42. Ayana
CHAPTER 42
Ayana
A s expected, Maya went all out for her birthday gala. It was held at a private event space downtown, and the theme was the Seven Deadly Sins. There were party stations for each of the sins, including a lavish buffet for Gluttony, eye-popping burlesque performances for Lust, and custom massages and facials for Sloth.
I’d convinced Vuk to make an obligatory appearance, but we were coming separately since I got ready with Maya beforehand.
Vuk: I’m on my way. Be there soon.
Vuk: I can’t wait to see you.
He followed up his text with an excited cat meme. I giggled and responded with a similarly excited minion meme.
I never thought there’d be a day when I would exchange silly memes with Vuk Markovic, but here we were. It started after I left the Valhalla Club last Friday. I’d sent him a stupid, gushy thank-you meme—for the shooting lessons, not the admittedly mind-blowing sex—and he’d shocked me by responding in kind. Since then, it’d been a nonstop volley of images, GIFs, and the occasional social media video.
I was sure he was doing it to indulge me since I would’ve bet my entire shoe and perfume collection on him not being a meme guy, but that only made it more endearing.
I was still grinning when I looked up from my phone and saw Maya beelining toward me, champagne flute in hand. We’d split when we arrived since she had so many people to say hi to, but she appeared frazzled as she came up beside me.
“Please save me,” she said. “My mother invited a blind date for me. Can you believe that? He’s been trying to dance with me for the past twenty minutes, and I’m over it.”
I followed her not-so-subtle grimace to where a handsome man with a neatly trimmed beard was staring at her with a longing expression.
I laughed. “Hey, he’s good-looking and he seems taken with you. There are worse things in the world.”
“He also has the personality of wet cardboard. No, thanks. Besides, it’s my birthday. I want to flit around, not settle down. Look at me.” Maya gestured to her outfit. She was clad in a stunning, floor-length orange gown that complemented her brown skin perfectly. She’d styled her thick black hair into an intricate twist, and a pair of diamond showstoppers grazed her delicate shoulders. “This was not meant for a blind date.”
“True,” I acknowledged.
“Anyway, forget about him. Are you having fun? Where’s Vuk?”
The news about my “split” with Jordan broke last weekend, around the time I told her about my relationship development with Vuk. Jordan and I had released a joint statement that’d been cleared by both our PR teams.
Canceling wedding plans was easy; dealing with the aftermath was harder, especially when I’d been seen with my ex-fiancé’s best man before the breakup was publicly official. Throw in the wedding attack and Jordan’s recent coma and it was all very scandalous. Maya took the news in stride, but the city’s rumor mill was in overdrive.
I didn’t care. I was finally happy, and I wasn’t going to let a few whispers ruin that.
“He’s on his way,” I said. “This party is wild. I saw Indira and Riley K. doing shots with Asher Donovan and his girlfriend at the bar.”
I swear, half of Manhattan, Hollywood, and London society was in attendance.
“Oh yeah, that tracks.” Maya grinned. “Also, can I just say those earrings look stunning on you? Whereever did you get them?”
“Thank you. I believe they’re from your closet.”
“They are, aren’t they?” She sipped her drink. “Damn, I have good taste.”
We collapsed into giggles. I’d grown closer to her over the course of six weeks than I had with people I’d known for six years. Friendship wasn’t always about history; when two people clicked, they clicked. End of story.
The emerald-and-diamond earrings she’d lent me were stunning, though. I’d leaned into the sin of Envy for the night, choosing an emerald satin gown with a slit up the thigh and the most exquisite gold heels. The earrings matched beautifully.
Maya was about to say something else when her laughter died. She stared past me, her eyes narrowing. I didn’t have to turn to guess which guest inspired such immediate contempt.
“Sebastian.” Her voice dripped with ice.
The French billionaire joined us, looking as handsome and perfectly tousled as ever. “Maya.” A smirk accompanied his smooth drawl. “Surprised to see you had time to plan a birthday party this year. Don’t you have a marketing department to run to the ground?”
“We’ve increased our profit margins by thirty percent this past quarter. What have you done?” Maya arched a well-groomed brow. “Open the same type of boring, soulless restaurant you always do and irritate everyone you work with in the process?”
“Those ‘boring, soulless’ restaurants have earned more Michelin stars than there are hits in your latest product line, so I understand why you’d be bitter.” Sebastian glanced around the party. “Seven Deadly Sins. Cute.”
“You—”
“Ayana, good to see you.” He interrupted her reply and faced me. “You look lovely.” He sounded sincere.
“Thank you,” I said, torn between good manners and loyalty to my friend. I settled somewhere in between. “Which sin are you?”
Most of the guests chose to dress up as one of the seven sins. Sebastian wore a white shirt, charcoal pants, and suspenders. The top button of his shirt was undone, adding to his rakish appeal. He and Kai Young were the only people I’d ever seen successfully pull off suspenders in real life.
“None. I’m sinless.” His mischievous smile sharpened when he faced Maya again. “I’m not a big fan of party themes, unfortunately. They’re a little tacky, but if anyone can make a brave attempt at classing them up, it’s you, Sal.” He raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes sliding past Maya toward someone at the bar. “Ah, I spot Kai. Perfect timing. We need to discuss my next cover story for Gourmand. Have fun. Oh, and happy birthday.”
He walked away, leaving a steaming Maya in his wake. I swore I saw smoke pouring out of her ears.
“Breathe.” I placed my hands on her shoulders. “You cannot murder a guest at your own birthday party.”
“That’s what you think,” she growled. “I should’ve chosen a Murder Mystery theme and used him as the dead body. Bonus points for realism when I stab him with a butcher’s knife. See if he finds themes tacky then.”
“Okay. Enough champagne for you. We don’t need alcohol fueling your violent fantasies.” I eased the delicate flute out of her hand and placed it on a nearby table. “What was that about anyway? Why did he call you Sal?”
I’d interacted with Sebastian briefly on several occasions. He’d always been charming and gracious, which was why it was a shock to see him and Maya snipe at each other. It was like they turned into different people when the other was near.
“Nothing. He was just being a competitive asshole.” A scowl fell over her pretty features. “He’s been that way since we were teenagers.”
“Were you classmates?
“Yes. We went to the same boarding school in Switzerland.”
Of course they had.
“Sal is short for salutatorian.” Maya’s scowl deepened. “I got food poisoning right before my chem final and was wrecked the entire time. I could barely concentrate. I ended up getting an eighty-nine, which dragged down my whole average. That little weasel beat me to the valedictorian spot by a quarter of a grade point, and he never let me forget it.”
“Ah.” Thirteen years seemed like a long time to hold a grudge, but I supposed I would be upset too if someone was constantly rubbing my failure in my face. Being salutatorian wasn’t a failure, but in Maya’s eyes, it was.
“The only reason I invited him is because I wanted him to see all this firsthand. Don’t let him fool you. He’s just bitter he didn’t think of this party theme first,” Maya said. “His last bash was a blowout in Monaco. Like that’s original.”
“Not original at all,” I said loyally.
“Exactly.” She sighed. “Sorry to dump all this on you. You’re supposed to be having fun, not listening to me whine.”
“I don’t mind.” It was pretty amusing, though I’d never tell her that. In my experience, people who were that riled up about each other either ended up killing each other or falling in love. I had my suspicions about which category Maya and Sebastian belonged to, but I valued my life too much to voice them out loud.
“Thanks.” Maya’s face softened into a smile. “I have to make the rounds again or my parents will complain I’m being a ‘bad hostess.’ Let’s catch up later?”
“Sounds good.”
She left. Vuk wasn’t here yet, and I debated checking out the massage room when I heard my name.
“Ayana.”
Cold slithered down my spine. “Emmanuelle.”
I maintained a neutral expression as the agency head sauntered up to me. She was a vision in red. Red dress, red lipstick, red shoes.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Maya Singh,” she said.
I responded with a tight smile. This was our first conversation since our phone call, and I was half convinced she was planning to stab me in the eye with her heel.
“I hate to talk business during such a lovely party, but there are a few items I wanted to go over with you.” Her smile lacked as much humor as mine. “I spotted you and figured this would be better than a phone call.”
“I’m not taking any more bookings until the new year,” I said.
The agency still hadn’t paid me for the work I’d done, and while I did miss being in front of the camera, I needed a physical and mental break. With the holidays coming up soon, it seemed smart to wait and start with a clean slate in the new year.
Despite my protests, Jordan had paid me for the time I’d put into being his fiancée. It wasn’t five million dollars, but it was enough money in the bank for a small safety net if I left Beaumont and they put up a fuss about it. It was also enough to cover my legal fees. I already had an appointment with my attorney to discuss potential next steps for breaking my contract.
I hadn’t told Vuk about any of this yet. I wanted to figure things out on my own first. I couldn’t always rely on other people to fix my problems for me.
“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Emmanuelle said. “You were right. It was wrong of us to slack on our payments to you. If you check your accounts, you’ll see you’ve been paid in full as of this evening.”
I rocked back on my heels. Out of everything I expected her to say, “you were right” ranked dead last. She never admitted she was wrong, which was why I digested her quasi-apology with a healthy dose of wariness. What did she have up her sleeve?
“I mean it.” Emmanuelle gestured at my phone. “Check your account, Ayana.”
I did, and there they were. Every missing payment from the past year—minus agency fees, of course.
“Thank you.” I didn’t lower my guard yet. There was a catch. There had to be.
“You’re welcome.” Emmanuelle finished her drink. “Now that that’s settled, our business is concluded. You’re officially terminated from the agency.” She dropped the bombshell as casually as one might announce they were going out for lunch.
The music swirled around us. My stomach plunged as I gaped at her, sure I’d heard her wrong. “Excuse me? On what grounds?”
I wanted out from Beaumont, so this should be a blessing in disguise. But the shock of Emmanuelle dropping me in the middle of a birthday party with zero warning had me scrambling for answers.
Hank just sent me a booking days ago. Sure, I’d declined, but why would he do that if the agency was planning to drop me?
“Unprofessional conduct and intimidation by proxy,” she said without batting an eye.
My jaw unhinged. “I didn’t do any of that!”
“No? I remember our last phone call. While you were right about the payments, the way you communicated with me—the president and founder of the agency—was deeply unprofessional. As for intimidation by proxy, Hank told me what your new boyfriend did.” Emmanuelle’s eyes glittered. “Vuk Markovic barged into his apartment and assaulted him on your behalf. He threatened him with more physical harm if Hank didn’t prioritize premium bookings for you over his other clients. His building’s surveillance footage will back him up.”
My ears buzzed. “Vuk would never do that.”
Okay, the threatening part, maybe. But demanding that Hank prioritize bookings for me? Absolutely not. Not when he knew I didn’t even like Hank and wanted to leave Beaumont.
“Hmm. Maybe not. Who knows? It’s our word against yours.” Emmanuelle shrugged. “Expect a lawsuit come Monday. Enjoy your booking fees while you have them, Ayana. Once the news breaks and the rest of the industry finds out about your behavior, I doubt you’ll book anything except a sad photo campaign for local STD awareness.” She raised her glass. “Cheers.”
My feet stayed rooted to the floor while she swanned off. A lawsuit? Was she joking?
Be careful what you wish for. That’s what my mother always said, and she was right.
I hated Beaumont, but I loved modeling. The beauty of movement, expression as art. I felt at home in front of a camera and on the runway, and I was good at it.
I’d achieved a great amount of success, but even the most successful models weren’t immune to being smeared and blacklisted by the industry’s powers that be. It was all politics, which I was terrible at navigating. What would I do if I couldn’t model anymore?
My stomach bubbled with acid.
Someone touched my shoulder. I whirled around, my knee-jerk instinct to flee evaporating when I saw Vuk’s concerned frown.
What’s wrong?
“Emmanuelle’s here. We talked, and she—she dropped me from the agency.” I summarized the rest of our conversation, watching Vuk’s face grow darker and darker until it resembled a thundercloud ready to burst. “Is it true? What she said about Hank?”
I didn’t believe a word out of Emmanuelle’s mouth, but I had to be sure.
I didn’t tell him to play favorites; I warned him about the way he treated you that day he showed up to your apartment unannounced. Vuk’s jaw turned to granite. The grounds for a lawsuit are bullshit. My lawyers will destroy it in seconds, especially since we have evidence Hank was secretly surveilling you.
“It’s not about the legal standing for their case,” I said. “It’s about the optics. Emmanuelle doesn’t care if she wins or loses the lawsuit. She just wants to drag my name through the mud and ruin my career.”
History was littered with examples of famous women who were brought down by smear campaigns. Even if they hadn’t done anything wrong, the illusion that they had was enough for people to turn on them.
Emmanuelle was doing all this because what, I talked back to her? Asked her to give me something that rightfully belonged to me?
A dash of fire swallowed my nausea. Despite my personal feelings toward Beaumont, I’d been nothing but professional over the years. I was their highest-earning model, and I never even talked bad about them to other models. Now, Emmanuelle was trying to ruin me because I’d bruised her ego. What gave her the fucking right?
“I need to tell Sloane. She’s here somewhere,” I said, formulating a plan on the spot. “Emmanuelle said the lawsuit will drop on Monday. We need to get ahead of it. I also need to talk to my accountant and hire?—”
Ayana . Vuk placed his hand on my shoulder again. Breathe. We’re going to get through this. Emmanuelle fucking Beaumont will NOT ruin you. I’ll die before I let that happen.
Streaks of emotion burned through my panic.
We’re going to get through this. Not I. We .
I was struck again by the strange sensation of having someone by my side, fighting with me. The shield to my sword, or the sword to my shield—whichever one worked in the situation. I wasn’t going into battle alone, and that simple fact was enough to steady my breathing.
I might not have wanted other people to solve my problems for me, but I wasn’t naive enough to think I could take on Beaumont without Vuk’s help.
“Thank you.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry about ambushing you with bad news the minute you walked through the door. Parties are usually more fun. I promise.”
I doubt it. Vuk glanced at the burlesque performance. His mouth twisted into a grimace. Talking to you about anything, even bad news, is definitely the highlight of this party for me.
I laughed. I ignored the stares of other partygoers and laced my fingers with his, determined to show him a good time despite the Beaumont-shaped cloud hanging over our heads.
I pulled him toward the bar, the pressure in my chest easing with each step. Vuk was right. We were going to get through this.
As long as we were together, we could get through anything.