by Stella Gray
Luka’s said all of this a hundred times, and I know I should trust him, but I can’t help second-guessing his words. I keep telling myself everything will turn out okay, but I won’t really believe it until I hear the results out loud.
I take a small breath. “Okay. I’m going to stay calm, I promise.”
“Good. Let’s get a drink, maybe something to eat? I don’t think you’ve had anything all day.”
He’s right. I’ve been too anxious to sit still and force down food since breakfast.
We make small talk with a few people as we head away from the dance floor, but thankfully, no one pulls us in for deeper conversation. I put together a plate of fancy snack foods and make myself eat a bit of everything, though each bite goes down like ash.
There’s no way this night won’t end on a good note. Luka has been nothing but sweet and doting. He wouldn’t be acting like this if the contract weren’t going to me. He’d be warning me, gently cautioning me against getting my hopes up. Trying to protect me from a hard fall.
An older gentleman I don’t recognize slaps Luka on the shoulder. “I heard you did a hell of a job pitching your models for this campaign. Guy’s done nothing but sing DRM’s praises since he flew out here. Says your agency is disrupting the whole industry, rewriting the rules.”
Did he say models? I continue chewing the bite in my mouth.
“Thanks, Sebastian. Fingers crossed it goes our way.”
I narrow my eyes at Luka as the man heads off in another direction.
“Who else did you pitch?” I ask.
Luka just shrugs. “He wanted a new face. I handed over everything I had on the models we’ve signed in the last year or so. But you’re the one I was gunning for all along, I promise.”
I nod, but my throat suddenly feels tight. I excuse myself to the ladies’ room, toss the rest of my food, and then lock myself in the big stall at the farthest end of the restroom. I need to get a grip. Of course DRM pitched other models, right? They can’t take a gamble on just one candidate. People like to have choices, especially for a campaign this big.
I can’t imagine Luka would fight for anyone more strongly than he’d fight for me.
I reapply my lipstick and a touch of gloss, then fluff my hair and take some calming breaths. Feeling more centered, I head back out to the ballroom, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray en route. I find Luka in the center of a group of DRM’s models, all getting their picture taken with toothy grins. He excuses himself the moment he spots me.
“Feeling better?”
I tip my glass and wink. “Much better. Having fun since I was gone?”
His eyes flash as they fall to my lips. “Finish that drink and I’ll show you some fun.”
Smoothing a hand down his tie, I shake my head. “Not now. You’ll wrinkle my dress.”
I down the rest of my drink and hand off the empty glass just in time for Luka to pull me back out onto the dance floor.
We sway slowly, our bodies pressed tightly together.
“All right, now,” he whispers in my ear. “I can’t say anything for sure—nobody’s seen what’s inside the envelope except for Guy himself—but I talked to him while you stepped out, and let’s just say things are looking good. He assured me I’d be very pleased with the outcome.”
A huge grin splits my face, and it takes all my self-control not to start hopping up and down. Luka kisses the top of my head, and I lean happily on his shoulder as the slow dance continues. This whole night has been utterly magical, like a fairy tale. Luka has been so attentive and kind. Showing me off, hardly leaving my side. Part of me feels like I should be cautious at the sudden change in our relationship, but I’ve craved this for so long that I don’t want to be scared or second-guess it all. I just want to enjoy it and hold it close. This is what our marriage should have been all along, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for.
There’s a break in the music. We’re just leaving the floor when an elegant older woman in a flouncy gold ballgown catches Luka with a wave. In her manicured hand, she clutches an envelope the same color and glittery shine as her dress. My pulse kicks into overdrive.
“I’ve been protecting this with my life,” she says, “but now it’s time to turn it over to you. Ten minutes and you’re up, Mr. Zoric.”
He thanks her as he takes the envelope and tucks it into his breast pocket. I pretend like a supernova of anxiety and anticipation didn’t just erupt inside me. Everyone around us turns to look and make little comments about what’s inside, whose name is inside. The band plays one more song, but I barely hear it. Meanwhile, the woman preps Luka about his appearance on stage, and before I know it, a hush falls over the room and we’re all taking our seats.
My husband takes the stairs to the stage and approaches the mic in the middle. A round of clapping and cheers goes up from the room. I feel eyes on me but I don’t look at anyone. I can’t.
I clasp my hands in my lap, knowing I have to keep my composure. In a matter of moments, my life is going to change forever. I’m going to be a household name. My face spread across billboards coast to coast, popping up on TV in other countries, featured in ads inside every magazine that counts. Working with Maxilene is going to launch my career like nothing else.
“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming out to celebrate with us on this exciting evening. Maxilene’s campaign search has drawn a lot of attention, and I’m very honored to be the one holding this little treasure.” He holds up the envelope. It shimmers in the stage lights.
“I could go into a big speech about nothing just to prolong your suspense, or, I could just get on with it.”
The crowd laughs along with several shouts of, “Open it!”
He winks. “I think I’d better just open it.”
My smile is making my cheeks hurt. I’m sitting so still, so tight, that the muscles in my shoulders begin to burn. I can barely draw a breath. Luka slides a finger under the flap and lifts out a card. He blinks fast, once, twice, his expression neutral. I can’t read him. He’s giving me nothing. I expect his eyes to find mine, for his grin to break across his face all big and excited.
He licks his lower lip as he finally meets my gaze. “The Maxilene campaign goes to…Monica Shore.”
My stomach drops, my ears suddenly ringing. A round of applause and deafening cheers explodes from the crowd, the noise so insistent and loud that I’m almost second-guessing that I heard him correctly. Did he say Monica fucking Shore?
And then I see her moving through the crowd, practically bouncing on her stilettos, red lips blazing as she throws her head back in a laugh. Her normally platinum blonde hair is newly dyed a rich brown, curled into lush waves…a hairstyle that I immediately realize looks like an exact copy of mine.
How? How did this happen?
Everyone is on their feet. Everyone but me. I can’t bring myself to care if anyone notices that I’m sitting there with my face still frozen in a false grin, trying to figure out how this all went so wrong. Luka didn’t fight for me that hard, did he? He was helming this plot to woo Maxilene, and somehow she’d come out on top. That meant he’d rallied for her, too, and hard.
He told me they were looking for a new face—not an overexposed one with a new hair color. Did he campaign for her harder, knowing she was more experienced and had a better chance at this than I did?
His words about my Happyland gig come back to haunt me: “DRM isn’t exactly in a financial position where we can be turning down contracts.” Did that mean he’d thrown me under the bus in favor of Monica Shore to ensure the agency secured this seven-figure deal?
Fury tightens my insides. Surging out of my seat, I press a hand to my chest. My lungs feel like they’re caving in.
I think back to when they met for breakfast and I’d seen them while walking the dog. He said they’d been discussing business. That he’d signed her. Is this why? Because he didn’t think I could cut it, and he knew a heavy hitter like her
could win over Maxilene on DRM’s behalf?
Did he always intend to elevate Monica’s career over mine?
Luka finishes his speech, but I’m not listening anymore. Monica has her arm looped through his and I have to turn away so I don’t scream out something that will get me blackballed forever. My hands ball into fists as I move to the side of the stage and behind the curtain. Luka will have to come this way when he exits, and I know exactly what I’m going to say.
He betrayed me. Again.
And the worst part isn’t just that he led me on about this campaign. It’s that he obviously doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him. Luka Zoric doesn’t love me.
I can’t live like this. Not anymore.
The curtain moves slightly as he trots down the last stair and appears from behind the fabric, almost running smack into me.
“Brooklyn—” His eyes go wide, but I don’t give him a chance to finish.
Keeping my voice low, I hold up my hand to stop him in his tracks.
“I want a divorce. And I’m taking the dog.”
Also by Stella Gray
Arranged Series
The Deal
The Secret
The Choice
* * *
Convenience Series
The Sham
The Contract
The Ruin
About the Author
Stella Gray is an emerging author of contemporary romance. When she is not writing, Stella loves to read, hike, knit and cuddle with her greyhound.
