When she admitted it to herself, she knew her case of nerves had nothing to do with the show…and everything to do with the plan. For the first time ever, she realized this whole plan could backfire and a tiny part of her brain was yelling Abort mission!
Before she stepped onto the catwalk, she knew why. It was because she was actually starting to care about Brian Zimmer. Instead of ripping him to shreds, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, telling the world she thought she might be in love.
What a stupid idea. They’d never work. Brian was the kind of guy who never took anything seriously. Sure, basking in the glow of new love, he seemed perfect, but that sheen would fade quickly, leaving behind the man he truly was—and she knew they were oil and water.
When it was time, she stepped out onto the runway just as another model made her way toward the back for a rapid clothing change. Fortunately, Sophie had the expression down pat—an emotionless, soulless body on which designs were draped for maximum dramatic effect. The makeup they’d put on her almost disguised her, what with the strange colors and shadows, but she hoped Brian would recognize her, nonetheless. Not that it mattered. What was happening here would be a small hint of what was to come later in the show.
She only hoped an enterprising photographer or two would catch it. That would make her job easier later on.
As she made her way down the runway, she stopped at various spots as she’d been instructed so that every so often, the audience could see the design more closely, really scrutinizing it before the next model gave them something else to ogle. The first design Sophie wore had to be one of the strangest things she’d ever put on her body. The short dress was a light purple color with giant angel wings emerging from her shoulders, and those were light pink. On her feet were silver ankle boots and on her head was a light purple fedora with pink feathers in place of where the band would go, simulating, she supposed, a halo to go with the angel theme. The woman behind her would be modeling a devilish design and, as Sophie took her first few steps, she wondered how many women would actually want to wear something like this to an event other than Halloween.
Maybe that had been Sebastian Smithey’s plan all along.
At last, she was near the end of the catwalk, and Brian and his friends were to the side. Just before getting there, she struck a pose and looked straight at him, shooting daggers. In response, he smirked and even rolled his eyes. It wasn’t until she resumed her walk that she realized he was even slumping in the chair, his legs splayed out in front of him as if to communicate how lame the whole show was.
His performance was perfect.
Sophie only hoped that some enterprising photog had caught their exchange and would be ready for more after the show.
Only time would tell.
Chapter Twenty-three
As Brian and his friends stood up to leave, Emily asked, “Why did you even come to this, Brian? You didn’t seem to enjoy it at all.”
That told him his performance had been exactly what he’d been shooting for. Sophie’s reactions had been subtle—after all, she needed to protect her reputation—but he was pretty sure people had noticed, just like she’d hoped.
At this point, though, Brian was having major reservations about her whole plan. What had happened here was merely the beginning, and already he felt uncomfortable about it. What she had planned for later would take place in front of or near a publicity backdrop—and there were plenty to be found. While her plan was practically foolproof, meaning Brian had no doubt they could pull it off and get the coverage she’d hoped for, he was liking the plan less and less.
Maybe it was because he was feeling nowadays like he had some real skin in the game.
Clay said to Emily so quietly Brian could barely hear it, “It’s part of the plan, babe. Don’t sweat it.”
“What does that even mean?”
Brian turned to face his friends. “If you guys wanna ditch me, that’s cool.”
“No, man. We’re here for the duration.”
“I think it’s gonna get ugly.”
“All the more reason for us to hang with you. Besides, some of these people actually seem to recognize us. Isn’t the whole idea behind this—” Clay looked around and then lowered his voice, leaning closer to Brian before continuing, “more publicity? If we really want that, then having me and Emily along can only help.”
Swallowing, Brian forced a smile. “Fair enough. Then let’s get this over with.”
There were people everywhere, but they were different from the crowds at their concerts. The vibe here was one of excitement, but it all felt so shallow to Brian, so meaningless. He understood that there were lots of people who didn’t care for his music, but there was no arguing that music, no matter the genre, was an expression of the soul. Art. And even though on the plane ride here Emily had made a case for fashion—that the designers were artists in their own right—Brian couldn’t help but feel that the consumers, the audience of people flowing around him, were not there for the art.
Maybe it was that he was in an emotional funk. Nothing here felt right—not the people, not the event, not even the energy.
And he didn’t want to trash Sophie anymore. She wasn’t some stupid, vapid model. She was someone he had actually started thinking about more and more, someone who felt like maybe she could fill that void inside him.
But he was already committed to her plan.
Soon, he and his friends were outside, walking through throngs of people, and sure enough, he found what he was looking for: a line of publicity backdrops and in front of them were people holding microphones being filmed by people holding cameras. Before that, though, Brian had to survey the landscape. When he spotted Sophie not far away wearing a short dress with big polka dots, he knew she was ready to go. There was no acknowledgement but that had been part of the plan.
“You guys ready to walk the gauntlet?”
Emily’s eyes darted between him and her boyfriend. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this plan?”
Brian wondered that himself. “Maybe because you’re no dummy.”
“Man, you don’t have to do this.”
“I do. I promised.”
As they began walking along the backdrops, just pretending to be looking on, what happened next was just as Sophie had predicted. A woman’s voice, almost shrill, cut through the low drone of the crowd around them. “Hey, you guys belong to Last Five Seconds. Oh, you’re Brian Zimmer! I suppose we should have expected to see you here, considering all the buzz around you and Sophia Buckley.”
As instructed, Brian continued to walk, pretending he hadn’t heard her, even though Clay and Emily had stopped. The woman with the mic got closer. “Hey, Brian Zimmer, wait. Tell me—” When Brian finally turned around, she asked, “Is it true you’ve been catching some of the shows here during Fashion Week?”
“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. So tell me what’s up?”
Brian bit his tongue. This woman was obviously caught up in the spectacle. She herself was wearing a strange get up, a gauzy red blouse with green apple appliqués covering her nipples and red leather shorts. While he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him the fashion industry’s most-hated man, Sophie stormed over to them as if on cue. “You son of a bitch.”
“Oh, Sophia Buckley! It’s as if I had a genie—”
He and Sophie faced each other, now ignoring the interview. All according to plan, of course. “Get out of my face, woman.”
“No way. You came to my turf just hoping you could throw me off my game. Well, it’s not going to work, you asshole.”
“You got it wrong, babe. I was wanting to talk to you.”
“Well, you can do it here. Unless, of course, you don’t have anything nice to say.”
He actually had nothing to say. He wasn’t feeling this at all. A few months ago, it would have been easy to insult this woman on camera—but, now that he knew her h
eart, he had the responsibility to protect it. Calling her all the things she expected him to felt wrong. “My mama always said if you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say shit.”
“You’re a big chicken, Brian. You act so tough, like you’re such a bad boy, and then you get in front of a camera and you can’t even perform.”
The poor interviewer was trying to get in questions and finally gave up—but she made sure to shift the microphone back and forth between the two.
“You got it wrong. But maybe that’s just ‘cause you’re a stupid model.”
“Always insulting my profession. Maybe your mama should have told you not to be an asshole in public.”
“I think that’s what bad boys do—but maybe you missed that. Typical.”
Sophie’s voice had escalated now, and had Brian not been caught up in the moment, he would have been impressed with how much emotion she was actually displaying. Real or not, it was a stretch for this closed-mouth, tight-lidded, close-to-the-vest woman.
“You think you know me, Brian Zimmer, but I assure you that you do not. You think all models are stupid. Inane might have been the word you used? But maybe you can only attract women like that. Those of us with brains are smart enough to give you a wide berth.”
“Even the smartest model is lucky to have an IQ of one hundred. But I’m guessing you think that means a perfect score.” He was glad he’d rehearsed some of these comebacks, because this beautiful woman had made his heart beat harder, and he didn’t want to say any of this shit. At this very moment, all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and take her away from here. “You probably don’t even realize your dress makes you look like a ladybug. Or, worse, you probably did that on purpose.”
“Ladybugs are cute.” Sophie jabbed him in the chest with a shiny fingernail. “But look at you. I think you’re jealous.”
Brian scoffed. “Jealous? Of what?”
“Of me.”
Despite hating this whole debacle and despising how they were talking to one another, Brian couldn’t help but laugh. “You got me. I want nothing more than to be a model strolling down that catwalk in a cute little angel dress.” Then, he put his hands together at his waist and looked up, hoping he was achieving a dreamy look, posing like a model might. If he was lucky, his sarcastic actions would underscore his words.
Wait. What was happening? It was like his brain was taking this shit seriously, like they were back to square one.
Sophie’s emerald eyes seemed to be telling the same story, that this whole exchange had shifted somehow from pretend to real—and her words held that weight, that sensation of being real. “Maybe you should try it. It’s pretty obvious to me and the rest of the world that you want attention. You want the attention a frontman garners but without putting in the hard work.”
“You’re wrong. I’m perfectly happy where I am.” But there it was. That one thing deep inside that he thought he’d left behind years ago. How had she managed to find it? And not just find it—exploit it. It was that one fucking thing he’d never even talked to his friends about—and, somehow, Sophie had discovered it like it was a vein of gold, and now she was digging deep. Brian fought to keep his face as calm as could be but inside he was a tempest.
“I find that hard to believe. Why don’t we ask your friend over here? Maybe he could shed some—”
“Leave my friends out of it.” Shit. His voice was a little louder than he’d wanted.
And that fucking microphone.
“You think everything’s a joke, Brian. Like you’re the clown who has to make everybody laugh, even when it hurts.”
Was he really like that?
His eyes searched hers, trying to find her humanity, hoping to see just a spark that said she actually cared about him—but all he could see was cold, calculating madness. And then he realized it.
This was the second fucking time Sophia Buckley had gotten him. Got him good, in fact.
And now it took everything in himself to not jab her back. But he took a deep breath, what he’d heard Dane refer to as cleansing from time to time, and then fought to keep his voice as calm, steady, and emotionless as possible. “We’re done here. I’m sorry I caused some huge emotional scar to rip open inside you when I insulted models. I’m sorry you didn’t have the brain capacity to figure out that I was just fucking around. I’m sorry that you got a whole lotta crazy inside that I somehow managed to provoke. But I’m done poking at the beehive.” Turning to the woman holding the mic, he said, “Sorry for cursing on camera but take note that Brian Zimmer is telling the world that not all models are stupid. Some, however, are batshit fucking crazy.”
“You’re still cursing.”
“Edit it out. Edit all this out if you feel like it. I’m outta here.” Turning back to Sophie one last time, he pointed at her. “I’d tell you to have a good life, but you’ll probably sabotage it. So good luck with that.”
Her eyes. Oh, God, those beautiful green eyes. Finally, he could see some pain in them—or, perhaps, realization. He didn’t know. He couldn’t fucking read her anymore. He just knew he had to get the fuck out of here right now—and get his drink on shortly afterward if he had any say in the matter.
When he turned to Clay and Emily, they both appeared sufficiently shocked. Maybe Emily appeared a touch embarrassed, too, but Brian was in no position to judge.
“Let’s hit the road, guys.”
And he never looked back, even when he thought he might have heard Sophie call his name.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Five minutes, Ms. Buckley.”
“Thank you.” Sophie turned to look at the mirror one last time. The makeup artist for this talk show had wanted to enhance the work Sophie had already put into her face this morning, but as she looked at her reflection, it appeared to be far too much.
Too much cheek color. Too much smoke in the corner of her eyes. Too much red on her lips. When she’d been blonde, she’d been able to pull off crimson lips but now that she was back to her real hair color, it all just seemed too much.
Or maybe that was her heart talking…her guilty conscience.
The fight with Brian had been too real and, looking back, Sophie admitted to herself that, perhaps, she’d been too caught up in the moment. Maybe she’d been going for the throat. And she’d done far too good a job. She wasn’t sure where in their fake argument she’d gone off the rails, but she had. And it wasn’t until he called her batshit crazy that she’d fully realized she’d crossed the line long before that.
But, afterward, he wasn’t responding to her calls. Or her texts. Even Mark offered to pass on her messages, but Brian had already shut her out.
No apologies. No acceptances. Nothing.
That fight had worked like a charm, though. While she couldn’t speak for the band’s album or tour sales, Sophie was now a star in her own right. A supermodel. People really thought she was a little bit crazy but they couldn’t get enough of her. Her schedule was booked out for weeks, so much so that she rarely had days off. Worrying about rent was a thing of the past—good thing, because Rory kept hinting that he was maybe going to move in with Allen Tucker. It had been love at first date for those two, and Sophie wasn’t about to stop him.
He did ask if she’d be his maid of honor sometime down the line, and she enthusiastically agreed.
“Come with me, Ms. Buckley,” the stage manager said, popping his head in her room again. Sophie stood, walking behind him with head hung as if she were a death row inmate. Because of her stardom and new name recognition, she was in demand. When the popular daytime talk show had contacted her for an interview, Sophie hadn’t thought twice about it—even when her agent urged her not to do it, quoting Abraham Lincoln about being silent and merely thought a fool.
Sophie saw it as her one chance, though. If she could hurt Brian publicly, she could also apologize in front of millions of people—and, if the host didn’t lead her to it, she was going to find a way to go there
anyway and, hopefully, that stuff wouldn’t end up on the cutting room floor.
From the wings just off stage, the audience’s clapping nearly drowned out the swell of the orchestral music. Then, the host’s voice cut in as the other sounds died down. “You might have heard a thing or two about my next guest. She’s a supermodel, made famous thanks to her very public arguments with a rock star. Please help me welcome Sophia Buckley.”
More music. More clapping. The stage manager nodded, signaling Sophie to step onto the stark stage—and it took her a few seconds to make her feet work—and the black platform heels had nothing to do with it. The crowd cheered when she finally walked out and she smiled first at Clara and then at the audience, waving, hoping her phony smile looked authentic as she made her way toward the sofa where she had been told to sit.
The little arrangement had the feel of a living room—until Sophie looked out at the rows of people and the cameras at the foot of the stage. So she decided to focus on Clara, the beloved talk show host, and smiled, hoping she looked gracious and at ease.
“Sophia Buckley.” Clara, a tiny blonde woman, clasped her hands together and leaned forward as if speaking with a dear friend. “A year ago, none of us knew you unless we purchased lingerie or lipstick, and even then, you were nothing more than a pretty face.” The woman gave Sophie a slight smile, and the model suspected they were probably sharing the photos her agent had sent upon their request, highlighting past and present work for the audience at home and possibly even on screens for the viewers attending in person. “Today, lots of people know your name and face, thanks to a video that, shall we say, went viral. I’d add that it also brought Brian Zimmer’s name and face to our attention as well. So I’m starting there.” Of course. Clara was known for not pulling punches, but Sophie had hoped she’d at least ease into it.
Slow Burn (Feverish #4) Page 18
