Chapter 4
?
Not so bad after all?
Maelin
“If I get assaulted by four rich brothers,” Morana has been saying, during the entire drive, “I will have a breakdown. I just want you to know. I mean, really .” She laughs, delirious. “ Four ! Four. Four male bosses. And me. One me.”
“Just be glad you’re not going to be modeling for any of them,” I whisper, feeling very, very sick. “Also, it’s only three rich brothers right now. Lukas is on his world tour still.” I discovered that while I was looking up information about our bosses-to-be.
Morana cusses. “This is a horrible idea.”
“It might be fine. They might be nice? Enough. Anyway. I heard Viktor just got engaged. People in love are normally nice. Enough… Anyway…”
“Rich people aren’t nice. And there will be four of them eventually. Four big rich people. And my big sister, selling her body to one of them.”
“He said it wasn’t a nude modeling gig.” I fiddle with the brim of my broad hat, hiding behind my sunglasses from the death ray in the sky and trying to reassure myself in the knowledge that Zakery’s comics are the furthest thing from erotic . They are fantasy romance, the same genre that his big brother Viktor writes, but it’s all slow burn. Hand brushes and a final kiss on the last panel of a ten-book series type stuff.
“Right, sure. The modeling gig isn’t nude, but there’s only so long a guy’s gonna stare at your body before he throws the gig part away. First, he’ll undress you with his eyes, then he won’t be able to control himself. I bet they put me in a frilly uniform worse than what stupid, stupid, stupid Helena made me wear.”
As Morana eases up the Bachelor manor’s driveway, a large tan man wearing plaid, a straw hat, and thick leather gloves looks up off his rose bush to wave. I return the gesture as I shrink further into my seat, whispering, “At least the gardener’s nice…”
“Great. Maybe the gardener will hear us if we scream.” Morana cusses as nothing short of a castle with high towers, a lavish staircase, and double front doors appears beyond the foliage and a fountain filled with crystal blue water at the end of the long power-washed drive. “This screams pretentious. This screams do what I say, or you’ll wind up unrecognizable in a river .”
“There aren’t bad stories about them online,” I offer.
“Because they’re rich enough to make bad stories disappear, Maelin.”
Biting my trembling lip, I crumple.
“I don’t even know where to park. Do you think they have an entire garage filled with their sports cars somewhere down that lane?” She jerks her chin toward where the drive darts off beside wide arches crawling with greenery.
“Maybe?”
The front door opens before she gets a chance to circle the fountain and head down the lane. Wearing much the same dark attire as on Saturday, Zakery adjusts his cuffs and trots down the stairs toward us.
Morana fills her lungs with air. “Well. Great. We’ve been spotted. No turning back now.” Then she rolls down my window. “You’re talking to him.”
I would rather die. But. You know. Whatever. Sure. I can talk. Probably.
“Good morning, princess,” Zakery says, tilting to catch a glance of Morana through my window. “And other princess. Happy to make your acquaintance.”
Morana’s face provides a tight, lethal smile that in no uncertain terms threatens murder if he calls her princess again.
In an effort to quell tensions, I say, “Morning.”
“Wow, your sister stole all your ink, didn’t she?”
I offer a fragile laugh. “Yeah. Um. She’s not really…the friendliest, but she’s a very good worker. I promise.”
“I’m not concerned. Two women coming into a house with four men is enough to put most on edge. I can promise you that we at least won’t be as revolting as your last employer, who I hear had a thing for blondes. Purely professional relationships here, at the moment. When Lukas comes back from his tour, he might try to flirt, but I assure you all of us understand simple words like no —even Lukas, who sometimes has rocks for brains.”
“That’s…reassuring,” I offer, not exactly feeling reassured. “Is there somewhere you’d like us to park?”
“Anywhere out front works for today. Only my brother’s fiancée visits, and the drive’s large enough for two cars to get by need-be. So long as you don’t park horizontally.”
“I might ,” Morana mutters.
“Hm?” Zakery inquires.
I shove my hand in her face. “She’s not talking. Right, Morana ? I’m doing the talking, remember?”
Her eyes roll off me, then she eases our car forward and parks, only slightly slamming her door when she steps out.
Following her out, I hiss, “We are trying to get a job.”
“I am trying to show that I’m not an easy target and project that if anyone tries anything with you, I will remove their organs .”
I glare, which is wholly ineffective behind my sunglasses.
“Is everything all right over here?” Zakery asks, folding his hands together as he approaches.
“Yup!” I squeak, shoving my elbow into Morana’s chubby side.
“Sure,” she drones, unaffected, as though she’s hiding a six pack beneath her padding.
Zakery peers between us, addressing me. “Your sister reminds me of Kyran.”
“I…hope that’s a good thing?”
“It’s something, that’s for sure.” He twists on his heel, toward the stairs. “Let’s get inside so we can discuss the details of this arrangement out of the sunlight.”
“Sounds great!” I chirp to mask my nausea as we climb up, up, up and into a very large, very chilled, very dark palace…
?
As soon as Zakery mentions that he’ll be starting Morana off on a seventy thousand dollar salary, she loosens up, so he leaves her in the capable hands of Kaleb, the gardener, and brings me toward a spiraling staircase. Stomach still knotted, I do the only reasonable thing—and trip on the first step.
“Whoa.” Zakery just manages to catch me before I face-plant against the hard marble at his shoes. “Careful, princess. There’s a stair there.”
Yeah, I know. It’s a staircase. There’s gonna be stairs there.
Sheepish, I grasp the railing for dear life and pull myself upright, out of his hold. “Sorry… I’m very bad…at…walking.”
He chuckles. “I don’t mind if you keep falling for me; just make sure I’m around to catch you.”
My skin blazes, but he’s already turned back toward the steps, so I follow until the stairs open on a long hall lined with windows. Lavish curtains frame the dirty glass, and it’s completely apparent that there’s not been a maid around here for some time. Poor Morana… Maybe seventy grand a year isn’t anywhere close to enough.
While I’m worrying about my sister, Zakery opens the door to his bedroom, and waits patiently for me to step inside.
Large.
His bedroom alone is bigger than my parents’ house, bigger than my house. It’s just huge . And brighter than all the other rooms we’ve come through as massive, tall, and clean windows looking out over vast gardens and a stunning gazebo area take up one corner past a dais. Central to the brightest spot on that dais, a plush daybed sits. On the edge of the dais, firmly positioned away from the glare caused by the windows, a giant drawing tablet rests tilted on a stand in front of a leather rolling chair.
To my right, a bed.
To my left, a bathroom and a closet.
On the walls… hundreds of pictures, patchworked together.
Comic con trinkets take up space on a long oakwood dresser and the matching nightstands. A stack of sketchbooks fill a tall bookcase also cluttered with nerdy paraphernalia. Drawing supplies burst from the organization drawers on a desk beside the bookcase, and I swallow, overwhelmed by it all.
After six years together, Harry only let me in his bedroom once. It was small, cramped, and stank of dirty laundry… The only place to sit was the bed, and I hesitated until he goaded me down beside him. I don’t really like thinking about the conversation that happened after it was clear what he wanted, and I said no .
Marching past me while I’m struggling to take this scene in alongside memories I’d rather forget, Zakery steps up onto the dais and pulls a sheer white fabric over all the windows. “You’re sensitive to the sun, aren’t you?”
“I…um…yes. Is that…going to be a problem?”
“No, no. There are ways around it. Don’t worry. Is this still too bright? I can pull the full blackout curtain if so.”
Since the room is significantly dimmer with the thin white covering, I remove my hat and sunglasses. “No, this should be okay.”
“Excellent. Take a seat for me, then. Right here.” Eyes heavy on me, he grazes his hand atop the swooping back of the daybed.
Feeling somewhat dirty and afraid because of how things went the last time I sat down in a man’s bedroom, I force myself up the step—proud when I don’t trip on it—and to the daybed. Sitting, I clasp my hands around my sunglasses and hat brim in my lap.
Zakery wastes no time plopping into his rolling chair and swinging himself away from the drawing tablet up to me. “Can I do anything to assuage your nerves, princess?”
“It just feels…weird. Like I’m selling my body. Or…something.”
His calm smile evaporates. “Well then. I know the cure for that one.” He rises, heads to his drawing tablet, and turns it on. Once he’s done fiddling, he approaches me with a partial-fingered glove. “Here you go. Swap with me.”
“Huh?”
He taps the rolling chair and offers the glove. “Draw me first.”
“Oh, I can’t… I don’t know how… And I’m sure your equipment is very expensive. I’ll break it. Or myself if I sit in a chair that moves, near, you know, a ledge .”
He understands my point, but only partially, because—quite apparently—he has a stool that doesn’t roll in his bathroom. Setting it behind his tablet, he says, “Break it. I’ll buy a new one.” His hand extends, beckoning. “Come.”
Unable to refuse, I head toward the stool, exchange my hat and glasses for the glove, and squint at the blinding screen. “I’m so sorry… Is there a brightness setting on this? My eyes are especially sensitive to light, too…”
He shows me how to adjust the brightness, walks me through the basics of this is draw and this is erase and this is the undo/redo trigger , then he tosses my glasses and sunhat on his bed in order to sprawl upon the daybed. Hand dramatically placed against his forehead, he declares, “Draw me like one of your French girls, Maelin.” He pauses. “Well, actually, with clothes is preferred. All things considered, anatomy is hard.”
Yes. With clothes is very preferred. All things considered.
I swallow my nerves, look at him while he lies there, tall, spread fully across the sofa with one leg cast over the armrest. He mindlessly paints squiggles on the floor with a fingertip while he peers up at the ceiling. I test a stroke on the digital canvas. Undo it. Test another one.
I’ve only ever drawn through traditional mediums, sketching outfit ideas onto very thin figures that mimic fashion illustrations. Zakery might be slender in his build…but he is by no means thin .
I test a few guides. Wince. Delete them. Squinting at Zakery, I try to find his line of action . Which sounds like a very pretentious thought in my head, like I’m fooling myself into believing I know anything about art when I’m with a man who makes millions off his.
“Like I mentioned before,” Zakery murmurs after several minutes of sheer agony have gone by, “I’ll pay you fifty dollars every hour you’re with me here, in my studio. You’re free to clock out for breaks whenever’s reasonable. Given the single vehicle and that your sister will be here a while each day cleaning, it makes sense to me that we match her schedule. It could be long hours, but does that suit you?”
His chilling eyes slice my way, sending a shiver down my spine. I can’t get his head to look right. His clothing? Fabulous. Fabric drawing I’ve had some practice with. But what even is a human body, I swear to—
“Maelin?”
I blink. “Huh?” Right. He was talking about the terms of my working for him. I got distracted. “Yes. That’s fine with me.”
He stares a moment longer, then frees a gentle smile. “Having trouble, princess?”
“I’ve created nothing short of an abomination.” Maybe this would actually be easier if he were naked. I feel like that would make figuring out where in the world his neck stems from his body infinitely easier…
When I look up intending to death stare at his stupid neck some more, I find him missing from the daybed.
His voice coolly drifts into my ear from my other side. “Not bad. No anatomy classes, of course, but the skill that created your adorable fursuit shows. You’ve got a good eye.”
I flush. Whether it’s because he’s complimenting me or because he’s brought up the fursuit (another abomination I’m responsible for) is anyone’s guess.
“Are you some reassured that this isn’t anything to be ashamed of?” he asks. “The likelihood I’ll be over here cussing is high.”
“I…yeah. I think I get it. Art is hard.”
“Very. Which is why it’s helpful to have a model. Drawing from reference is good. Drawing from life is better.” He cups my chin, looks into my eyes. “I have nothing but artistic awe and respect for you. You’re so…” He blinks, draws his hand away, and glides his fingers through the longer waves of his hair, pulling them off his brow. “Anyway. If you’d take a seat, I’d like to get some cursory character sketches down today.”
I rise, meandering my way back to the daybed, feeling a little—or a lot—less dirty when I sit again. “I don’t need to sign any contracts?”
“My older brother told me to absolutely not scare you to death with an NDA. Your sister will be employed formally. So long as you don’t need this on a resume, I don’t mind paying cash. It’ll be less annoying for taxes. Which my older brother also informed me I’d have to handle by myself concerning you if I were serious about this. With all due respect to the US government, no thanks .”
As Zakery swings his rolling chair back around to his tablet, replacing the stool with it, I get the strange feeling his older brother wasn’t entirely for him having a personal model.
That’s…comforting.
It’s actually comforting when Zakery tells me I’m free to play on my phone as long as he doesn’t need me to pose a certain way.
I am, in essence, making fifty dollars an hour to sit around and play Puzzle Page. And that I can definitely live with.