by Arell Rivers
“Merci.” Inhaling the aroma, my blood begins to circulate faster, helping me to throw off the last vestiges of sleep.
Wills sits next to me on the bed. “What would you like to do today?”
I run my eyes up and down his half-naked form.
“Besides that.” He winks.
Smiling at the man I love, I say, “Perhaps I can practice driving? Drive us to Complete for a workout?”
He nods and tips the mug to his lips and swallows. “This is really good coffee, Ems.”
“That is because it is French.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “I guess everything French tastes that much better.”
“Oui.” I take a sip. “Everything.”
Our interlude is interrupted by my cell phone. Sighing, I tell him it is the Agency right before swiping to answer.
Monsieur Price dives right in. “While you were doing whatever you thought was more important than being photographed with Brandan Rogers last night, Geonna Broz’s name was floated to be the cover model for the Holiday edition of Hit List.”
I suck in my breath. I have been on the cover of that magazine for three years in a row. Only Lizzie has been on it more consecutive times than me. I am set to beat her record this year. Assuming Geonna—
“Be here in an hour and we’ll go over Greta’s new strategy to put you back on top and the teenager in her place.” The call disconnects.
“Looks like my plans just changed.”
A new, very blonde receptionist greets Wills and me as soon as we cross the lobby to the Agency. “Mr. Price is expecting you, Emilie. Follow me.”
Wills places his hand on my shoulder and leans over so as not to be overheard. “Stand up for what you want, okay?”
Inhaling deeply, I nod my head and leave Wills. Time to face the music. A problem I created by defying Monsieur Price yesterday. The receptionist knocks and opens the door to his office, shutting it when I walk in. His imposing figure stands by the windows. “Bonjour.”
He turns and walks up to me, stopping so that he is close. Very close. Too close. His hands grasp me by the shoulders and he kisses both of my cheeks in greeting. Funny—I do not recall him ever doing that before.
I stand straight but still have to tip my head to maintain eye contact. His hands remain on my shoulders. “I just got off a call from your attorney about your contract renewal.” His fingers dig into my flesh but I refuse to slink back.
“Oh.”
He leans forward again, this time putting his mouth close to my ear. My blood accelerates. “Do you want to stay on top?”
Disengage. I need to pull away. Swallowing, I try to lean back but his hold on me becomes more entrenched. The door to his office is closed. On my way here, I did not see many people at their desks outside. If I were to scream, would anyone hear me? Wills is in reception—too far away. I bite my lower lip.
When I do not respond, he says, “I know I like to be on top. In all things.” He laughs and steps away from me, walking to his desk.
Heart racing, I look out at Los Angeles. Rather, I look down on the city, his office is so high. I need to get out of here.
In an imperious voice, he says, “Sit down, Emilie. We have some things to discuss. Like how I built you up, and how easily I could tear you down.”
My stomach contracts. What does he mean? Turning around, he waves a stack of papers. What is that? I take a couple of steps toward his desk, keeping close watch on him.
“I do not understand what you mean.”
“Oh really? Maybe this will help you.” He pushes the pile across his desk.
I close the gap, staring down at the papers. They are photographs. Of me when I was fifteen-years-old. Topless. In all kinds of compromising positions. My mouth drops open as my eyes seek his.
“What a nice photo shoot.” He grabs and stuffs the photos into his middle drawer, which he locks before pocketing the key. Before he removes his hand, he adjusts himself. “Now that I have your attention, this is what we’re going to do.”
I gag, trying to keep my breakfast down.
He laughs, the harsh sound filling the imposing room. “Sit down.”
Without thought, my body does what he commands.
“Let me spell this out for you. I represent you. Hell, I basically own you. If it weren’t for me and what the Agency did for your career throughout the years, you’d be a nobody with her tits—and more—on display in some porno magazine. This Agency discovered you. We made you. Now it’s time for you to pay us back. And you will do what I say.”
My hand flies to my face. What is he saying? “But I thought Wade—”
“Is a fantastic photographer with a stellar reputation. The industry adores him. He is untouchable. However, you…”
Even though I am sitting, a wave of dizziness comes over me when his voice trails off.
“Listen, no one but me need ever see those photos of you.” He waves his hand toward the drawer. “I just need you to follow orders. You’ve been such a good girl for Stacy, going on shoots, never complaining. Never telling her ‘no.’ Although, I have to admit, that did turn me on.”
He adjusts himself again. My eyes stray to the door.
“You’ll leave when I’m finished with you. Now listen to me, Beautiful, you’re never going to say ‘no’ to me again. When I tell you to go on a publicity outing, you go. I know how to steer your career so you remain a hot commodity for as long as possible. That’s all I’ve been trying to do here. And this is the kind of thanks I get—refusals and negotiations.”
“All I want is for you to succeed. When you succeed, I succeed. It’s a win-win. Now, I can squash that little Geonna like a bug.” He drums on the top of his desk. “Or, maybe, I could bring her onboard the Agency once her contract with the television show runs out. I bet she wouldn’t have any attorney make such imprudent demands as yours did.” His fingers drum on the desk. “Dropping Greta’s PR firm for a puny startup? Really?”
He stands and circles the desk, resting his butt on it while looking down on me. “You want more control over your schedule? Sure thing, Beautiful. If that’s what it’ll take for me,” he leans down, his arms landing on the arms of my chair, “to bring you to heel, then I’m all for it.”
I try to remain still but lose my willpower and squirm backward. A helpless squeak comes out of my mouth.
His hand cups my cheek and my breathing seizes. “Such flawless skin. It’s no wonder the photographers love my pliant beauty.” His index finger cuts across my bottom lip.
I need to get out. Get to Wills. When the stench of onions from his lunch lands in my nose, my hands fly to the armrests.
“But you want to stay the industry’s top model, don’t you? That’s what you’ve always wanted. And I’m here making sure you stay there. So do as I say and we’ll both be happy. Here’s what I need you to do for me.”
He spends the next half-hour telling me about all my new publicity dates, with something scheduled for every single day. I do have Thursday off for the movie shoot, after which I am expected to go to some party to celebrate my little cameo. Throughout, he takes sick joy in reminding me that he has all the photos taken of me when I was a teenager. About how I would not want them to become public.
How if they do become public, I would be even more in demand with certain venues. But the big houses would drop me like a rotten potato. Wade, of course, would never be touched by any scandal.
“Do you have any questions for me, Beautiful?”
How can you do this to me? How many other models do you treat like this? I cannot form a coherent question and shake my head.
“Believe me, I don’t like having to do this. So let’s just keep this between us. I know you’ll do the right thing in order to keep your place in the industry. You’re a smart girl.” He reaches out to shake my hand.
I cannot touch him or agree to what he just did. I slip my hand under my thigh, which only causes him to smirk.
“God, ha
d I known you had some fire behind that sweet act you put on, I would’ve personally taken you under my wing ages ago.”
My heart is beating so fast that I give in to my need to flee his office. Without saying anything, I grab the straps of my purse and bolt to the door, desperate to leave this awful man behind. I turn the lever and escape.
Running down the empty hallway, I duck into the ladies’ room. If I want those photos to remain buried, I need to get myself under control. I brought this on myself by going to Wade’s flat so many years ago. Feelings of shame and embarrassment bubble over and replace the shock of how I have been backed into a corner.
Gulping enough air to slow my heartrate, I walk over to the sink and splash cold water on my face. The woman peering at me from the mirror is pale, but otherwise looks just like me. Even though I feel so far away from my true self in this moment.
I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes to erase what happened back in that office. So long as I do what he says, I will keep my career going and the photos will stay buried. No one else need know of this.
Not even Wills.
I push my shoulders back. This is who I am. It has to be.
22
Emilie
Ever since my meeting with Monsieur Price, I have walked a red carpet every night. Smiled on a different man’s arm. I am a prop. And Price’s puppet.
For his part, Wills played his role as my bodyguard perfectly, even though he did not understand why I changed course and threw myself back into modeling. I went with him to Complete where he set me up with Trina as my personal trainer. When Zak started a self-defense class, I was the first to join. Just leaning a few moves makes me feel more confident. Should I ever need to use them. Visions of Monsieur Price spur me on to challenge myself and become stronger.
Among publicity gigs, working out at Complete and running my lines for my cameo, I barely have any time for myself. But for Wills—who has not been back to his flat all week—and my private Instagram account, I would not have been able to keep my sanity intact. Being a pawn for the paparazzi every night has pushed me to my limits.
“You’re going to do great today, Angel,” he says with “Ninja Heroes” playing softly in the background.
I smile. Being in a movie is exciting, even though I am playing myself and it is a small role. It could lead me to other opportunities, perhaps away from the Agency. I shake my head—I do not want to cloud my first-ever movie shoot with confusing thoughts about my future.
Reveling in his faith in me, I reply, “I cannot wait. And I am very happy you are able to come with me.”
Wills takes me in his arms. “I’m always happy to come with you.” He kisses me, hard, and all thoughts about my career vanish. Even though he still has not said the words, I know he must love me. He could not treat me with such care and attention otherwise.
My front doorbell rings, signaling the car from the studio has arrived. “See,” I giggle as I wipe my lipstick from his lips, “this is why I never had to learn how to drive.”
Wills powers off the TV and wraps his arm around me, leading me to the front door. With his free hand, he pulls out his own key to my house and locks up. “You’re doing really well on that front, too. Tomorrow, I have plans for you to drive on the 101. It’ll be good practice.”
I smile as we slip into the limo.
When we arrive on set, I am whisked into wardrobe, hair and makeup. They put me in a tight mini dress that zips straight up the front. My stilettos are sky high and my hair is styled in loose curls, hoop earrings dangling and a funky bracelet around my wrist. This outfit is fun. I step out of the dressing area where Wills is waiting for me.
“Damn, Angel, that’s some outfit. You look great.”
“Merci.” I run my hands down my sides and take the bottle of water he offers.
“You’re going to do great. I can’t wait to see you take all of them by storm when they see how well you know your lines.”
His confidence sparks my own. I am going to own this.
“There you are, Miss Dubois.” A short woman with frizzy hair comes up to me. She removes a stack of papers from a clipboard, introducing herself as Sally, the director’s assistant. “Here are your change pages. Come with me.”
Looking from Wills to the woman, I have no choice but to follow her. Thankfully, Wills is at my side, calming my nerves.
“Excuse me, but what are these ‘change pages?’ This is my first time on a movie set.”
Stopping in a narrow hallway littered with all sorts of cables, she says, “I should have explained. They are the changes that were made to your lines since we sent them to you. Things change all the time on a set and tweaks are made to lines as a result. Don’t worry—usually they are minor.” She ushers me through an opening in a wall. “Now here we are.”
We step onto a set that looks like a coffeehouse. My old lines had me ordering a café and exchanging some words with the barista before a fan interrupts us and asks for a selfie. The fan is played by Brandan Rogers, who is the star of the movie. At least he is an ally of sorts, after having walked a red carpet with him recently.
Wills blocks my vision of everything but him, grabbing onto my forearms. “You’re going to be amazing, Ems. Break a leg.” His eyes flip down to my shoes. “Well, maybe not. Enjoy yourself out there. I’ll be right here, cheering you on.” He kisses my lips and disappears among the movie crew.
Gripping the change pages like a lifeline, I walk over to the counter and skim the new words. I had some lines in French before. They have not changed.
Mon. Dieu.
My heartrate accelerates triple time. My eyes flick around the set. Looking. No. I do not want to do this. I close my eyes, counting backward—quatre, trois, deux, un, zéro—
“There she is,” a Spanish-accented male voice booms. It is a voice I know all too well. One that I once welcomed whispering into my ear, and the last one I expected to hear on the set of my first movie taping.
My whole body stiffens. I am a professional. I can do this. I open my eyes. “Bonjour, Rinaldo.”
My ex-boyfriend stands in front of me wearing a football jersey and tight—very tight—black leather pants. His dark hair has been slicked back. He looks tan. And relaxed.
“Emmie, it is so good to see you.”
He kisses both of my cheeks. Whereas my whole body used to strum when his lips met mine, now I do not even feel a flicker. All because of Wills. Where is he?
I speak the truth about my surprise. “I did not know you were going to be doing this movie, too.”
“Yeah, I got the call a couple of days ago. Something about the producers wanting to take advantage of our prior relationship and feed into the tabloid rumors going on. Of course, I always enjoy spending time with you.” He winks and runs his hands through his hair, a grin tipping his lips. One that used to make me drop my panties. Now they firmly remain in place.
He rubs a lock of my hair between his fingers. He pitches his voice lower. “Have you missed me?”
I step back and reclaim my hair as my own. “Actually, I have moved on. I have a boyfriend now.” I look around but cannot find Wills. “He is here somewhere.”
His eyebrows go up. “Really? I can’t wait to meet him.” Shrugging, Rinaldo holds up his script. “I know we had to go our separate ways, and I’m sorry for how the tabloids are exploiting us right now, but let’s try to have some fun with this. Are you ready to run our lines? I think we should practice.”
“I was just given these change pages and have not had time to read through all of them yet.”
Rinaldo nods. “Why don’t we go over them while we wait for the crew to be ready for us?”
Looking around, many people flutter about the set. They all look like they are doing something important with cameras, microphones, lighting. No one pays us much attention, so I guess we will not be filming for a while. And I do need to know what to expect.
“Sounds like a good idea.”
His eyes
light up as his hand reaches out for mine. Without thought, I put mine in his and we walk over to an area with better lighting. Face-to-face, we begin to go over the dialogue.
Not many words have changed from my original script. Rinaldo and I fall into a good rhythm and we almost sound like normal people talking rather than two people reading off a piece of paper.
Things are feeling natural. Until I flip to the final page.
RINALDO: “Running into you here, of all places” [motion toward the coffeehouse] “reminds me of who we were before publicity took hold of us.”
EMILIE: “Oui. I remember. We used to go out without cameras. When it was just you and me.” [place hand on his chest]
RINALDO: “We were so good together.”
EMILIE: [cast eyes downward, then slowly trail them up to his eyes] “Maybe we could try again?”
RINALDO: [smiles] “Things are so different now. The paparazzi are everywhere.”
EMILIE: “I don’t care. Let them watch us.”
I stumble over the second word. “Donut. Doont. Dont.”
Rinaldo laughs for real, a deep throaty sound. Which causes me to giggle, my hand covering my face.
“You still can’t do contractions, can you Emmie?” He wipes the corners of his eyes.
I shake my head. “My mouth simply cannot form the sounds.”
“Remember the time,” he bends over, hands on his thighs. No need for me to respond, I know exactly what he is talking about. I join in his laughter.
After a minute, he stands. “Thanks, Emmie. I needed that laugh. God, we had some good times.”
“We did laugh a lot.”
Wills crosses my line of vision and my smile falls away. Wills. My bottom lip comes between my teeth. I catch his eyes—blazing blue—and smile at him, motioning for him to come over. He heads our way with the lithe grace of a panther. I swallow over my trepidation.
“Rinaldo, I would like to introduce you to Wills Sumner, my boyfriend. Wills, this is Rinaldo García.” No further description needed.
Wills extends his hand to my co-star. “Rinaldo.” His voice is hard, unlike any tone I have heard him use before. Is he … jealous? He has absolutely no reason to be.
