8. Ayana
CHAPTER 8
Ayana
“H ank.” I masked my displeasure with a tight smile. What the hell was he doing here? “I didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”
He smiled back, all sophistication and artificial charm. He was objectively a handsome man, but I’d seen behind his mask and found the sight revolting. “I’m not, but it’s a Tastemaker event. Considering how many of my girls are here, I figured I’d make an appearance.”
There were a dozen other models from Beaumont in attendance. I’d exchanged brief hellos with them when I arrived, but everyone was too busy schmoozing to hang out with people they deemed competition.
“How thoughtful,” I deadpanned.
“I heard the Delamonte shoot went well on Monday.” He returned his attention to me. “You received a rave review from the photographer.”
“I told you you didn’t have to worry.”
It was my first major beauty campaign, and I’d been a ball of nerves going into the shoot. Luckily, the photographer and crew had been fantastic, and everything went off without a hitch.
“Hmm.” Hank’s eyes bore into mine. “Where did you go after you wrapped?”
My breath stalled.
No . He couldn’t know. I’d been so careful.
He knows everything, a voice whispered in my head. It was the same voice that’d told me it was a bad idea to head to a contract lawyer’s office after I finished the Delamonte Cosmetics shoot. I should’ve waited until Hank was out of town.
I’d dismissed my misgivings as paranoia. How could Hank have found out? I’d chosen a law firm that had no ties to the fashion industry, and their office was across town from Beaumont’s. My agency couldn’t possibly have spies in every business in Manhattan, though it certainly seemed that way at times.
My gut knotted.
“I ran some errands, worked out, then went home,” I said.
“What kind of errands?”
“Dry cleaning, groceries, the post office.” All true, though I’d left one notable stop out. I adopted a playful tone. “Why the sudden interest in the mundane details of my life?”
“I’m invested in the lives and well-being of all my girls. As your agent, it’s my job to have a holistic view of everything that goes on in your life. You know that.”
Yes, because my post office runs were so integral to my success as a model. What bullshit.
“Speaking of which, I have good news.” Hank smoothed a hand over his tie. “Sage Studios called. They’re booking you for their denim campaign.”
My heart leapt. “That’s great!”
My dislike of Hank didn’t override my pleasure at booking a job. Although modeling hadn’t been my childhood dream, I’d grown to love it.
“Yes. You haven’t done a big commercial clothing campaign in a while. Prestige is great, but commercial pays the bills.” Hank clucked his tongue. “Wentworth will be thrilled. He’s been wanting to shoot you again for ages.”
My smile melted. “Wentworth…Holt?”
“Is there another Wentworth who matters in fashion?” Hank’s tone indicated there was only one answer. No .
The knots in my gut constricted further. “I told you I don’t want to work with him anymore.”
“It’s a good thing what you want doesn’t matter.” Hank delivered his response so casually that I would’ve questioned whether he meant what he said had I still been a new model. “Wentworth is the most influential fashion photographer working today. You will shoot with him, and you will stay on his good side.”
My fingers strangled my water glass. “I don’t care. He’s a predator.”
The industry was filled with them, but everyone turned a blind eye. It was a tale as old as time: the more powerful they were, the more they got away with, and Wentworth Holt was Powerful with a capital P.
If he refused to work with a model, her career was all but over. Unfortunately, he also had a reputation for being a little too hands-on at his shoots—and not in a professional way.
“Have you witnessed inappropriate behavior firsthand, or are you repeating gossip and lies?” Hank asked coolly.
“I’ve seen how he’s treated other models on set. He’s made me uncomfortable on set.”
Wentworth wasn’t stupid enough to try anything with other people around, but he certainly toed the line of what was appropriate. The last time we shot together, he groped me and tried to play it off as “adjusting” my outfit—which was the stylist’s job.
I hadn’t worked with him in over a year after I expressed my concerns to Hank. I foolishly thought that meant the agency was taking my boundaries into consideration for once, but I should’ve known better.
“Making someone uncomfortable is not predatory behavior .” Hank scoffed. “This is fashion, and you’re a star, babe. So suck it up and stop whining.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to develop a reputation for being difficult, do you?”
I gritted my teeth. Reputation was everything, and rumors that a model was “difficult” could tarnish even the brightest of careers.
Before I could reply, Hank’s smarmy smile fell off his face. He glanced over my shoulder, his expression now one of trepidation.
I was about to turn and see what had him so spooked when I felt it.
His presence at my back, cool and commanding. The faint smell of whiskey and leather. The soft brush of his shirt against my arm.
He didn’t utter a word; he didn’t need to.
Awareness warmed the nape of my neck.
“I’m going to check on Vlada.” To his credit, Hank managed a half-convincing facade of calm. “I’ll email you the details for the Sage Studios campaign.”
He disappeared into the depths of the club, and I waited until he was out of sight before I finally faced the person who had him scampering away like a frightened rabbit.
My heart gave a small thump.
“Vuk Markovic at a nightclub.” I covered my breathlessness with a playful smile. “Will wonders never cease?”
He lifted an eyebrow. I’m a partner here. I’ve been to nightclubs before.
“Only for business. Not for anything fun.”
He’d been at the grand opening, and that was it.
I didn’t realize you kept such close track of my comings and goings.
“I don’t, but it’s difficult not to notice you when you’re there.” I meant it in a matter-of-fact of way, but I didn’t realize how suggestive it sounded until the words left my mouth.
Vuk’s eyebrow rose another inch.
Heat scorched my cheeks. “I mean, because you’re so big. Height-wise , ” I added hastily. “Obviously, I’m not talking about anything else.”
Obviously.
His mouth tipped up. Was he laughing at me?
I attempted a glare, but it was impossible to be angry when I’d brought this on myself. Besides, he didn’t appear to be mocking me. It almost felt like we were…flirting.
The thought wasn’t as off-putting as it should’ve been.
“Tell me.” I set my glass down on a nearby table. “If you weren’t here tonight, what would you be doing? Brooding in a corner somewhere or terrifying peasants and children?”
His eyes glittered with amusement. I can do both right here . I’m a good multitasker.
An image of what that multi-tasking might look like flashed through my mind for a millisecond.
Hands and mouth. Rough kisses and fisted hair.
Nothing at all to do with brooding or children.
I swallowed past the dryness in my throat.
“You talk a big game, but I’ve yet to see it in action.” I picked up my water again and prayed he didn’t notice my flustered tone. “What do you do besides scowl and boring business stuff?”
I play bingo .
The answer was so swift and unexpected, I nearly choked on my drink. “Excuse me?”
Bingo. It’s a game where players match the numbers called to the ones on their card.
“I know what bingo is.” I glowered, unsure whether he was serious or having fun at my expense. “You’re telling me that’s what you do when you’re not running a multibillion-dollar corporation?”
Among other things.
“Where, exactly, do you play bingo?” He had to be joking.
Senior centers if I’m feeling social. At home if I’m not. He shrugged. My staff enjoy the game as much as I do.
I tried to picture Vuk Markovic playing a rousing game of bingo with his staff in that giant mansion of his.
I could no more imagine a lion breaking out into dance in a tutu and tiara.
Still, the image of Vuk enjoying something so mundane was oddly charming. It lent him a rare sheen of normality—if he wasn’t lying about the bingo, that was. I still wasn’t sure.
“How old did you say you were again?” I teased. “Eighty?”
Bingo is a game of chance. No complexity required. It’s the perfect activity to help me unwind after making decisions at work all day.
I never thought of it that way. “Do you win often?”
Vuk’s mouth curved a fraction more. His eyes glittered, pale and sharp as crystals. I always win.
On anyone else, the arrogance would’ve been astounding. On him, it was a mere fact of life.
Vuk Markovic always got what he wanted.
The party swirled around us. Lilah’s preview was scheduled to start soon, and Hank was still lurking somewhere, but it was impossible to focus on those things when exhilaration fizzed through my veins.
As much as I liked Lilah, I’d spent all week dreading tonight’s event. I didn’t want to make small talk with industry people, and I only came because Jordan asked me to. Hank’s unwelcome appearance solidified my dread.
For better or worse, Vuk’s presence wiped that away in one fell swoop.
When I first moved to New York, I’d dated casually. However, none of the men were interested in anything more than a one-night stand or a trophy girlfriend. The more I advanced in my career, the worse my options got, and now that I was engaged, I couldn’t even attempt to date anyone else.
I wasn’t trying to date Vuk—this was not a man who “dated” anyone—but when I was around him, my world opened up again. The potential, the possibilities…the rush of what if .
He gave me a glimpse at what my life would look like if it were mine again.
Vuk stepped closer to allow another attendee past. His shirt grazed my chest, ever so lightly, and little fireflies danced all over my skin.
His eyes appeared darker up close. More heated.
“There you are.” The sudden sound of Jordan’s voice was the equivalent of getting tossed out into a snowstorm after cozying up by the fire all night.
I jerked back, my heart skittering even though Vuk and I hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
Vuk’s expression wiped blank as Jordan came up beside me. He’d returned from Rhode Island that morning, just in time for tonight’s highly anticipated preview.
He hadn’t updated me on his grandmother’s health yet, but he had alluded to the fact that we needed to discuss something important.
“Vuk! Good to see you.” Jordan clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I was just looking for you.”
The other man responded with a cool nod. All the banked heat I thought I’d detected earlier was gone; not a trace of emotion marred those features carved of ice and stone.
The corners of my world folded in again. Possibilities blinked out one by one like stars dying in the night.
Once more, I was Ayana Kidane, the supermodel and doting fiancée.
I wanted to scream.
“The preview is about to start, so this is perfect. There’s something I need to tell you. Both of you.” Jordan rubbed a hand over his mouth. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and unease trickled into my bloodstream. “As you know, my grandmother got sick last week, but it wasn’t a passing illness. She was diagnosed with a lung disease. Apparently, she found out last month but hadn’t told us. I spoke with her doctor, and the prognosis isn’t good. He said she likely won’t be mobile by the end of the year.” His tone was bleak. “I spent the week with her, and after much…discussion, she made her wishes clear.”
Concrete blocks piled up in my stomach. Oh no.
“She wants us to move the wedding up,” Jordan said. “I’m her heir, and her wish is to see me marry while she’s still fully functioning. She doesn’t want to risk waiting until February.”
His words formed a strange bubble in the air. Despite the noise from the rest of the club, you could’ve heard a pin drop in our tight circle.
Vuk stood so still one could’ve mistaken him for a statue. If it weren’t for the tiny flare of his nostrils, I would’ve thought he hadn’t heard Jordan at all.
Meanwhile, a storm of emotions tumbled through me.
Guilt that I’d been thinking only of his friend while his grandmother was dying. Shock at the Ford matriarch’s request. And, most of all, that crushing dread again.
“Move up the wedding?” My voice sounded strained to my own ears. “To when?”
Jordan sighed. “October,” he said, sounding as happy about it as I felt. “Two months from now.”