by Arell Rivers
“I am sure they will.” After a moment’s pause, she asks, “If not Rinaldo, are you seeing anyone new?”
I busy myself by pulling a spoon out of the drawer while visions of Wills protecting me from prying eyes at the restaurant yesterday play across my mind. “No…” My voice trails off and the spoon clinks on the counter.
On my screen, her eyes widen. “I knew it. You have that look about you.”
Playing with my hair, I sigh. I cannot hide anything from Maman. “I keep thinking of Wills. He is teaching me to drive.”
“Cole’s former bodyguard?
“Oui.”
“Are you two dating?”
I give her a weak smile. “No.” He made that perfectly clear when he turned down my offer to join me tonight at the club opening. And to take me driving today. But there is more than one way to pet a cat, as the American saying goes. I raise my chin. “Not yet.”
Wanting to deflect her away from Wills, I pick up my spoon, stir the café and say, “Maman, it is time for me to sign again with the Agency.” The soothing scent of the brew perfumes the air as if I were back in Paris, taking some of the sting out of Wills’s rejections.
She removes her earring at the change in topic but goes with it. “Price Modeling has done a wonderful job with your career.”
I purse my lips. “Oui. But I think I should have an attorney look it over again. Lizzie says she always has someone review hers when it comes up for renewal.” She mentioned this to me a few months ago when I ran into her at a fashion show.
“Lizzie is quite a bit older than you.”
After blowing on my café, I reply, “True, but she set the standard and has always given me good business advice. It cannot hurt to have someone look it over now. No one has since I first signed.”
Maman’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m sure you won’t have that many changes as you don’t want to make waves. The attorney Papa and I got for you before has retired. Do you want us to find you another one?”
I shake my head. “No, I can ask around here. Maybe Lizzie can give me her attorney’s name.”
Her eyes focus on something off-screen. “You are building your own life away from Paris. But I do hope you return someday.”
“Of course, I will. Paris is my home. You are there.”
Her palm presses to her chest. “I thought for a second.” She shakes her head. “Never mind. With all of your traveling, you are able to get out here, but it is never enough. And now that you are going to be a movie star, well, I am thrilled.”
Emitting a very unladylike sound at her last statement, I reply, “I would not say I am going to be a movie star, Maman. I only have a cameo.” I take my first sip of café and enjoy its bitter warmth as it slides down my throat.
She waves her hand. “Just do your best, and you will shine.” Her smile lights up my screen. I cannot let her down. I will continue to make her and my family proud. And how hard can it be to do my best, when I will be playing myself on-screen?
After our call ends, I take my mug into the salon and sit on the sofa. The contract from the Agency sits in a pile on the coffee table. Reaching over, I flip through the pages, but my eyes cross at all the dense type, in English no less. I would like to have a bit more control over my schedule going forward, so perhaps an attorney could help negotiate that for me. I pick up my cell phone and text Lizzie.
While I am on my phone, I hop over to one of my favorite places, Instagram, and scroll through my feed, smiling at the photos my followers posted with questions about their outfits. Of course, as the account is not under my real name, they do not know I am behind the advice. And I like it this way. I get busy responding to their style questions.
Reaching for my mug, I sip the now lukewarm brew. I cannot believe well over an hour has passed since I answered Maman’s call. The ding of a text brings my eyes to my cell, where Lizzie’s smiling face shows on the screen. After thanking her for her attorney’s name, I call and make an appointment for next Friday, the day before I fly out to Las Vegas for Rose’s bridal shower.
Thoughts of the shower remind me that I need to wrap Rose’s present. Grinning at the thought of Cole’s response to seeing her in the sexy black outfit from La Perla, I take the shopping bags with me into the dining room. Spreading out the gift, box. wrapping paper and assorted accessories on the round glass-top table that seats six, I make quick work of her gift. After considering it from various angles, the present looks better than I feared it might. The ribbons certainly hide a bevy of sins, namely bumps and bubbles. Oh well, it is what is inside that counts.
Pleased enough with my handiwork, I place the gift next to the card in my office and check the time. I have a while before I need to prepare for the club opening, so I turn on the flat-screen television hanging above the decorative fireplace in the salon. I cue up the English language video I have been watching to improve my proficiency and reduce my French accent.
The life of a model is always so glamourous.
Checking the mirror one last time, I add some sheer gloss to my red lips and step into my Jimmy Choo’s. Then, I fasten a gold open chain-link belt around my waist to complete my outfit. Vera Wang’s creations always fit me so well. Placing my gloss next to my cell in my clutch, I leave my bedroom and sit down in the salon to wait for the limo the Agency sent. My new bodyguard, Neil, will be in it.
One hour. That is all I am contracted to do. I will be back here in yoga pants in no time.
The doorbell chimes, and I stand, smooth down my dress and walk over to meet Neil. Taking a deep breath, I don my professional smile and open the door.
And it takes all the strength in my core to remain upright.
Looking back at me is not the face that I expected based on Neil’s headshot, but one belonging to a man who can set this night on fire.
6
Wills
I thought I’d prepared myself until the front door opens and every muscle in my body cramps. A full-blown supermodel stands in the doorway, wearing a body-hugging black dress that stops in the middle of her thighs. The dress’s sleeves have openings that reveal her naked shoulders. Her hair is loose except for little braids weaved in on the sides. Not too much makeup on her face—she doesn’t need it. Beautiful doesn’t even come close to describing her.
Deep-sixing my errant thoughts, I open my mouth and my practiced speech pours out. “I decided to take you up on your offer to join you at the club tonight. I hope that’s okay.”
No need to tell her that her Agency’s choice of bodyguard has a lightweight rep on the street. More like pretty-boy celeb wanna-be with little skill other than opening doors—usually the proverbial ones only for himself. She said she’s not in danger. I only want to confirm Neil has the chops to prevent her from tripping out of the limo. No other reason.
“Wills. I am more than okay with this. How handsome you look.”
When she rushes forward to give me her usual two-kiss greeting, my stomach clenches. I close my eyes and ignore the sizzle where her lips meet my cheeks. Maybe closing my eyes heightened the spark?
I pop them back open to see her eyes doing a quick up and down of my body covered in black trousers, black T-shirt and black blazer. The blazer was my nod toward looking presentable at the club. She opens the door wider. “Come in, s'il vous plait.”
Since her limo hasn’t arrived yet, I tilt my head and walk inside. I’m greeted by a big open and airy room, dominated by a couple of seating areas. Beyond, an archway leads to a kitchen that’s highlighted by a huge island. The scent of Emilie—lavender—runs as an undercurrent throughout the space.
The door shuts and her heels clink on the hardwood flooring. Eyes at my feet, I turn to face her. Of course she’s wearing nude high heels, with her toes peeking out. Even her toenails, painted a dark blue, are sexy. Raising my head, I take in her toned legs. And tamp down visions of them wrapped around my waist.
“Emilie,” I swallow, “You’re….” Ethereal. Untouchable. “Looking good.” Shut. Up.
Her eyes light up and I slip my hand in to my pocket to prevent it from going anywhere else like my wayward mouth did. She runs her hand up and down one of the small braids. “Thank you for the compliment. I am honored to be on your arm tonight.”
And just like that, she reminds me of our conversations when I was Cole’s bodyguard and, by extension, hers. She’s a down-to-earth woman, wrapped in a goddess shell. Much too good for the likes of me.
She smiles, showing off her perfect teeth. Everything about her is perfect. “We probably have time for a quick drink before we go. There is some wine in the refrigerator.” She starts walking toward her kitchen and throws over her shoulder, “French, of course.”
I’m more of a beer drinking type of guy. But she looks so hopeful, I can’t turn her down. “Sure.” I join her in the kitchen, all the while asking myself what I’m doing.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me a glass. Her fingertips brush mine. Even such a slight contact makes my balls tighten. I hold my breath to get myself under control and pick up my glass.
“A toast,” she gushes. “To a wonderful surprise!”
Words stick in my throat, so I simply clink my glass to hers and sip. The wine tastes of berries and vanilla, which is not altogether unpleasant. As we stand across the island from each other, her cheeks take on a pink hue.
Something dances between us.
A magnetic force pulls me toward her.
I lean away. Better quash whatever this is right now. “I didn’t want you to have to go alone tonight.”
Her hazel eyes take on a deeper green hue. “Oh, I need to get your ticket.” Setting her glass on the island, she rummages through her kitchen desk and hands it to me, then points toward the front door. “Let’s sit in the salon.”
Her French accent creates another stir in my pants. Detouring to a nice drawing hanging on the wall, I ask, “Paris?”
She comes to my side, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Oui. It is the Avenue des Champs Elysées, a main artery in Paris. I shall drive on it myself someday, thanks to you.” She pauses. When I don’t say anything, she continues, “Maman sent it to me, to remind me of home.”
“I’ve never been.”
“Never?”
I shake my head.
She reaches out and her fingers glance across my shoulder—the one that took a bullet in front of her—and says, “You were recovering when Cole met me in Paris.”
I bring my glass to my lips and take a long drink. Lowering it, I roll my shoulder—more to shake off the electricity of her touch than for physical therapy. “I’m good as new now.”
Movement on the street catches my attention and I walk over and move the curtain. A black stretch limo has pulled up. “Your limo has arrived. Should I follow you in my Jeep?”
Her eyebrows knit together. “No. Why? Please ride with me.”
Even though I know better, I nod in acquiescence.
Her face relaxes. “Bien. Let me get my coat.”
I follow her to the hall closet and take the lightweight pink coat from her hands, holding it open for her to slip into. When she’s encased in pink, my hands stray to her shoulders. Before I’m aware of what I’m doing, my nose is almost in her hair. Her body relaxes in my hands and she tilts her head to expose more of her neck. I could close the gap and kiss her.
Quashing the impulse, I ask, “Ready?”
I feel, rather than see, her throat move as she swallows. “Oui.”
A knock on the door makes us jump apart. While she meets her new bodyguard, I silently berate myself. When I’m again in control of any wayward reactions to this angel, I extend my hand to Neil. He’s about my height. Jacked. His less-than-firm handshake doesn’t bode well, however.
We proceed to the limo. Seeing her glide into the long bench seating reminds me of our differences. She’s a supermodel, living in a multi-million-dollar house and I’m a soon-to-be gym owner renting an apartment. With enough baggage to fill the closets in both our abodes.
Before following her into the vehicle, I lower my voice and grip Neil’s forearm. “Do we have a Code 10?” This is universal security speak for danger ahead.
His eyebrows knit. “I don’t know what that means.” He smooths out his forehead. “But I do know the party’s going to be filled with A-listers.”
This guy’s an idiot. He probably wouldn’t know a warning sign if it bit him on the ass.
Biting my tongue, I get into the vehicle. When Neil puts his large frame through the doorway, I slip into a spot on the plush bench next to Emilie instead of the seat opposite.
Bodyguards never ride with their clients. His place is in front with the driver.
My scowl doesn’t deter him as he settles into the seat across from us. Neil’s eyes dart to the bar. “It’ll be my pleasure to guard you, Emilie. Would you like something to drink before we get to the club?”
My body tenses. If he pours himself a drink I won’t be able to restrain myself.
Emilie places her hand on my rigid thigh and smiles at me. Now I’m strained for a whole other reason.
“No, I am good. We had a drink before.”
Neil nods and reaches over for a bottle of water. At least that’s okay. When she removes her hand to check on something in her purse, my body melts against the seat.
Neil spends the trip chatting up Emilie. She tries to bring me into the conversation by asking about my bodyguarding days, but neither him nor I is interested in pursuing the subject.
Arriving at the strobe-lighted mayhem, I turn to Emilie. “I’ll stay in the background while you walk the red carpet.”
“But I would like you to walk it with me.”
Aware of our audience, I lean in and whisper, “Tonight’s your night. Your gig.” I don’t fit the image of a guy that belongs with her. More than that, I’m not with her. Never will be. I need to remind my body of this fact.
Again.
The limo stops and the door opens. Neil, exhibiting proper security detail for the first time all night, exits first. I shift to the seat Neil vacated so that Emilie can get out of the limo next.
Before she extends her shapely leg out the door, she asks, “Are you sure? You could talk up your new gym.”
I shake my head, although more than impressed with her marketing bent. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Midway up the red carpet with Neil next to her, she turns and finds me among the other unknowns in the background. Our eyes hold for a few seconds before I look away. I’m only here to vet Neil.
Emilie walks the gauntlet like the pro she is, stopping for photos and speaking with reporters. While she’s stopped by the last couple of reporters, I show my ticket and slip inside the entrance.
The floor is crowded with people dancing to club music being played by a DJ from his booth suspended above the floor. A light show swirls around the DJ booth and bounces off the bodies gyrating below. At least three different bar areas are in use, with some hi-top tables strewn around them. No one seems to be a threat, although being in such a cramped space has me on alert.
Even though I’m inside the club proper, I feel the air shift and know Emilie’s entered the building. Turning, I watch as she hands her coat to a club member and glides into the main area in front of Neil. Her eyes roam the crowd, once again landing on me within seconds. Her ability to find me, even in such crowded rooms, is uncanny.
Before Emilie can take a step toward me, she’s directed over to the Grand Opening banner to pose for more photos. While she’s working, I order us drinks. A beer for me and vodka tonic for her. Frowning that I remembered her favorite drink, I recheck the area—still nothing seems suspicious. Glasses in hand, I make my way closer to her.
When she finishes with her duties, Emilie turns toward me. I raise her drink and her smile morphs into one that’s more natural. Her progress toward me is cut short by a rather round man dressed in a black suit. He says something to her, then kisses her hand and motions her toward a modern-looki
ng staircase with open treads, on the right. She twists to face me, inclines her head to the staircase and I nod. I’ll be right behind you, Emilie.
Neil ascends the steps with her, checking out every lady who passes him. “Fucking A,” I say aloud to no one—no one can hear me over the music—and I take the steps two at a time.
Striding into the room marked “VIP,” I make my way next to Emilie. Not that I’m her date or anything.
When I reach her side, Emilie takes her glass from my hand, smells the liquid and runs her tongue over her lips. “You remembered.”
Everything. I tilt my head, but don’t say anything.
After a sip, she lets out a small squeak and points. “There’s Lizzie! Let me introduce you to my mentor.”
Lizzie Chase. My boyhood fantasy, in the flesh. Of course she’s Emilie’s mentor. While I’m processing all the implications of this meeting, Emilie grabs my hand and leads me over to a sofa where the supermodel sits.
Coming to a halt in front of her, Emilie says, “Lizzie! I am so happy you are here tonight. You look great! How are you feeling?”
The woman floats to her feet, long blonde hair curled just as I remember her from my youth. Her arms open wide and Emilie drops my hand to embrace her. Lizzie steps back and replies, “I’m all recovered. The flu was nasty, though. Thanks for asking.”
“I am glad.” Emilie points at me and says, “I would like to introduce to you Wills Sumner. He owns a gym on Mulholland.”
“A pleasure,” I say, extending my hand.
Lizzie waves my hand away and brings me in for a hug as well. This is surreal. “A gym?”
Stepping back, I manage to say, “Yes. Complete Gym.”
She nods.
Emilie looks at me and gushes, “Lizzie has taught me so much about the modeling industry. And beyond.” Returning to her friend, she continues, “I saw another commercial for your furniture line.”
Lizzie laughs. It’s a pleasant sound but doesn’t rock me the way Emilie’s does. Wait. Stop thinking like this. I force myself to check on Neil’s whereabouts—he’s standing back among other VIPs, with one eye on Emilie and his other on a different model. My opinion of him doesn’t improve.
