Chapter Three. Rowan
THREE
Rowan
I know the minute he enters the room.
His cologne. His presence. His intensity.
I can sense all three of them despite purposefully occupying myself with my male counterparts—three incredibly attractive models—to avoid looking his way.
It’s their hands on my body, but it’s the feeling of Holden’s hands I’m reliving no matter how much I loathe him with every ounce of my being.
But I don’t look toward the door he just entered. I don’t give him any hint that I know he’s here.
If I ever wanted to be an actress, now is the time to show that I could do it—because I’m about to perform the role of a lifetime. Let’s hope I can pull it off.
The room is empty with a green screen behind us for the media department to add a beach scene to in postproduction.
Sand is beneath our bare feet and a few red-and-white-striped beach balls lie strategically on it to fill the space around us.
A raised red cooler is to the side of us with cans of TinSpirits in it, strategically placed so all the labels are facing out for the consumer to see.
“What’s this?” Holden’s voice booms through the sparsely furnished room.
“Mr. Knight. Sir,” Lyle, our photographer, says and clears his throat. It’s as if the whole vibe of the room shifts instantly when the staff knows he’s there. That he’s watching.
I hear the shuffled feet of the room’s occupants. I feel the men on either side of me tense. The entire mood of the room turns from playful to guarded.
“We weren’t expecting you, but are so glad you ventured down to give input,” Lyle says, his eyes darting from his camera then to Holden and back.
“I wasn’t aware that we were doing this today,” Holden says, his voice like a heavy dose of honey over sandpaper. Each word is like a weight tugging on my heart.
“Same pose, Lyle?” I interrupt as I adjust the sides of my fire-engine-red bikini and make sure the room’s focus is back on me.
Right where I want it.
On me and my itty-bitty bikini and my signature red lips I’m known in our ads for. On my new blond hair, recently dyed back, and those sapphire earrings that drip from my earlobes. And on the three male models and their tanned, bared chests who are on either side of me.
Holden doesn’t even deserve a nanosecond of my attention, so I don’t give it, but I sure as hell prepare myself for the show I’m about to give.
“Same?” Lyle repeats, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fiddles with his camera.
Holden’s presence clearly makes him nervous.
I turn my lips up in a siren’s smile as he narrows his eyes and takes a look at the scene as a whole—my makeup and hair, our staging, and the way our bodies interact.
“Yes. Again. I like the feel of this and the way it looks through the lens too. I think we can get more out of this setting and sequence though.”
“Sounds good. More hands? Less hands? Lean in? Almost kiss?” I ask.
“I want whatever you’re comfortable with, but ideally, yes. More touching. More flirting. More product placement in the midst of all that skin.”
“Hear that, guys?” I ask.
They give a few cheers in response and laughter rings out around the room.
Lyle pumps a fist. “I love the enthusiasm. Per your direction, Rowan, the goal is to sell the fantasy, so let’s sell it. A single woman. A good drink. Hot men all around her vying for her attention. Her choices are hers to make.”
“Great. Perfect.” I turn to my male counterparts and smile as I place one hand on the brown-haired man’s chest and lean in.
“It’s such a hard job and all. Right, guys?
” I chuckle. In a practiced move, I make sure the label on the TinSpirits can I’m holding is facing the camera all while placing its red-and-white straw between my lips and hollowing out my cheeks like I’m sucking on it.
My three fellow models follow my lead, and we begin the photographic dance.
One model’s hands are on my waist, and another is standing like a backdrop behind us.
The third model looks down at me, his lips inches from mine so we can cut the image with me as the center of attention and them just the background noise.
And I’m more than aware, with every single snap of the camera, that Holden is standing there. Watching. Stewing. Growing more irritated.
He’s the one who cast me off, who used me, and he stands there with his jaw clenched and annoyance etched in every single line of his face like he has some kind of claim to me.
Dream on, Knight. Dream the fuck on.
How long will he stay silent? How long will he even stay in here?
It’s time to change the dress.
He hasn’t picked up the phone to call or text since he heard those words.
That, in and of itself, says all that needs to be said. I cut things off and he didn’t fight for us. For me.
Then again, how could he? He was busy being exactly who he was that first night we met. Conniving. Manipulative. Self-serving.
“Rowan, I want you to lean your back against Santiago’s chest. And Santi? I want your finger between her skin and the string on her bottoms. I’m not sure if we’ll use it but, Rowan, I want your marketing department to have options to play with.”
“Sounds good.”
I lean my back against the firmness of Santiago, never more aware of my audience of one than now. Santiago slides his hand down my bare hip and his fingers tickle as he toys with the ties there.
Chills chase over my skin and my nipples harden in a natural, reflexive reaction that most women would have when flanked by three sexy men like I am.
“We’re not selling sex.” The four words thunder through the room and suck the life out of the playful mood.
My pulse roars in my ears and my heart races, but I keep my hands steady and my voice even when I meet his eyes for the first time. His stoic expression is a sharp contrast to the words he just uttered and a stark reminder of just how duplicitous he can be.
It fuels me in ways I never could have expected.
“No. We’re selling women on equality. On them getting to have whatever the fuck they want. Men. Careers. Ownership. Honesty. You name it.” I lift my brows as if I need to reinforce my words, but I’m pretty sure the defiance in my tone did that already for me.
“I didn’t okay this,” he says flatly.
“You say that like I need to ask for permission to run my own department as I see fit.”
“How cute. You think you have a leg to stand on. My company. My rules.”
There is a lump the size of Texas lodged in my throat, and I struggle with a comeback because there are so many things I could say—want to say about his my company claim—but I grit my teeth instead and say what would be expected of me.
“You mean my family’s company. Until you sign those papers, it’s still mine. ”
I meet his eyes and look for any flicker of deception. Of regret. There isn’t a single iota of guilt etched in the lines of his face when he speaks. “Still with that song and dance?” he murmurs.
My only response is a lift of my eyebrows. Better to say nothing than to say something that will put me more at a disadvantage when it comes to Holden Knight.
“Again?” I say to the men around me, who suddenly feel so much stiffer in posture. Almost as if a silent threat was sent via testosterone wavelength from Holden for them to stay the hell away from me.
Screw that.
I lean forward and reach out to the third model, Noah, in front of me, thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck with my free hand, and look up so that our silhouettes are mirror images and only an inch apart.
I hold up the TinSpirits can to get it in the shot but I don’t give a damn about the photo shoot right now.
Right or wrong, immature or not, I care about making Holden jealous and showing him just what he’ll be missing.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it works. A glance his way has that indifferent mask back on his face.
So I try harder. More touching. More flirting. More skin. All while Lyle murmurs encouragement for us to keep putting our chemistry on display.
“Are you wanting a kiss somewhere in here?” Lyle asks. And I’m assuming he’s asking me and not Holden, but Holden speaks before I can respond.
“You went blond,” Holden finally says, the words again cutting through the room like a knife.
I shrug and adjust my top but don’t look his way when I respond. “They say blondes have more fun, and since being a brunette netted me absolutely nothing, I figured I’d give that theory a try again.”
“Look at you conforming. I’m sure your mother must be thrilled.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable and earns him a glare.
“Last I checked, following the rules screwed me over. It won’t happen again.”
Holden’s brow furrows in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask questions no doubt he can’t ask with company present, but then shuts it. “So you’re making your own rules now, or what?”
If looks could kill, the one I level him with would land him in a casket. “There are no rules anymore.”
“Huh,” he says and tucks his tongue in his cheek with a ghost of a smile on his lips. So glad one of us finds this amusing.
But why? Because he is who he is and always has to pretend to have the upper hand even when he doesn’t? Or because he’s figured out that I know and is operating under the theory that the game must go on?
I have a hard time believing the latter and an even harder time processing that he doesn’t know that I know about the contracts being signed just yet.
“Rowan? Sweetheart?” Lyle says, breaking the visual standoff between Holden and me. “Can we try and soften the eyes a bit. We want customers to buy the product, not think you’re going to murder them, right?”
“Yes. Sorry. Sure.” I fall back into character, forcing myself to ignore the giant presence in the room.
I’m successful at it. At least I think I am. But freaking Holden stands there with his quiet judgment and unnerving silence for the rest of the shoot.
What is he thinking? What is he desperate to ask but his ego refuses to let him?