Chapter 3
Circus
My house is an architectural marvel. At least that’s what the magazines it’s been featured in say.
All high ceilings and carved beams and a giant wall of glass that overlooks the creek in the gulley with the golden cliff faces of Crown Trails to the right.
I’ve filled it with expensive furniture and a photography studio, and every room has a range of plants from cacti to spider plants to string of pearls … But it still feels so fucking lifeless.
When Mom and Dad died, I’d gotten a big chunk of insurance money and an even bigger inheritance.
The first thing I’d done was sell the house we lived in, clear some land in the middle of the forest, and build the biggest house I could fit.
This is going to be my forever home. The place where I start a family with a thousand kids, and while I might be young, I’m ready for that to happen.
Mentally.
Emotionally, I’m still struggling.
And physically, the house is still an empty shell.
I watch the sunrise from my living room like I do every morning. The sky is already a pale orange and the cliff faces look on fire. It never fails to make me fall in love with the world again, even if the world has forgotten about me.
My post last night at least seems to have gained some traction. I’m lying on a black chaise with matching print shirt and shorts I was sent from one of my favorite eco-friendly designers. The color pops and I’ve got my angles right.
Even I’m happy with the way that one turned out.
Still, I could be doing more. My interactions could be higher. I take a photo of the sunrise and caption it “good morning” before adding it to my story, and I smile as all the good mornings and good nights start to come through.
I love my followers, and I love the brands I’m starting to build working relationships with.
But I need more.
More followers, more endorsements, more modeling contracts, and maybe, one day, some acting roles.
A movie.
That’s the end goal.
Because if I’m internationally known, I’ll never be lonely again.
Baby steps, I remind myself.
Time to get on with my plan.
Leon has the day off and is going to start the demo on the back end of his house, so I get dressed in worn jeans and a floral tank top before biking over to meet him.
Will I actually help with the house? Unlikely.
But Leon is my last hope for this stupid swimwear thing.
Royce would have been perfect if not for his complete hatred of attention, and Tanner has the right body shape I’m going for but has nothing to make him stand out.
Laura and Rafe seem to have withdrawn lately, and I can only hope they’re working on their issues, and Dahlia said doing it wouldn’t be a great image for a schoolteacher.
I’d ask Jules, but she and Mitch are pretty conservative, and wearing something like a bathing suit would probably be too much for her.
Leon … is far from what I was imagining. I’ve been lurking a few influencers over the past few days, and they’re mostly traditionally hot. Sculpted, slim bodies, nice tan, minimal hair.
I love Leon to hell, but he’s the complete opposite of that. Thick, hairy, and rough are three words I’d use to describe him, and his arms and body are a variety of different skin tones from working in the sun so much.
Still, I have a day left to get back to Royals, so I need to get this done.
“Morning,” he grunts as he opens his front door.
“It’s okay, the cavalry has arrived.”
He pretends to glance behind me. “Please tell me you’re referring to a horde of invisible badasses because you can’t be talking about you.”
I nudge him and walk through to his kitchen. It’s half torn apart, but there’s still enough countertop for me to jump up and sit on. “I’ve come to lend my services.”
“Oh, you have? Why don’t you start by tearing down that awning over there?”
I glance at the offending overhang. “My conversational services. You know work always goes faster when you have a friend around.”
“Maybe when that friend’s not you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he crosses his arms. “I’m not doing it.”
“Sorry, what?”
“The photo thing. You know I don’t have time. I get one day a week off, and this place is at least a month behind schedule.”
“It would just be one day.”
“Sorry, Circus, not happening.”
I slump. “Who told you, anyway?”
“Tanner gave me the heads-up.”
“Of course he did.” I resist rolling my eyes and jump down from the counter. Even if he won’t help me—and I know him well enough to know pushing won’t work—I’m still planning to help out here.
We spend the better part of the day with Leon tearing shit off the back of his house and me carting the debris to a massive dumpster.
“I really am sorry I can’t help out,” he finally says when we stop for some water.
“I know you are.”
“It’s just this contract I have coming up, and then there’s still a ton of smaller jobs I’ve booked.”
I smirk at his overapologizing, because I know Leon means it. “It’s totally cool, I get it. Maybe I just need to call them and say I can’t do it.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
Terrible, actually, but I can’t tell Leon that.
We’re as close as brothers, but I’m self-aware enough to know that using all those notifications as a form of validation probably isn’t healthy, and I’m too embarrassed to explain that to someone as emotionally stable as Leon.
“It wouldn’t be the best thing when it comes to getting more brands on board.
I dunno … maybe I can still find someone else … ”
His head turns sharply. “You’re not taking Rowan Harvey up on his offer.”
“Whoa, how much did Tanner tell you?”
“Everything. People want to know what happened between you two.” He chuckles. “It’s obvious enough that even Tanner picked up on it.”
“And what did you tell him?” I should know better than to ask though. Leon’s known the whole time and kept it to himself.
“What do you think? It’s not for me to tell. That’s up to you. But I’m still pissed you didn’t report him for assault.”
What was the point? He was gone from Sunbury before I could even talk to him about it. He ignored my calls and messages, and two days later, his number was disconnected.
I know reporting it would probably have been the smart choice, and five years later I feel like an idiot for having been too blinded by my crush on him to make it.
“Yeah, I know you are. Even considering his offer is stupid.”
“Then why are you?”
“Can you get out of my head?” I push him playfully, but he doesn’t budge.
“Circus …”
“Look, it’s fine. I’m not considering, whatever. Don’t stress.”
He sighs because obviously he doesn’t believe that statement, and I mean, I can’t imagine why. I really went for convincing.
It’s a little hard to be convincing when you don’t even believe the shit coming out of your mouth.
The problem is, I do feel like adding more of that sex factor will boost my audience and have more people wanting to work with me.
Good pictures lead to actual contracts like the one I did for a body spray last year.
And contracts lead to more exposure, and more exposure leads to the kind of die-hard fans who are just waiting to message me good morning.
The thing is, I don’t want fame. Not exactly.
I want the love and attention that comes with it.
And as much as I’ve been trying to push it from my mind, Rowan would look so hot in those swimsuits. Even through his shirts, I can tell he has a great body, and his tattoos will pop. They’re that “interest factor” I’m after.
It just sucks that the body and tats are attached to him.
I’m still no closer to making a decision when I head back home again. I’m gritty and my hair is gross, so I snap a quick shot to add to my story as evidence of me doing real work, then jump in the shower and wash it all away.
My screen is full of notifications by the time I jump out, and it warms my heart.
I head to my bedroom to change, but I’m still so absorbed by my thoughts that I flop back on my bed just wearing my towel. It’s times like this that I try to imagine the advice Mom and Dad would have given me. But I swear with every anniversary, their voices are getting quieter.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, picturing Mom’s face.
I imagine telling her what really happened on prom night, and instantly her kind eyes turn savage and I can see her jumping straight on the phone to Mrs. Harvey to curse her to hell.
I can see Dad’s sympathy and feel his support as he squeezes my shoulder.
I know exactly what they’d both say.
Mom would tell me to use his offer as an opportunity for revenge.
Dad would tell me to think logically and remember I’m running a business.
Both of their suggestions are tempting too. I’d love to get revenge after all these years, but I’m too much like Dad to follow through on it. That said, Mom’s savage streaks hit me rarely, but when they do, I can be vicious.
I glance at the Magic 8-Ball sitting on my side table.
It’s how I make choices when I’m completely torn over which way to go.
And so far, it hasn’t steered me wrong.
With a deep breath, I push up and grab it, then give it a good shake.
“Should I let Rowan do this shoot with me?”
I hold my breath as the option bobs to the top.
As I see it, yes.