by Stella Gray
“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?”
Brooklyn
Chapter 5
How do I even respond to that?
My mind goes blank.
“M-marriage?” I stutter. “I mean, my focus is on modeling. Is this for some kind of reality show or something? Because I’m not really interested in that kind of thing.”
“It’s not for television. It’s for me.” Luka spreads his hands and I feel my jaw drop. He just smirks. “Not what you were expecting when you came here today, was it?”
That’s an understatement. I had no idea I’d run into him again, despite half hoping I would, and I certainly never imagined he’d be more or less proposing we get hitched.
“You’re right,” I stammer. “I was expecting to audition for a job. Or a contract.”
He clears his throat. “It is a job, if you want to look at it that way.”
I blink at him, still not quite comprehending what he’s offering.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” he says. “But you may find the arrangement to be to your benefit. Perhaps we should discuss it in more detail over dinner. At my penthouse.”
His cheeky smile throws me off-center. It’s the same self-confident, alluring grin that shattered all my defenses three years ago—and the lust that’s been teasing me since I walked in here comes at me full force. It’s awake and alive. If I’m not careful, I’m going to give it free rein.
I’m so torn, but I’m also so intrigued. Plus, I can’t help feeling like I owe it to myself to explore exactly what he’s offering. “I’ll do dinner, but not at your penthouse.”
His eyes drop to my lips. “Fair enough. Meet at Luciana’s at eight?”
It’s a small Italian restaurant, popular with locals and fiercely guarded from tourists. Though the food is incredible, it’s not a five-star restaurant—but still fancy enough to be labeled a date-night destination.
This isn’t a date, I remind myself. It’s a business meeting.
And I am definitely, for sure, one hundred percent not going home with Luka Zoric.
“Sure,” I say.
I’m not going down that road again. This time, my interactions with him will be purely professional. I know better than to accept private auditions, and then offer up my body in exchange for some sweetly placed false words. I’m older now. Stronger and wiser, and come hell or high water, I’m not giving in to the extreme need for Luka’s touch. Even if it kills me.
The only thing I need is to get signed by Danica Rose so I can step into the next phase of my life.
There. I’ve already decided how this evening is going to go. I stand and slip the strap of my bag over my shoulder. Then I extend my hand to where he’s still standing beside the desk. He takes it with a raise of his brows.
“Thank you so much. I’ll see you tonight at eight.”
I turn on my heel and leave, not giving him a chance to reply, forcing myself to walk confidently even though I want to race out of there and rush home to figure out the perfect outfit. I walk into the waiting area only to find it empty. I look around, as if the other models might be hiding behind potted plants or in one of the glass-walled conference rooms, but I see nobody.
The receptionist is still here, typing away on her computer. I consider asking what happened to the others, but I decide not to.
I don’t really care.
As I ride the elevator back down to the lobby, my mind starts racing all over again. I have a non-date with the ex-one-time-lover who ghosted me. No, scratch that way of thinking. I have a business meeting with an agency professional who can make my career.
But he said marriage. He can’t possibly mean like marriage-marriage, can he? I’m both incredibly nervous and curious to find out—but the most nerve-wracking thing of all is being alone with Luka.
I take an Uber to Wicker Park and resist calling Mateo as soon as I step inside the apartment and find that he’s gone. I know he’ll want all the details, and I’m too nervous to talk about it right now. Besides, tonight is the real substance of this whole thing. I’ll call him after my dinner with Luka so he can talk me off a ledge if need be.
After I change into yoga pants and a hoodie, I stop by Heart and Home’s main operations center to help sort donations and then make a Starbucks run for the admins who work so hard in the office. They’re used to seeing me pop in at random hours, especially since I’ve moved back to Chicago, and I’m happy for the distraction…although Luka is never far from my thoughts. Still a mix of giddy and anxious, I grab a quick lunch and then take a long walk in Humboldt Park to burn off some adrenaline, soaking up the weather and the dog-watching along the way. Then I head back home. Mateo’s still out. Time to get ready.
Even though I showered this morning, I’ve had the longest day ever, so I pull my hair up into a bun and take another. The hot water relaxes me and helps me center myself. Then I take my time doing my makeup and styling my hair. It probably doesn’t really matter what I look like for this meeting, but I can’t help fussing—it’s just my nature.
In the end, I opt for a nude look with a little bronzer on my already golden skin, some pale pink cheek tint, and a kiss of clear gloss on my lips. After getting frustrated with my inability to pull off a sexy-messy French twist, I decide to just let my hair fall however it wants, adding some Argon oil for shine, and then slip into a simple navy blue wrap dress. It shows just a little cleavage, but the hem falls past the knee, so it’s both sexy and professional—exactly what I’m going for. As much as I’d love to have Luka desire me so I can turn him down, I don’t want to give off a “sleep with me” vibe, either.
He’s already at Luciana’s when I arrive. The hostess leads me past a roped-off doorway to a private table on the patio, tucked into a corner with a green wrought iron fence behind it, towering hibiscus flowers blooming between the rails. I wonder if he paid the restaurant extra to keep the patio blocked off just for us tonight, or if they did it for him as a favor.
He stands as I approach, a gentlemanly touch I’m not expecting, and his smile is warm. Kind, even.
“Brooklyn Moss,” he says. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too.” As if there was any chance I’d cop out.
Still, it doesn’t escape me the way he sweeps my body with a heated look that makes my nipples perk. I smile and sit quickly.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the hostess asks. “A waiter will be right with you.”
Spying a glass of something clear and fizzy with a lime twist in front of Luka, I ask for the same and settle into my seat.
God is he breathtaking. He skipped the suit jacket again and I’m glad that he did. He’s in a dark green dress shirt that complements his eyes, top buttons undone again, and dark, expensive-looking jeans. I love the no-tie look he’s got going on and the messy thing he does with his hair. It’s hard not to reach over and just run my fingers through it.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he says. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I don’t compliment him in return. No matter what, I’m staying in control of this meeting. If he really, really wants me for this assignment, or whatever it is, he’s going to have to work a little for it. “Though something tells me you don’t seriously worry about people standing you up.”
His eyebrows lift and he shrugs nonchalantly, rather than reverting to “preening peacock” mode. Huh. This Luka really is different than the one I remember. He’s still intense and carries that air of self-aware, wealthy sex appeal, but this time around he seems calmer, quieter. More focused. Maybe the downfall of KZ Modeling has forced him to grow up in a big way.
“You might be surprised,” he says. “People don’t always react to me the way you’d think they would. Especially lately.”
He searches my face, maybe to see if I’ll acknowledge the elephant in the room. I will.
“Look,” I say, “I’m well aware that your family’s business has been through hell the last few months. Guilty or not, I don’t pretend to know all the details of whatever went down, but…as far as I’m concerned, you have a clean slate with me.” It’s only partially a lie.
I can see him visibly relax, some of the tension going out of his shoulders and a smile playing at his lips. “I appreciate that.”
“No problem. And for what it’s worth, I think this will work best if we’re both as open and upfront as possible, yeah?”
“Agreed.”
As gratifying as I thought it would be to make him squirm, I can’t help the warm fuzzies I’m getting now that I’ve established some good will between us. Maybe it’ll even give me the upper hand.
Our server arrives and sets down a breadbasket, a dish of olive oil and Italian herbs, and my drink. I take a sip and realize it isn’t a cocktail at all, but sparkling water. I hold back a grimace. I hate that stuff. I figured Luka would be having a drink-drink, but I guess not. We both order pasta, which I know will be fantastic since they make it in-house—carbonara for me, alfredo for him—and then we’re alone again.
“Shall we get down to business, or are we still trying for small talk?” I ask. “You know everything about me thanks to my ‘audition’ this morning, but I don’t know much about you.” Except that you’re a manwhore. I take a sip of my drink and force myself to swallow it.
He shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. If you don’t live in a cave, you’ve probably gotten some kind of impression of me from the media. Though I’d say it’s largely inaccurate.”
I half-snort without meaning to. “Inaccurate? I thought we were going to be honest with each other.”
Luka laughs, and his grin is sheepish. “Fair enough. I’ll admit I lived a privileged life of excess and hedonism for…well, a while. But like you said, there’s been a lot of turmoil in my family over the past few months, and it shook us all up. Watching your dad go to prison for sex trafficking kind of takes the flavor out of things. So, I don’t know. I’ve changed.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say, ripping a hot piece of crusty bread apart and letting it soak up some oil and herbs before popping it into my mouth. I close my eyes and stifle a moan. It’s perfection.
“You’re making that innocent bread look downright sinful,” Luka says, his eyes glued to me.
“Sin with me, then,” I say, pushing the basket toward him. “It’s that good. And then go ahead and try to convince me that I have any interest at all in a sham marriage.”
“That’s a tall order,” he says, digging into the bread. “Especially considering that I don’t have the gift of negotiation and persuasion quite like my brother and…father seem to.”
He says the word father like it’s distasteful, and I’m quick to smooth over it.
“I imagine that you’re
very persuasive,” I say carefully, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of my voice. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you feel inferior to them in some way.”
My voice is light and teasing and he takes it that way, grinning as he crosses his arms on the table and leans over them. “You got me. The truth is, I’m the black sheep of the Zoric family. It’s easy to prove. Just look at my profile.”
He turns his head to the side, and I laugh, not at all sure what he’s up to.
“It’s a very nice profile.”
Scoffing, he turns the other way. “Look at this side. Do you see it now?”
“Again, very nice.” Very, very nice.
“You flatter me—but I’ll have you know that I’m the least photogenic of the family, by far. Which is ironic, isn’t it, considering what our family business is?”
“That’s a terrible shame.”
“It is. I mean it’s tough, having to walk around with a paper bag over your head during the holidays and family functions, trying not to mess up any group photos.”
The mental image is so ridiculous I have to laugh. I can’t believe we’re flirting like this, and that it feels so easy and natural.
“But you know,” I tell him, “everyone takes a bad photo once in a while.”
He reaches over to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my cheek for a split second. Don’t react, I tell myself. Just, don’t.
“I highly doubt that you’ve ever taken a bad photo, Brooklyn.”
There he goes again, saying exactly the right thing. Charming me. Making me want. I shake my head and pull away to grab my wallet from my purse. “Oh, yeah? Be prepared to be proven wrong.” I tug out my driver’s license and hold it against my chest. “Come on, yours too. Fair is fair.”
He fake groans and makes a big deal of pulling his out of his wallet. Then he tosses it across the table and plucks mine from my fingers. I pick his up and let out a laugh. He’s hot as hell, but that picture is something else.
