4. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
I blink a couple times and try to clear my head, but it’s hard to forget the past when I’m staring it right in the eye.
Luka coolly rifles through the papers in front of him and glances down, writing something on a page. There was no recognition in his expression when he saw me. The best sex of my life, and the guy I’d had it with couldn’t even spare me a second look or tell me I seem familiar.
It’s like we’re meeting for the first time here, and I’m incredibly embarrassed—and angry.
He’s apparently erased me from his memory.
I wish I could do that so easily. Forget how I’d checked my cellphone a thousand times just in case he’d gotten hold of my number and tried to get in touch.
How I’d obsessed over my social media to see if each new follower was possibly him.
I wish I could forget how humiliating it was to realize—after three agonizing months—that Luka Zoric wasn’t going to call.
That he probably hadn’t thought of me even once since we’d slept together.
Even still, I continued hanging on to the hope that he was eventually going to reach out to me on a strictly professional basis, give me the contract that he promised.
But at the six-month mark, I had to face the facts.
During the entire “audition” I’d done with him, there had been zero paperwork involved.
He may have taken down my stats, but there was no contract besides the promise he’d made verbally—no request for official headshots, no exchange of contact information, nothing.
The entire thing had been off the books.
He’d used the “private audition” to get laid. I’d bet anything it was his standard method of banging pretty girls.
I guess, in a twisted way, it worked out in my favor that I’d been too embarrassed to follow up with the agency about my audition and Luka’s empty promises, considering everything that’s come out about the place now.
I may have been na?ve, but at least I didn’t end up getting linked to the prostitution ring the elder Zoric got busted over.
I’m confident that mess is behind the agency now, though, and I’m willing to give them a legitimate shot.
I just need to suck up my humiliation, be a grown-up about the whole thing.
“Good morning. I’m Luka Zoric, VP of Talent Acquisition and Management,” he says. “Please, take a seat.”
His voice rings out with that gravelly, sexy edge that I remember. My body immediately comes to life. He’d seduced me with that velvet tone, whispering in my ear.
Never again.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stand straighter and project a confidence I don’t totally feel. Then I take the chair across from him and cross my legs. His eyes follow the movement before dropping back to his papers, and I can’t help looking him over while he’s not paying attention.
His dark hair is finger-combed back, lacking the slick professional style he wore before.
The top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone and he’s not wearing a tie.
His sleeves are rolled up, and his entire persona is far from the designer-clad socialite that I remember.
He’s more relaxed today, as if he’s digging in deep to this project.
I’ll be damned if he isn’t even sexier now.
“Let’s get started. Please state your name.”
“Brooklyn Moss.” I watch him, waiting for any sign of recognition, but he doesn’t even look up.
The muscles in his forearm flex as he writes on the paper and a hot pang of desire hits between my legs.
How can I still want him after everything that’s happened?
I press my thighs tighter together. No way in hell will he see a lick of want in my eyes.
“Is this address on your resume current? Los Angeles?” he asks, glancing at it.
“I have a lease here in Chicago, actually,” I tell him, and when I give him the address in Wicker Park, he writes that down before looking up at me again.
“Ms. Moss, I need to inform you that you are required to answer each question in its entirety, or you will not be considered for this…opportunity. Do you understand and agree?”
What do I have to lose? “I do.”
That gets his attention for some reason. His head snaps up, his eyes searching mine for a beat before he clears his throat and looks back at the page. I realize then that he’s following a script that dictates exactly what he’s supposed to say. Odd.
“Great. Okay. Ms. Moss, have you had any recent or past health conditions which required medication or hospitalization?”
This is unusual, but thanks to the heads-up from the brunette in the waiting room, I’m not that surprised.
I roll with it. “I had my tonsils out when I was twelve, my wisdom teeth out last year. I was on painkillers, but obviously it was temporary. Not currently taking any drugs, prescription or otherwise.”
“You’re currently healthy?” he prods.
“As a horse. Do you need me to fax over the results of my last yearly physical?”
He glances up, and the brief moment of eye contact makes my pulse ratchet up another notch. “Ah, that won’t be necessary.”
He seems tense, or maybe just a little embarrassed about all these questions, and it’s hard not to smirk at the effect I’m clearly having on him with my attitude. Serves him right.
“Would you say you follow a healthy dietary and exercise regimen?” he goes on.
I shrug. “I work out most days, take classes with friends. Cardio, cycling, kickboxing. So yeah. I’m mostly vegetarian, but I never turn down bacon. Or dessert. You only live once.”
The corners of his mouth turn up, but he seems to hold back from actually smiling as he scribbles a few things down.
I can’t help wishing he’d look at me, like full-on look at me.
I want him to remember who I am. I’d love to see the discomfort on his face when he remembers I’m the girl he fucked and ghosted all those years ago. Well, one of them.
“Are you involved in any charities, philanthropy, or other charitable work? Clubs, missionary work, volunteering programs?”
I smile. “Not sure missionary is my thing, to be honest.”
He clears his throat. “If you wouldn’t mind just answering.”
I’m kind of loving this, but I cut him a break.
“Actually, I’ve been part of Heart and Home Chicago since high school, and even though I’ve been in LA for a few years, I’m still active on the committee. We raise funds for area homeless shelters to provide maintenance, expansion, help with the food budget, that kind of thing.”
“Hmm.” His jaw works back and forth. “How active are you, exactly?”
“Very. I took over as the committee co-chair of fundraising last year. My face and bio are on the homepage, if that helps. I also founded a new program for domestic abuse survivors who’ve had to flee their homes and need a place to go and figure out their next steps,” I say, relaxing as I warm to this topic that’s so close to my heart.
“Beyond meals and shelter, we offer specialized counseling, daycare, connect them with services. It’s been amazing. ”
Luka scribbles furiously, nodding as he does so. I hope it’s a good sign.
“Are you currently using birth control?”
I’m thrown, and I can’t make an immediate answer pop out of my mouth. “Excuse me? What does that have to do with—”
“It’s a standard part of the medical questionnaire,” he says, spreading his hands.
“Fine. Yes, I am using birth control, not that it’s anyone’s business.” I fold my arms, trying to push back my annoyance. “Does that meet with your approval, Mr. Zoric?”
“As I said, it’s just a medical question, Ms. Moss. No judgement implied or intended.” He clears his throat again and moves his pen down the paper. I see he’s checking off boxes for each question. “Just a few more things, now. Do you have an arrest record?”
“No.”
“Any past or current narcotic addictions? History of mental illness?”
“No.”
He looks up then, searching my gaze, and my heart flips. Silence blossoms between us. That’s right, Luka. See me. But he goes back to his papers and I feel the loss like a snapped wire.
I need to get it together. Let this go. I mean, I thought I already had. I haven’t felt angry or resentful over our one-nighter in years. I put that bitch to bed. Seeing him has stirred up those emotions, though, and I’m not quite sure what to do with them.
“Can you tell me about your family? Mother, father? Siblings?”
Perfect. Nothing like talking about my parents to make me feel even worse. “I’m an only child. My parents live here in Chicago. We’re pretty close.”
“Do you drink alcohol, and how often?”
“Socially, mostly. I don’t know…maybe one or two drinks per week?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, seeming to ponder something before he writes on the paper.
This checklist seems suspiciously family-friendly.
Maybe this gig is for someone big with a strict morality clause, like the Disney Channel or American Girl.
I can play the girl next door if I have to.
I don’t care if it’s not my preferred type of gig; I just want to go national.
“How do you feel about living in the city?”
“Born and raised in Chicago. I currently reside in LA. That should be answer enough.”
He smiles. “Indeed. Do you rent or own your place in LA?”
“Rent, but the lease is up next month, and as I said, I have an apartment here for a while.”
“Great. And how do you feel about pets?”
There’s something about the way he says, “pets” that signals I’d better say that I don’t have any. I don’t, but I’m not opposed to having one in the future. Luka’s mouth pulls into a line and I go with the cues.
“No pets. No desire for any.”
He sets down his pen, then rises, his long, hard body stretching out before me, his shirt going tight over his sculpted torso.
My pussy aches, just like that. He might as well have snapped his fingers and told me to come because I could.
I seriously could, just from looking at him and remembering in vivid detail how loud he made me scream—
“Ms. Moss? Can you stand please?”
My cheeks heat as I realize he’d probably already asked that, and I’d been totally lost in the memory of fucking him.
I get up and set my bag on the chair. Then Luka comes around the desk to me and holds out his hand.
I have a flash of déjà vu, taking his hand and letting him lead me.
My palm slides against his and his fingers curl around my hand, but I don’t grip him back.
He can hold on to me, but I’m going to hold on to myself.
He takes me to the center of the room and positions me, then moves to stand beside me. Even though our arms are barely touching, I can feel his body heat and the firmness of his biceps, and being this close to him makes goosebumps break out all over my body. Damn him.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Just seeing how you fit next to me,” he answers breezily.
Weird. But okay.
“And now if you’ll just turn toward me,” he says.
I do as he asks so we’re now face to face. I find myself looking up at him because I can’t not. Those sexy eyes slanted a touch at the corners, his lips parted just so. I know how he looks when he’s fucking, when he’s close to orgasm, when he comes. A shiver runs through me.
Just when I’m about to lose my willpower from the intoxicating scent of his damn spicy cologne, he steps back and gestures that I should return to my chair.
Taking out his cellphone, he types something into it and then puts it away.
Then he leans against the desk and puts on a Prince Charming smile.
“Ms. Moss, one more question.”
I sit, already wondering what kind of nonsense he’s going to ask next. “Go ahead.”
“How do you feel about marriage?”