remember the gig you went on the callback for with the Italian fashion designer?” Not Paolo, by the way. In case that was where your head was going. I’d had enough of that guy, and I didn’t even really know him. I could never work with him.
I nodded.
“The job is yours.”
Internally, I let out a huge sigh of relief because this was a job I really wanted and had been waiting to hear back on. Externally, I played it cool because I knew it wasn’t that easy. “What’s the catch?”
“They’ve added a commercial component to the deal.”
“I’ve never done commercials.”
“It’s no different than runway shows.”
I’d beg to differ, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. Either way, I was doing it. “Fine.” I would hire a coach if I had to, but this job meant a lot to me personally. It was for a designer that my grandfather used to wear and my dad brought me and my brothers up wearing.
“And they moved the job to Italy.”
Another easy one. “No big deal.” Maybe I could get Maria to come out with me, bring Isabella. Whoa. Where did that come from? Oh, right, I loved the damn woman. Reality was a lot different from what was going on in my head, though.
“They want you there post-production and to come back to walk in next season’s runway show.”
Holy shit. This was the trifecta. Not just a photoshoot, but a commercial campaign and to walk the runway.
Before I could respond, Jeff was quick to add, “Six weeks total including post.”
Six weeks? That felt like a long time, definitely longer than I thought it’d be for. Then again, this wasn’t an offer that came in every day.
“The deal’s good,” Jeff continued. “Too good to pass up.” He slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and zoomed into a number on a document, pointing it in my face. “This is everything we’ve been waiting for. It takes you to the next level, Dom. Tell me you’re still in.”
How could I answer that? There was so much on the line. I wanted to say yes, but, on the other hand, it would mess with my life for six weeks. Maria. . . . We had such a good thing going, did I really want to mess it up? Six weeks was a long fucking time.
Not that it’d matter one way or the other for her.
Unless she took that time to date Paolo.
Damn it. My stomach rolled over just thinking about him.
“I—”
“Dom.” The photographer’s assistant knocked on my door. “We’re ready for you again.”
“I have to get changed,” I told Jeff. “I’ll get back to you.”
“I’ll be here. I’m sticking around for the afternoon.”
Great. Not that I should’ve expected anything less from him. Too much money was on the table for him to let me fuck this one up.