Fashion Jungle

by Kathy Ireland

  It never bothered Brittany.

  At least, it hadn’t in the past.

  It was part of the job.

  And Ronan? Well, he’d been all about public appearances, so they talked to everyone, posed for pictures, and when she begged him to leave, he just said, “This is what we signed up for.”

  Not Oliver.

  No, Oliver looked like he’d much rather be doing other things, even if it meant that nothing happened. It was just a feeling she got from him: that he was just as happy with a solid conversation as he would be having a one-night stand. Maybe Roger was right. Maybe.

  A shiver ran down her spine as she finally reached the Editor in Chief of Trend, Grace Wingate. The last thing she needed to do was get her hopes up.

  “There you are!” Grace was decked out in head-to-toe Yves Saint Laurent, black, always black, with a long string of black pearls hanging from her neck, and oval-cut diamond earrings sparkling in her ears. Her red lipstick was drawn on with perfection, ideally complementing her pale skin. Exactly six honey-colored highlights blended in with her brown, shoulder-length hair. Not a split end in sight. The woman touched her thick, black spectacles and grinned up at Oliver. “And who are you?”

  Grace was confrontational, to say the least, but she had to be. It was part of her job, part of the persona. As the most successful editor—not to mention the most influential—she didn’t have time to hold someone’s hand.

  She was more likely to slap it.

  Brittany would know.

  Tough love would describe Grace well. She was the sort of woman who threw people into shark-infested waters while sipping champagne with one hand and dumping blood over their heads with the other.

  Sink or swim.

  And because of that, Brittany had learned a very important lesson in the fashion industry early on. It wasn’t a mistake that she worked for Grace.

  Brittany had been one of the first supermodels on the cover of Trend.

  And she knew that Grace was grooming her to be more than just a pretty face.

  For that, she respected her.

  Even loved her.

  “Dr. Oliver Desmond.” Her date stuck out his large hand and, rather than shaking Grace’s, he brought her heavily ringed fingertips to his mouth and kissed.

  Grace’s eyebrows arched as she glanced over at Brittany. “Where have you been hiding this one?”

  “She only lets me out on good behavior,” Oliver joked, releasing Grace’s hand.

  “Pity. Brittany needs a little bad in her life.” Grace winked, making Brittany wish for the floor to swallow her whole. “What kind of doctor are you, Oliver?”

  “I’m a surgeon.”

  “Is that so?” She shared a look with Brittany, smiling behind her champagne. “How lovely for you.”

  Oliver wouldn’t know, but that was like getting the highest praise from the Queen of England; Brittany would have to tell him later.

  The fact that Grace was even having a conversation past a greeting was a miracle. Everyone who knew her, knew that.

  “We were just leaving.” Brittany smiled at her mentor. “Did you need me for anything else?”

  “Go, go.” Grace initially waved Brittany away but then pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek, whispering in her ear as she did. “We’ll talk Monday about the article you wanted to do.”

  Excitement coursed through Brittany’s body. “I would love that.”

  “Yes, yes, I know you would.” Grace rolled her eyes and gave her a dismissive nod. “Now, leave with your well-trained surgeon before I change my mind. Oh, and make sure the ridiculous intern realizes that soy milk and coconut milk aren’t the same. And if he shows up one more time with the wrong Starbucks, I’m going to flip that pathetic thing he calls a chair toward the corner for the next six months while he watches paint dry and thinks about all the ways he’s failed me.”

  “How about I just get your coffee?” Brittany offered softly. The woman did not perform without her soy milk latte, one Splenda, a half-inch of room from the top, double cup.

  “You’re an editor, it’s beneath you. He’s an intern. We pay him to get coffee. If he can’t do his job correctly, then I’ll find someone who can,” she said simply. “Last chance, you’ll tell him?”

  “Absolutely.” Brittany actually liked Tom, but he was the sort of intern who got distracted by the clothes, beauty products, and celebrities walking in and out of the building. He was basically a human raccoon when it came to jewelry, but while he did a wonderful job with organizing things, he wasn’t as good at doing the easy stuff like coffee.

  Coffee, the simplest job in the world.

  “Lovely.” Grace beamed and then turned away like she did whenever she was done using words. The conversation was over.

  And Brittany was excused.

  Free.

  Excitement thumped in her chest. They were going to talk about the article! Finally! Something other than the beauty spread, something other than her face. She would get to write beyond fashion.

  “Smile any wider, and I’m going to get jealous I’m not the reason,” Oliver said once they were out the door and walking down the stairs.

  “Maybe you are,” Brittany offered, turning to him.

  “Hmm, I think she lies.” He knelt down.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Grabbing your heels. You keep shifting your feet. Are they new?”

  She nodded. How did he notice something so trivial? She was a pro at smiling through the pain, but they’d started to rub her little toes on both sides.

  Ugh. Roger.

  At least walk in them before gifting them!

  “So, I’m just going to walk barefoot?” she mused as he undid the buckle on the right foot and slid the expensive shoe off.

  “I’ll have you know…” He smirked up at her. “I work out.”

  “Do you now?” She giggled.

  “I would flex, but this shirt is really tight. I don’t want to kill it. Having that on my conscience may destroy me.”

  She put her hands on her hips and laughed. “Yeah, think about the sleepless nights.”

  “See, you get me!” He grinned, his eyes zeroing in on her mouth before he grabbed the other shoe and then turned. “Hop on.”

  “Hop where?” She frowned.

  “My back.”

  “But my dress…”

  “Easy fix.” He turned back around and, before she could protest, his hands were on her hips, slowly sliding the dress up her thighs, making it so indecent that she was suddenly aware of the wind rushing between her legs ready to kiss her rear at any moment. “Now, hop on.”

  “If you say so,” she said in a shaky voice, jumping onto his back and wrapping her legs around him.

  Her shoes dangled in his right hand as he held her tight and started walking.

  “Did you have a destination in mind?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you always like this?”

  “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” She could hear the teasing, the confidence in his voice as he walked down the street and then stopped at one of those tourist shops with a selection of graphic T-shirts and key chains in the window. He set her down on the cement. “Be right back.”

  Frowning, she watched him jog into the store with her shoes and then jog right back out about a minute later with a bag in hand. She hadn’t even straightened her dress yet.

  “Let me guess, you got me that I heart New York hat I’ve been eyeing?” She grinned.

  “Even better.” He pulled a pair of fire-engine-red flip-flops out of the bag. They said New York on the sole and probably cost five dollars. “I got you comfy shoes.”

  “My hero.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous as he bent over and slid the shoes onto her feet, tossed her expensive ones into the bag, and then offered his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Now, the date can start,” he said, not looking at her.


  “Excuse me?”

  “A date is where you talk to someone, where you get to know them. I was your plus one. Now, I want to be your date—if you’re okay with that.” His blue eyes flashed as he grinned down at her. Why did it feel like she was the only woman in the world? Why was his stare so… penetrating?

  She gulped and then gave him a slow nod. “Yeah, I would like that.”

  “Good answer… I think I’ll feed you.”

  “Ha-ha. And if I said no?”

  “Then no food. I call it positive reinforcement.”

  “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed the models?”

  “Nope.” He stared down at her as they stopped at the crosswalk. “You’re not the type of person to say no to good food. I don’t think you have the heart to reject a good steak.”

  “Maybe I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Maybe I’ll convert you to meat…” He winked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Yup, totally asked for that.”

  “You really did. I had no choice. And please tell me you don’t eat some weird soy burger with a side of grass.”

  “No.” She laughed. “I love a good burger.”

  “What about… a hot dog?”

  “Ohhhhhhh.” She twirled in front of him and then reached for his hand as they crossed the street. “Sounds like you’re trying to spoil me.”

  “A good hot dog is better than flowers any day.”

  “The way to a woman’s heart.”

  “I’m glad you get me.” His emphasis on the you started tingles along her spine, and then they were on the corner near a hot dog stand and ordering their food, hers with extra ketchup, and his with extra pickles.

  They laid their food out on the steps of the business building next to the stand while the city continued its constant onslaught of noise and lights.

  “I love it here.” He handed her a napkin. “It’s always so alive.”

  “And loud,” she added without thinking.

  He tilted his head at her. “Which makes me assume you grew up in a place that was very… quiet.”

  “Very.” She scrunched up her nose. “I grew up on a farm, with the most amazing family… dogs, pigs, goats… When I came to New York, I was horrified that I couldn’t just walk barefoot down the street.”

  “Well, you can… it is New York, but a nice Staph infection would most likely be in the cards if you made it a habit.”

  “True.” She laughed. “Which I quickly discovered after everyone lined the street with their trash.” She shuddered. “I learned shoes were probably a better life choice about two months after moving here.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen,” she said quickly, reaching for her hot dog and taking a medium-sized bite. It tasted like it could save her soul, that hot dog. And Oliver was looking at her like all he wanted was for her to keep talking. It was terrifying, mainly because it meant he was interested. Right? And if he were interested, was it in the conversation? Her body? His assumption of what retired supermodels did? See! This was why she didn’t date! She had trust issues and questioned everyone’s good intentions. Maybe because most everyone had an agenda.

  Even Oliver.

  “Young.” Oliver wiped his mouth with his napkin, his dazzling smile bore down on her. Seriously, the man was good-looking. How was it possible that he was single? There had to be a story. She suddenly wanted to torture herself with every detail of his past, his dating history, the women he’d been with, all in order to find out where she fit into that puzzle. He was at least thirty-five, but he had this playful yet protective attitude about him.

  “Very young.” Memories assaulted like they always did when she thought about her first day in New York. How wrong she had been about what it would be like to be discovered and launched into the modeling industry. She grabbed her Star of David necklace and twisted it with her free hand.

  “What’s that?” He asked gently.

  She held the necklace out. “Early on in my career I had an opportunity to go to Israel, it changed my life,” She was cautious on how much she said. After all, this was date one. And she didn’t know him well enough yet. Brittany turned away. “Anyways, it’s a reminder of the life I want to lead even when it’s hard.”

  And because memories were cruel, she suddenly saw her parents’ faces before she was ready to confess all the things she’d been put through, all the trauma, the horror, the shame.

  But her parents had been so proud of her, so she let them believe the lie she swallowed every single day. Perfect. Life.

  “You look sad,” Oliver whispered. “I didn’t mean to pry, about the necklace, your past, I just want to know you.”

  “Not sad.” She took another bite, chewed, and then shrugged forcing herself to relax. “It’s just… this city has a way of hurting you in ways I don’t think most cities do. Like you said, New York is a living, breathing thing, isn’t it? A monster if you let it be. Or a savior. An escape. It can be whatever you want it to be, and I came here thinking it would be this great adventure. And it was, but everything has a cost, you know?”

  “What was your cost?”

  She didn’t answer at first, emotions jamming up her words. With a sigh, she finally admitted, “My innocence.”

  He was quiet for a few seconds, maybe thinking about his response before asking, “Did you ever want to leave? Pack up and go home?”

  “No.” Her smile felt bitter. “That’s not how things are done in this industry. If you’re successful, you get paid. And every time you get money, or you get more notoriety, it’s like this… drug, this addiction you can’t quit. My parents were so proud of me, I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them that I was bunking in a room with no air conditioning with at least a dozen other girls. I couldn’t tell them about the girls who didn’t make it, the ones who wanted it so bad that they were willing to sleep with photographers just to get a spread in a magazine. The same girls who would cry rape if they didn’t get the job. And the horrible thing was, they truly thought that they had gotten taken advantage of if they didn’t get the job when they were the ones who offered their body for a price. No promises, not in this place.”

  “Hmmm.” Oliver took another bite of his hot dog and stared at her. “Your parents would have probably understood.”

  “Maybe.” She looked down at her lap.

  “Brittany, are you all right? Isn’t it late there?” Her mom sounded worried. “I just had a feeling I needed to call you.”

  “Yeah.” Brittany tried to smile through her tears as needles lined her vision. As she looked to the right and saw one of the older models give a younger girl cocaine for the first time. “I’m fine, Mom, just tired.”

  “You sound tired, but that must be good, right? That means you’re getting work and you’re happy. Honey, we just want you to be happy.”

  And there it was.

  Happy? Brittany was thrilled. She was successful, but something just felt… off. “I am happy, Mom. I promise.”

  “Good. I’ve been praying for you.”

  Not this again.

  Brittany released a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t thankful.

  It was that it just seemed… wrong.

  And Brittany felt so distant from it all.

  She had grown up in church.

  And now, she was surrounded by sex and drugs, stuck overseas in a place models referred to as “The Dungeon.” It didn’t help that earlier that day she was asked to do a topless shoot and wasn’t really given a choice. She was new, after all.

  She shuddered.

  Welcome to reality.

  It was like a sucker punch.

  And she was still young, trying to figure out where she fit into such a big world.

  She dug around in her duffel bag and hit something hard, then pulled it out.

  Her Bible.

  She almost put it away.

  And
then she hesitated.

  What else was she going to do?

  Drugs?

  With a roll of her eyes and out of sheer boredom, she picked it up, only to have it slip out of her hands and fall open to the gospels.

  Why did it just remind her that she needed saving?

  “You look far away again,” Oliver commented, taking his trash and hers.

  “Just thinking.” She drew in a soothing breath.

  “Maybe one day you’ll tell me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are we going to talk about the Kampbells?”

  “No,” she said quickly. And then felt bad. “At least, not right now, not when you’re smiling at me like that, not when I feel happy with you. I don’t want to bring in the ugly.”

  “So…” He moved to sit closer to her. “Tell me something true.”

  “Ahhh, pulling out the big guns.” She looped her arm with his, staring down at her flip-flops with a grin. “I used to go to bed so hungry—completely by choice, mind you. I was tall for my age, but I wanted to make sure that I looked thin enough. We all did. It had been pounded into us from day one. I remember passing a hot dog stand and wondering what it would be like to have freedom.”

  “From the industry?”

  “Ha, no. Freedom to take a bite.”

  “Poor, starving model.” He elbowed her. “I promise to feed you… always.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and then cupping her head between his palms. She let out a shaky exhale.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.” His voice was so confident, it made her smile.

  “Are you trying to prepare me?” she asked, her voice shaky. It was happening. It felt both wrong and right. Oliver must have sensed her hesitation because he wasn’t quick about it. He lingered in that space between will he or won’t he. He breathed her in like a kiss would be his undoing.

  A small gasp slipped out as he slid his tongue along her lower lip and then brought his hand behind her neck to ease her closer. Her heart thundered in her chest as he deepened the kiss, only to suddenly pull back. “Go out with me again.”

  Her emotions were everywhere. Guilt that they were already kissing, shame that she was that same girl just older, never wiser, and excitement because, somehow, it still felt safe. And she needed that.