by Stella Gray
We were up so late together last night that Luka was just starting to sit up in bed when I finally got up to get ready for my cycling class with Mateo. I planted a quick kiss on him and then hurriedly brushed my teeth and pulled on my Lululemons before running out the door.
I wish we’d had more time to talk this morning, but at the same time I’m glad he’s getting a little space today. By the time I get home from my workout, he’ll probably be out at the business lunch he mentioned or else on a series of conference calls—though I’ve noticed that his working weekends have gotten a lot shorter lately. It hasn’t escaped my notice that how busy he is during his free time seems to directly correlate with how things are going in our relationship.
Still, a little time apart will be beneficial; give both of us a chance to recharge. I’m sure he’s on emotional overload after the stress of yesterday’s interview and then the intimacy we shared. I feel drained, too, but in a good way. It’s as if all the bad vibes between us are finally gone, leaving room for the good to flood back in.
I just hope my husband feels the same way.
As I sweat through my ninety-minute class, all I can think about is how Luka touched me so carefully, his hands worshiping me as if he were learning my body all over again…it was almost as if it was our first time together. As much as I keep telling myself that Luka and I should enjoy our independence, I still wish we could have spent the whole day with each other. Then again, I understand that even though I’m completely into him, he still needs time to process things and figure out where I stand in his eyes. Hopefully it’ll be sooner rather than later.
Mateo notices I’m off the beat in my cycling and snaps his little towel at me with a grin when we go for our high-resistance sprints. Then he teases me during the weight-lifting section.
“I know that look,” he hisses in the dimly lit room. “You and Luka finally made up?”
Shrugging, I admit, “You could call it that.”
He lifts his brows suggestively, and I know I’m blushing. Thank God it’s dark in here.
Maybe Luka’s lunch will go so well today that he’ll come home early so we can get some more alone time this evening. I can’t be the only one looking forward to round two.
I ran out of the house without a change of clothes this morning, so my post-class shower will have to wait until I get home. Popping open my locker, I grab my purse and keys, but I have to apologetically beg off when Mateo invites me to go shopping with him this afternoon.
“But I’ve got a long-term gig in LA coming up soon,” he whines. “You’re gonna wish you’d spent more time with me here in Chicago when you had the chance.”
“You just want help picking out cute shoes!” I tease. “Besides, we’ll see each other again soon. I don’t think I could get away from you if I tried.”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Ugh, fine. But if I don’t get laid tonight, I’m blaming my date night outfit failure entirely on you, Brookie.”
As I climb into my car, I shout over my shoulder, “Text me pics so I can approve!” and then speed off.
I make a pit stop at the grocery store to grab a few ingredients for a gourmet dinner tonight, then swing by my favorite boutique to pick out some skimpy lingerie that I know Luka wouldn’t mind seeing me in. Nothing wrong with a little enticement, I always say.
But he’s still not home by the time I get there. Disappointed, but not exactly surprised, I put away my things and turn my attention to Mr. Kibbles. The poor thing has been inside his kennel all morning, and it’s time to let him out to play.
“How’s my sweet boy?” I say, and he wags his tail, doing a frantic puppy potty dance. Uh-oh. “Does Mr. Kibbles need to go for a walk?”
He yaps excitedly, and I get him harnessed and leashed so we can go. I’m still dying for a shower, but the dog takes priority.
The weather is beautiful, almost as good as LA, which after a few years totally spoiled me for any other climate. Not too windy, the sun warm and bright, the scent of flowers in the air. A perfect afternoon to go for a long stroll with my dog. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud.
I’m in love with my husband, and I’m almost certain he loves me back. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet.
Mr. Kibbles is a ball of energy, happily spinning and bouncing as I lead him to the dog park a few blocks away. He does his business and then eagerly scrambles off to play with some of the other pups in the fenced-in area for small size dogs. I throw the ball for him after that, but all he wants to do is climb into my lap and pant his puppy breath in my face.
“Are you all tuckered out, Kibby?” I say, stroking his soft ears. “Let’s head home.”
I don’t have a specific route in mind as we begin to wind our way back through the familiar neighborhood. Traffic is light, the usual noise giving way to the hum of bees and the chirp of birds. I let the dog sniff almost every tree for two blocks before deciding to cut across the bridge and into a more populated area full of cute shops and restaurants. An iced vanilla latte from the café up the street sounds great. And maybe Mr. Kibbles would like one of the little doggie cupcakes they sell at the bakery four blocks down.
I wait for traffic, then cross behind Luka’s favorite family-run Italian eatery, Armando’s. He loves their entire menu, but his guilty pleasure is their Italian subs—soft rolls layered with provolone, spicy salami, and mortadella, then doused with oil and vinegar and red onions. I grin. Maybe I should stop and get him one to go…for later, in case I end up too distracted to cook.
I veer toward the restaurant, then remember I have the dog with me, who I certainly can’t take into the building. Oh, well. Guess I’m playing chef tonight after all. I’m about to keep going when Mr. Kibbles’ ears perk up, tail furiously wagging as he strains on the leash.
There’s a couple canoodling at the curb up ahead, the woman in a big sun hat and dark sunglasses, arms thrown around the man whose shirt perfectly outlines the shape of his broad shoulders. But then he turns his head in my direction, and my heart stutters as I do a double take.
It’s Luka…in Monica Shore’s arms.
Right out here on the sidewalk for the whole fucking world to see.
The dog starts barking excitedly, pulling harder away from me to get to Luka, whose eyes are now locked on mine. I have no choice but to approach them now.
As I head over, Monica grins and makes no move to let go of my husband. Luka still has his arms around her, too. He seems to notice and pulls away as if it’s no big deal.
“Thanks for lunch,” she coos sweetly, making me want to rip off her sunglasses and scratch her eyes out. “Nice seeing you, Brooklyn.” She winks and slips into a waiting SUV.
I’m numb with rage. Mr. Kibbles starts jumping on Luka’s leg, whining and begging for attention, but my own limbs are frozen in place. All I can do is stare my husband down.
“You nitpick about my image?” I try to breathe. My head is spinning. “What about yours? Out with another model! In broad daylight! We literally just did an interview to make people forget about shit like this, and you turn around and take out Monica Shore behind my back?”
I storm away, dragging the dog with me back toward the apartment, pumped full of adrenaline now that the initial shock has worn off. Luka follows. We’ve gone about a block before I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer. It’s like the rage is just boiling out of me.
“You’re not even going to try to pass that off as being innocent?” The words hiss out of my mouth, my gaze darting around to check for paparazzi or witnesses.
Luka is walking beside me now, Mr. Kibbles happily walking in front of him even though I’m holding the leash.
“It was innocent,” he insists. “I told you, I had a business meeting today.”
I shake my head. I’m so pissed I can hardly see straight. We pass behind some buildings, ducking down an alleyway far from the eyes of any casual passersby, and I turn to him and raise my voice again. “Tell me. What legitimate bu
siness could you possibly have with that snake?”
He shrugs as if this whole thing is being blown out of proportion. “I signed her.”
My mouth drops open and I’m absolutely speechless for a moment. “You…you did not.”
“I did. Yes.”
I think about last night, how tender and emotional he had been.
It was all a lie.
“Why the hell would you do that?” I shout.
My voice is too loud. A woman with a stroller jogs by, giving us a cursory glance, but keeps on going.
“I’m DRM’s Executive VP of Talent. Signing models is literally my job.”
I scoff. Lowering my tone, I lean closer to the man who’s just stabbed me in the back. “That doesn’t mean you should sign my enemy! She’s going to be my biggest competition!”
Not to mention, she’s the person who tipped off Luka about my almost-contract with Elite Image, and essentially ruined my marriage before it even really began.
He shrugs again, his expression cool. “You were never guaranteed all the best jobs, Brooklyn. Some things you’ll have to work harder for, and if it turns out that Monica is a better fit, then that’s who’ll get the gig. Do you think you’re entitled to special treatment?”
“I never said I wanted special treatment. But Monica fights dirty, and you know it.” I shoot him a glare. “Is there something between the two of you?”
He shakes his head, and I actually believe him. “Not outside of a working relationship.”
Luka folds his arms over his chest and I can tell he’s losing his patience. I don’t care. I’m mad as hell and there’s nothing he can say to calm me down.
“You better not be fucking lying to me,” I say.
“It was just business,” he says, his voice getting hard. “Anyone could see that.”
“Anyone?”
“Anyone but you, apparently.”
That’s it. I’m a second away from snapping. Just being near him makes my skin crawl. I thrust the dog’s leash at him. He takes it with a surprised jerk.
“Walk your own damn dog,” I tell him, stalking off.
I don’t look back.
Brooklyn
Chapter 18
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 indicatio
n 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.
