18. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
They say some of the best advice for a healthy relationship is never going to bed angry.
If that’s the truth, my marriage should be in the ICU.
After catching Luka out with Monica on Saturday, I spent the rest of the weekend in my room, only venturing out to take Mr. Kibbles for a few long walks and pay for the meals that I had delivered to the apartment. No way in hell was I still cooking for Luka like I’d planned.
Thank God it’s Monday. I have a shoot lined up for a luxury-resort client, and that means I finally have something else to focus on besides my anger and feelings of betrayal.
Heading for the door, I leave a few twenties on the sideboard for the dog walker and try to ignore Mr. Kibbles’ sad eyes as I hurry off for a few blessed hours of work.
It’s bad enough I have to do so much emotional labor for Luka all the time—nobody warned me I’d end up so invested in my dog’s feelings as well.
I’ll have to talk to Luka about looking into some doggy daycares.
On second thought, maybe I can just send him an email.
As I drive toward Old Town, I can’t hold back the waves of bitterness washing over me.
Luka never once tried to speak to me over the past few days, nor attempted to smooth things over about Monica.
Which only infuriated me more. If there was truly nothing going on between them, he should have made an honest effort to clear the air between us.
As for signing her to DRM? It will be a cold day in hell when I let that bitch take my place.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’ve done things I never would have done in the past to give myself a fighting chance. Going down in vindictive flames is not the way I want to go.
She’d better stay out of my way.
I valet my car at the high-rise building where we’re shooting today and take the fancy elevator up to the suite where the set is all a-bustle.
I’m glad Luka was too busy to accompany me today like he has been—nobody needs to see us fighting.
It also means he won’t be hovering over me and trying to take control…
so if the photographer wants to get some down and dirty pictures, I’m ready and willing.
In fact, I hope he wants me to pose naked just so I can see my husband’s eyes go red when he finds out later.
I’m greeted by an assistant and in no time, I’m whisked off to hair and makeup. The photographer comes in while I’m getting my hair curled. He’s an older gentleman with an aristocratic air that I’ve worked with before. He leans down to kiss my cheek.
“Brooklyn Moss, as beautiful as ever.”
“Thanks, Cyrus. It’s so good to see you,” I say. “What’s the setup today? All I know is that it’s for a company that builds all-inclusive resort hotels in the world’s beachiest places. Are we using a green screen, or will I be sitting in a sandbox while you spray me with salt water?”
His eyes light up with good humor as he sits on the edge of the makeup counter, looking on as the hairdresser winds a lock of my hair around the thick curling iron.
“You might get a kick out of this, actually,” he says. “Did your agency mention that this company exclusively builds adults-only resorts?”
“As in, unlimited booze and no children?” I ask, stifling a giggle as my lips get painted.
“That’s it exactly,” he says, and now I know why he seemed so amused. “They initially wanted to focus on the luxurious, zen-like aspect of their vacation packages, but they’ve had a last-minute change of heart. The new vibe they want is—and I quote— ‘dirty billionaire.’”
We share a laugh, and I shake my head at how ridiculous this is. “So does that mean I’m the billionaire?”
Cyrus shrugs. “Both of you can be billionaires. The marketing angle is that the hotel offers you the chance to feel like you’re part of the one percent, even if it’s just for a weekend.”
My heart starts pounding with the gratifying rhythm of sweet, sweet revenge. “Did you say both of us?”
Just then, the assistant pops back in with her brows drawn together and speaks low in Cyrus’ ear before hurrying out. The photographer takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as if he’s keeping himself in check, then slides off the counter.
“Well, team, it appears we’ve had a wrinkle. Our male dirty billionaire just canceled.”
The hairdresser pauses as if she’s suddenly unsure if she should keep going or not.
I sigh with disappointment. I was planning on having the better part of my day occupied.
Luka might be at work, but just being in the penthouse right now makes me antsy.
I’m about to tell the hairdresser just to pull my half-finished hair into a ponytail when I have a brilliant idea.
It’s a good idea, too. One that will send Luka straight over the edge.
He thinks he can cavort around with Monica Shore? Payback’s a bitch.
“Wait—Cyrus? I think I may have a solution for you.”
I pull out my cell and flip through some pictures until I find just the right one. Then I hand him my phone. “Scroll right. That entire folder is all him. Is this the look you wanted?”
Mateo shines in the images, his cut and sculpted body perfectly photographed. He sends me pictures whenever he does a photoshoot and I’ve saved them, just to compare how much he’s worked his way up into some stunning gigs.
Cyrus goes through all the pictures, nodding the whole time. “I know Mateo. Well—I know of him. Haven’t had the pleasure of working with him, though.” He doesn’t smile, but when he looks up at me, his eyes light up. “What makes you think he’s available last minute?”
“He’s my best friend,” I brag. “And when I talked to him this morning, he said he was going to be really busy today binge-watching 90 Day Fiancé and cleaning out the refrigerator.”
Cyrus grins, tossing me the phone. “Then get him over here. If you please.”
With a little squeal, I dial Mateo. He answers on the second ring, another indication he’s literally doing nothing with his time right now.
“Hey babe,” he says, sounding bored.
“Hey you. Want to come out and be my dirty billionaire?”
He laughs. “I have no idea what that means, but yes. Give me the deets.”
I knew I could count on Mateo. He’s always ready to steam it up with me, and that’s exactly what I need.
After I explain what’s going on and text him the address, I have to struggle to sit still as my makeup is completed.
I’ve just stripped from my clothes and put on a white robe when he bursts into the room.
We embrace and my heart fills with joy at seeing him.
I needed this. Mateo grounds me, supports me, and always reminds me that pain and heartbreak are temporary.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell him, pulling back. “I owe you.”
“That you do. Gonna be a while before I get a chance to cash it in, though. That gig in LA starts next week, and they want me to fly in sooner than I thought. Looks like I’m gonna be back on the West Coast for the next six months or so.”
My stomach drops. “Six months? Jesus, Mat. When you said long-term, I thought you meant a few weeks!”
“We’ll call, we’ll FaceTime, it’ll be like I never left,” he soothes. “It’s just a few mon—”
“Mateo! The man, the myth, the legend,” Cyrus interrupts, extending a hand.
Mateo shakes with the photographer, grinning. “Pleasure to meet you, finally.”
They exchange some more industry small talk, then get down to the details of today’s business. I’m still reeling from the revelation that my best friend is about spend the next half-year in a city thousands of miles away from me, and the timing couldn’t be any worse.
Before I can grab Mateo back, Cyrus and the assistant walk him over to the set and ask him to take off his shirt. Mateo complies, whipping off his tee shirt with a flourish and then stripping down to his boxer shorts for good measure. He’s never been shy about nudity, that boy.
Man, he’s cut. His skin is tanned to a golden brown and smooth, and the time he puts in at the gym shows.
I’m glad he’s here. Not as a friend, but as Luka’s nemesis.
I don’t want my bestie right now. I want the hot, sexy, strong male side of Mateo.
And I want him to wrap me up in all that sex appeal, so we look like the hottest couple to ever grace a magazine page.
I’m pissed at Luka and upset that Mateo’s leaving Chicago. It feels like my life is falling apart. All I can do is pour all the fire and feelings of overwhelm into this photo shoot and dream about drowning my emotions in wine and chocolate later.
“…comfortable with that, Brooklyn?” Cyrus is saying.
I’ve totally zoned out, but I flash a smile and nod. “Perfectly.”
Cyrus goes on, “If it gets too intimate at any point, or you’re out of your comfort zone, I want both of you to feel safe calling for a pause or suggesting an alternate position, okay?”
“I don’t think we’ll have any issues,” Mateo says with a grin.
He’s right about that. In fact, I want him to practically fuck me in front of the lens—or at least, make everyone who sees these images think that’s what happened.
It won’t just be the position of our bodies, either.
It will be the way he looks at me. Touches me.
And the way I touch him back. Like he’s the only man in my life. Eat your heart out, Luka Zoric.
Mateo gets ushered behind a curtain to get ready while I’m given my “beachy” outfit, if you can call it that.
The top is basically two pasties connected by glittery strings, and the bottom is the equivalent of expensive dental floss.
The wickedness of my smile shocks me as I assess myself in the mirror.
My smoky eyes, my dark lips, the bronzer shimmering on my cheeks.
Oh, Luka. You messed with me one time too many.
I’m shown to the set by the assistant. We’re shooting on a flight of marble stairs that I suppose are meant to look like the ones you’d see in a lavish hotel lobby.
Mateo and I will be photographed in a variety of positions, as if we’re rushing back to our luxury suite from the beach because we can’t keep our hands off each other any longer.
“The company’s goal is to market themselves to couples looking for a high-end vacation experience that caters to their every need,” Cyrus explains. “I’m sure that much is obvious.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
He goes on, “So all I need you two to do here is act like you don’t have a care in the world beyond your own pleasure. Think you can project that?”
“Piece of cake,” I say, already grinning wickedly.
Just then, Mateo comes out in a very tiny pair of black swimming briefs—basically a Speedo. His body has been oiled, which shows off every mound and curve of muscle.
He stands by me and gets a recap of what Cyrus just told me, nodding along. We wait a few more minutes for the lighting tech to finish setting up the lamps to perfectly highlight Mateo and me. Once Cyrus approves the lights, he claps his hands a few times.
“Okay, let’s get started. The first layout will be black and white. Mateo, we really need your physique to pop in this first shot. Brooklyn, if you could drape yourself over his shoulder, maybe a palm on his chest, look up at him, and yes—that’s great.”
This is barely work, as far as I’m concerned.
The hardest part is not cracking a smile at the way Mateo keeps gazing down at me with his signature “sultry” face.
In fact, I have to bite my lip and lower my eyelids to keep a serious expression—but Cyrus likes my look so much that he makes me do it again and again as he snaps away with the camera.
Next, Cyrus has Mateo push me up against the wall, directing me to reach down the back of Mat’s briefs like I’m trying to get a handful of his ass. As the photog moves to get a better angle, Mateo looks down at me with hunger in his eyes. It’s so potent, I almost think it’s real.
It’s the same way Luka looked at me when we made love the other night.
My stomach flips.
“Good, good. Now if you could slide your hand up the side of her breast and slip a finger under her swimsuit strap—great, perfect. You’ve been lying on the beach all day watching each other tan, and now you’re desperate to get back to your room and rip those suits off. Show me.”
Mateo smiles and lifts a brow as he cups the side of my breast. I lean into him and look toward the camera, my lips parted seductively. My pelvis crushes against Mateo’s and I feel the bulge of his cock press against me. I have a flicker of guilt. It’s a quick flash and then it’s gone.
Did Luka feel guilty while he was superglued to Monica’s tits? Didn’t look like it to me.
I put my hand on Mateo’s thigh, squeezing as I thrust my breast harder into his palm.
He gives me a shocked look but quickly recovers as Cyrus kneels in front of us for a new angle.
We’re arranged multiple ways, each time bringing our body parts intimately closer.
I can’t help feeling relieved that I’m doing this with Mateo, not some random other model.
But more than that, I wish it were my husband that I was wrapping myself around.
In fact, pretending I’m doing this with Luka is the only thing that gets me through the rest of the shoot.