No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  The elation I felt at being asked to lunch was tempered by reality. My smile faded into a grimace. “I’m not sure anything will make me fit in with that sort of crowd.”

  “Don’t doubt yourself,” he said encouragingly. “You just need a little practice.”

  Glancing down at the new clothes, I asked, “Are the clothes part of that? I mean, I know Marie thinks I dress like a slob, but…if it bothers you too, you could have just said something. You know I would…” I trailed off before saying I’d pretty much do anything he asked of me. No need to completely demoralize myself.

  Mr. Gabriel frowned. “No, of course not. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough around me to wear whatever you want.” His frown deepened, despite his words. “The thing is, I intend to start giving you more opportunities like meeting with Brandon, getting out from behind your desk. While I have no problem with you wearing jeans and tees to work, when you meet with a client or prospect, something like what you have on now would be more appropriate.”

  “I know that,” I said quickly, embarrassed that he’d think I needed to be told something so basic. “I’ve just…never, you know, been asked to do something like that. I wasn’t prepared.”

  “I know.” He nodded seriously. “And that is my fault. I plan to rectify that failing, however, if you don’t mind me doing a little coaching with you.”

  Coaching? I swallowed hard. The possibility of being alone with him more often was both electrifying and terrifying. I was still very uncertain about what had happened the night before. I might have imagined half of what I’d interpreted, at the time, to be sexual interest from him. In fact, I was almost positive I had hallucinated most of that. What he was offering now had to do with work, not sex. Not even close.

  Focusing my thoughts—which wasn’t easy—I said, “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Gabriel.”

  He took a bite of his eggs, removing the fork from his mouth with thoughtful slowness that made my stomach muscles clench. “When it’s just the two of us, please just call me Donovan. Most of my other managers do, and Mr. Gabriel feels overly formal with you.” His gaze came up to meet mine, a smile curving his lips and bringing a playful glint to his eyes. “Especially given that you’ve slept over at my apartment.”

  He was teasing. Breathe, Reagan. He was just teasing me. Telling myself that didn’t stop me from blushing, yet again. “I’d really prefer to keep calling you Mr. Gabriel, if you don’t mind.” I said it, knowing that any more familiarity between us would be my undoing. It was already hard enough keeping my thoughts centered and my hands to myself. Being in his apartment like this was killing me. I felt as though I could barely breathe, being in his presence in such a casual manner. Look at what it had led to the night before. I couldn’t be trusted when it came to him. Something I was well aware of at this point.

  “Well, I do mind,” he said, serious, but playful. “Unless Marie comes down to hassle us, I’ll expect you to call me Donovan from now on.”

  He stood and set his plate in the sink. He didn’t bother to rinse it, which made me wonder if he had a maid who would slip in and take care of it later. Running a small, niche magazine wasn’t something that made him some billionaire playboy, but it provided a healthy salary that could certainly afford something like that. Glancing around the simply decorated room, not lavish or extravagant, I wondered what he did spend his money on.

  “I’m going to finish getting ready,” he said as he came around the bar and wiggled his bare toes. “Will you be ready to leave in about fifteen minutes?”

  I nodded soundlessly, biting back an offer to help him finish up. God, what I wouldn’t give to be alone with him in his bedroom. Fighting thoughts like that wasn’t easy, and I was forced to distract myself with eggs and toast as he disappeared around a corner. I wasn’t hungry, and felt sick with every bite I took. That was only partially due to being where I was. The upcoming photo shoot with Brandon had my entire body tense. Dread wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what I was feeling.

  Fifteen minutes later, as promised, Mr. Gabriel reappeared. The ride down to the lobby was quiet. The drive to work barely any better as he pushed me to talk about a few work issues still needing attention before the print deadline. The more he talked about bleed and safe zones and image quality, the more I relaxed. I was almost feeling halfway normal by the time we pulled into the garage. As soon as I saw the door into the building, I found it difficult to breathe again.

  I jumped when someone touched my shoulder. Spinning clumsily, Mr. Gabriel’s grip tightened to keep me from falling. His expression showed concern, and maybe a little guilt. “If Brandon doesn’t behave, at all, don’t hesitate to call me. I have a few meetings this morning, but Ben has strict instructions to interrupt me if there’s an issue with the shoot, okay?”

  Nodding, I shoved my fears down as deep as I could and did my best to look like I wasn’t a scared kitten. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  He hesitated, then squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure it will.” His hand slid halfway down my arm before he seemed to shake himself and pulled back. “Ben knows where to find me if you need anything, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and gestured toward the door. I would have really, really preferred he went in ahead of me while I hid out here for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, but he waited for me to take a step toward him. A half smile lit his features and we walked up only one set of stairs to get to the lobby, something his reserved parking space afforded and mine did not. I was usually much farther away and had to make a trek up several flights of stairs to the main floor.

  Blessedly, there were very few people in the lobby as we approached the elevator and hit the call button. I didn’t recognize anyone, so my hope that no one would think to question why we had come in together rose a little. I was due a little luck after the previous night.

  The ride up to our floor was quiet. I wished Mr. Gabriel would say something, but I was no help either. I couldn’t come up with a single thing to say to him other than how fabulous the bed sheets were in his guest room. Definitely not something I should bring up at work.

  As if his thoughts were in sync with mine, he suddenly asked, “Did you sleep all right last night?”

  I had to think before speaking. “Yes, thank you.” I felt proud of myself for not saying something embarrassing.

  “Good,” he said, his voice sounding odd.

  “Did you?” I asked before I could think better of it.

  Turning to look down at me, his brows pulled together but the corner of his mouth tilted up. “I was a little worried about you, but otherwise, yes. Thank you for asking.”

  My stomach twisted. “I’m sorry for…”

  He shook his head. “Please stop apologizing.”

  He turned, stepping so he was facing me. His expression made it clear something was on his mind, but he hesitated. Then, without saying a word, he faced forward again. I thought perhaps I had done something to offend him, but the elevator pinged and the doors slid open a moment later and I realized he was concerned about someone seeing him that close to me.

  I hung back as he exited, pretending to make sure I wasn’t in the way of any of the three people waiting to get on the elevator. When I did slip out, Mr. Gabriel was gone. Relief washed through me. Hoping he would simply forget about last night. I would think of it much more than I should, but I never wanted to talk about it again. Ever. The whole night could go down the memory hole, as far as I was concerned. What a fucking mess.

  Surprised at myself for swearing like that, even in my head, I knew I was close to hitting my limit. Stressed out was a completely inadequate description. My footsteps stalled when I reached the studio. Voices carried out through the half-closed door. Emily and Brandon. They were laughing, and I crossed my fingers it wasn’t at me.

  It took the last of my strength to push the door open and step into the studio. Emily squealed in delight as soon as she saw me. “This is going to be so much fu
n!” She was grinning as she practically skipped over to me. “Brandon has some great concepts in mind, and I have everything I need to get you ready. Come on!”

  She started dragging me across the room to the adjoining dressing room. Brandon watched our retreat, but said nothing to me of his plans or concepts. Why should that surprise me? Nobody seemed interested in telling me anything anymore. Sighing, I let Emily shove me onto a stool and listened to her babble as she ironed my hair and applied makeup. I didn’t protest anything until she darted over to a clothing rack and came back with a silk sheet.

  My eyes went wide as soon as I realized what it was for. “No! I am not going back out there in nothing but a sheet!”

  Emily halted, startled by my animated response. “I’m going to pin it on,” she said, as if that explanation alone should have been enough to allay my fears.

  Shaking my head, I was adamant. “Not going to happen. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I refuse to be a pawn in it.”

  She gave me a confused look. “Reagan, the shoot is for capturing skin tones. Which means…there has to be skin. Right?”

  My stomach sank clear through my toes to the floor below us, all the way down to the parking garage. Oh my god, why hadn’t I considered that last night? When Brandon had pressured me to sit for him, I’d focused on the fact that I’d be in front of his camera, at his mercy. I hadn’t fully comprehended the theme of the shoot and what it meant for me. I felt like I was going to puke.

  There was no way I could do it. Bailing meant telling Mr. Gabriel I’d failed him, backed out after making an agreement, and not securing a contract with Brandon. My feelings for my boss had become an even more confusing mess than they usually were, but I still knew one thing for sure. I couldn’t let him down. Shit. I had no choice.

  And I was swearing again. My dad would be very disappointed.

  “Okay,” I squeaked.

  Emily’s expression morphed into one of compassion and reassurance. “Brandon is very professional. And gay. Honestly, it’s going to be fine. I’ll be in the room with you the whole time, too. And, you’re going to look amazing. Mr. G is going to die when he sees these.”

  She grinned, as if that was supposed to make me feel better. “Why do you keep saying things like that?” I snapped.

  She tipped her head to one side. “Because he thinks you’re hot and would totally be all over you if he weren’t your boss.”

  “You’re dreaming,” I said, still not sounding very friendly.

  “Whatever,” she laughed. “His eyes go straight to you any time you’re in the same room together. Everyone knows he’s hot for you.”

  I choked on my spit. “What?”

  Emily stared at me, confused. “You didn’t know that? You haven’t noticed? Seriously?” When she took in the devastated expression on my face, her eyes widened and she hurried to continue. “Not that his interest makes anyone think differently about you. Everyone here knows how amazing you are. Mr. G being into you, well, it actually kind of makes people around here pretty happy.”

  I shook my head. “What? That makes no sense.”

  Seeming uncertain for the first time since the conversation started, Emily shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know all the details. I’ve only been here two years, and whatever happened was before that, but I know it was pretty bad. Mr. G has never been one to date someone he works with from what I’ve heard, but I guess he hasn’t dated anyone at all for the last seven years, since whatever it was that happened back then went down.”

  Emily tossed the sheet on the chair back and crossed her arms over her middle. “Look, I’m not saying he’s ever going to act on it or whatever, but I wasn’t trying to make you mad. He really does seem to be interested in you and I was just teasing. Sorry if I upset you.”

  “No,” I said slowly, trying to process everything she’d told me. “It’s okay. I’m just having a rough morning and feeling a little strung out. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  She didn’t look as though she believed me completely, but shook it off and went back to her usual easy-going nature. “Okay, let’s get you ready. Everything needs to come off, then I’ll help you with the wrap.”

  Dread filled me again, but was at least slightly distracted by curiosity and confusion. As I slipped out of the clothes Mr. Gabriel had provided for me, I wondered. Maybe I hadn’t imagined everything from last night, how close he sat to me, what his nearness might have meant. If Emily were right, did that affect the way he saw me as an employee? I didn’t want success based on anything but my work ethic and skills. He’d never once given me any indication he thought my abilities weren’t exactly what he said out loud.

  Had something changed? Last night, he was different. I couldn’t have read into things and been that off base. This morning, as well, he seemed genuinely pleased to share breakfast, and happy about taking me to lunch. I knew Marie wanted me “classed up” before the convention, but Mr. Gabriel certainly hadn’t seemed put out to be the one saddled with the job.

  I ran out of clothing to remove and my thoughts about my boss scattered. “Okay,” I said hesitantly, “I’m ready, I guess.”

  “Great!” Emily said. She appeared around the side of the divider with the silk sheet held out in front of her. I walked toward her and she descended.

  A few seconds later, she had the sheet pinned behind my back so my breasts were covered, and above one of my hips to keep everything else covered. “I’ll adjust as needed during the shoot, depending on what Brandon wants, but all the important bits will stay covered. Promise.”

  I sighed and regretted ever agreeing to this. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  Way more excited about the experience than me, Emily grabbed my hand and began towing me back into the studio. Brandon was busy adjusting lights and the background material when we entered. Emily’s announcement of our arrival pulled him to face us. As soon as he did, his mouth split into a grin.

  “Beautiful,” he said. Turning to my companion, he said, “Emily, lovely work, as always.” Then back to me, “I knew you’d be perfect for this. Thank you so much for agreeing to sit for me. It’s one of the concessions I plan to ask for in the contract.”

  Startled that he wanted to discuss the contract when I wearing nothing but a sheet, I stumbled over a response. “I don’t, uh, have any power, to well, make any adjustments. To the contract.”

  “I know, Beautiful. I was just mentioning it, given your willingness to sit for me.”

  I shook my head. “This was a onetime deal. I’m not…”

  He shook his head. “Not you specifically, though I’d be happy to shoot you anytime.” He picked up a lock of my hair and gently laid it behind my shoulder. “No, I meant that I will insist on having final say over any models used. I’ve reviewed all the past issues since Marie took over, and some of the model choices were subpar. I won’t work with the wrong model. It degrades the art.”

  That sounded extremely self-important and egotistical, but I only said, “Oh.” I started to move away from him, but then remembered he’d said it was one of his demands. “What else are you going to ask for?”

  Brandon crooked an eye at me, intrigued that I wanted to know. “Final say over what images are used in each article.”

  I wasn’t sure if this was intended to be a shot at me, as the image acquisitions manager, or simply more of his ego playing into his negotiations. Frowning, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “For example,” Brandon said, “I’m quite sure you haven’t yet considered the impact of sitting for me today, and how being an employee of the paper, you might not want your face in any of the article images. I, however, have thought of that, and will insist on the right to decide which images are used, not just so only my best work is printed, but because I care about my models’ wishes as well.”

  He was right. I hadn’t thought about that at all. My dad read the magazine. Well, he had a subscription anyway. I had no idea whether or not he actual
ly opened it up. If he did, though, and saw his daughter half naked on the pages, he would freak out. Taking in a deep steadying breath, I made a conscious decision not to plop down on the divan behind me.

  “Thank you,” I said with as much strength as I could manage. What was Mr. Gabriel going to think when he saw the pictures? Or Marie?

  “The third concession,” Brandon said, still watching carefully despite his casual tone, “is that I retain all rights to any images not used in the magazine. If I want to put one into one of my shows, I want full freedom to do so.” His eyes narrowed as he watched me try to pull myself together.

  “Which brings me to this,” he said. Picking up a single sheet of paper from another box, he handed it to me, followed by a pen. “This is a model release form, which I know you’re familiar with. Provided Marie agrees to my provisions, I’m asking for your permission to use images of you from this shoot in an upcoming show of mine.”

  I stared up at him and blinked several times before answering. “But, you don’t even know if they’ll be any good yet. I might be a horrible model. I’m pretty sure I will be, actually.”

  Brandon grinned at me and gripped my chin lightly. “I’m positive you won’t be. Trust me, okay?”

  I had the distinct feeling in the pit of my stomach that I shouldn’t trust him, not even a little, but I was stuck. “Fine,” I said with a sigh. As if I really had much of a choice at that point. I signed the model release and thrust it at him.

  He smiled again. “Perfect. Let’s get started then.”

  After setting the paper and pen down, he came back to my side and led me to the divan. “Face away from me as you sit down. I want to highlight the subtle tones in the skin along the curve of the spine.”