I turn on my agent before I have time to calm the fuck down. “What the hell is your problem?” Leaning my palms on the smooth, mahogany surface, I glare at her as rage fuels me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies coolly. That’s her, the ice princess of the modeling world. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, and I respect that, but when she starts meddling in my personal life, that’s another matter altogether.
“The clause in the contract,” I advise. “I’m not allowed to date anyone from the magazine?”
A small smile dances on her lips, and she sighs slowly as if I’m a child, and she needs to take me aside and explain something very simple to me. I’m not amused at her, and it shows in my demeanor.
“Bloody hell, Blythe,” I fume. “Tell me what the hell is going on?”
“I marketed you to Brazen as a bachelor. You are labeled the Brazen Bachelor for a reason. I don’t need my boss shitting all over me when you get all swoony for some girl.”
“That’s not your call to make,” I counter. Frustration bursts in my chest, and my heart is thudding wildly against my ribs. She’s acting like she owns me, but she doesn’t. I can walk out of here now and find a new agent. It’s not like there’s a shortage of them.
“It is if I’m getting paid for it,” she insists calmly. I watch her pick up the espresso cup, take a sip, then set it back down.
“I don’t give a shit what you think you’re getting paid for. Your job is to work with me professionally, to look out for the business side of my life, not, and I repeat, not the personal.”
She doesn’t look at me for a long while. Pushing up from the chair, she turns to the window and gazes out at the city below us. The busy streets of Manhattan are filled with tourists and workers alike, rushing from one place to another, but up here, we’re free of that noise.
“I don’t mean to be a pain in the arse,” I add and note how she grins at the way I say the word. “But this is my personal life, and if I choose to see someone outside of the studio, then it’s my choice.”
A long silence greets me, and she sighs, shaking her head. “If they feel you’re not living up to the brand,” she articulates finally, turning to face me. “Your arse will be out of a gig, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Yes, I can find you another job, that won’t be a problem, you’re perfect for a multitude of clients I have, but it won’t have the limelight that this one does.”
She looks at the folder on the table, her face creased with concern, but she doesn’t need to be. I’m a big boy. I can live without the fame. As long as I can get an income, I’ll survive.
“Is she worth that?” Blythe questions, lifting her blue gaze to meet mine. That’s the million-dollar question. How can I know if I don’t try this with Violet?
“Since you’re taking away my choice to see where this is headed with her, I cannot answer that.” It’s the truth, and she knows it.
I don’t know how long we stand there, staring at each other, gazes locked in a standoff. Finally, she nods.
“Fine,” she sighs. “But keep it quiet, just for the first week or so. I just need to know if this is serious. If it is, we can renegotiate the terms with them.”
Nodding, I smile. “Thanks, Blythe.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I know she’s worried, but I believe she has no reason to be. This is where I’m meant to be, and Violet is who I’m meant to be taking this journey with. Even if it’s for a week or two. I know she’s someone I can connect with.
Now all I have to do is convince Violet of that.
10
Violet
It’s been twenty-four hours since the interview. After Colton left, he told me, no, he promised me he’d make me see he’s not who I thought he was, yes, he’s cocky and brazen, but I’m not sure how he’s going to change my mind on anything else. I’m definitely looking forward to him trying.
I open my browser and type in Ida’s website. When it opens, I click on the submissions and scroll through the letters posted this morning. I decide to ask her for advice.
Dear Ida,
I have a conundrum. There’s a guy … Doesn’t it always start like that? Anyway, he’s someone who has a reputation that precedes him, and not in a good way. I mean, yes, he’s lovely to look at, and I suppose that’s why he is so popular with the ladies. However, he’s now got his sights set on me, and I’m unsure how to proceed.
I like him, I admit I do. But, I’m afraid of getting hurt. My heart can’t take another heartbreak, and he’s far too perfect for me. I’m not his type I don’t think. No, actually, I know I’m not.
I don’t understand why he’s so enamored with me, but he promised me he was going to prove he’s nothing like his public persona.
My question then is—do I give him a chance?
Or do I run for the hills?
Frustrated in Manhattan
I hit send. As I sit back in my chair, the door flings open with a whoosh, and a delivery man strolls in carrying what looks like a dozen yellow roses. They’re absolutely beautiful, and I wonder briefly who Clarissa has been dating. She never mentioned anyone to me, and there’s nothing on her calendar that states otherwise.
Unless she has a secret admirer.
“Miss …” The man looks down at his delivery list, then smiles. “Miss Kennedy,” he says.
My mouth falls open in shock.
“Yes, um, that’s me,” I acknowledge.
He nods and smiles, handing me the clipboard to sign. Once I’ve handed it back to him, he hands me the bouquet and leaves. There’s a small card attached. Pulling it out, I open the envelope to find the note from Colton.
Colton: I’m not as bad as you think. Give me a chance.
I don’t know what to say or do with this, but I flop into my chair and grab the cell phone on my desk. I scroll through the contacts to find Colton’s number I added yesterday.
Should I call? Or should I text?
I opt for a text message because I have to be honest with myself—I’m nervous. I feel like a teenage girl who’s just gotten a gift from the quarterback in high school.
Violet: Roses. Classy and beautiful. Thank you.
I hit send before I have time to rethink the message. I take the bouquet to the small kitchen attached to Clarissa’s office and find the vase we normally use to put flowers in for board meetings. Filling it with water, I place the roses into the crystal holder and take it back to my space to set on the side of my desk.
They’re lovely. I catch myself smiling before I shake it off and focus on my laptop. As much as I try to work, I can’t because I keep checking my phone. This was the reason I wanted to stay single. I didn’t want the anticipation of 'is he going to call?' hanging over me all the time.
Opening my email, I find a few from Clarissa needing my immediate attention, and instead of looking at my iPhone screen, I flip it over and open the first mail.
I allow my mind to drift to the phone again but force myself back to the computer. The words blur, and I know my focus isn’t staying on the work I need to finish.