Take Hold of Me

by Arell Rivers

  He crosses his arms across his chest. “Drama follows you in your world. And you thrive on it.”

  I wrap a bulletproof vest around my heart, shielding it from the hurtful things he is spewing in my direction. “No, I do not. Wills, what is this about?”

  He chuckles, a hollow, mirthless sound. “Listen, this was fun while it lasted. We both got to live in a fantasy for a little while. But you know as well as I do that fantasies don’t last. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you want to go on pretending that we never have to face reality. I can’t live a lie, though. It’s time to move on.” He points his head toward the door.

  My breath stutters. “What?”

  “You’re beautiful to look at, I’ll give you that much. But I need someone with a little more, you know, depth. Who looks beyond what a person is wearing.” His cheek jumps.

  His words cut straight through me. Anger replaces confusion. My voice raises. “Oh really? Well, maybe I should be with someone who can sleep the whole night through and is man enough to seek professional help—because you need it.” I clamp my hand over my mouth.

  “It’s good to know how you really feel. Now it’s time for you to leave.” Wills approaches me, wraps his fingers around my upper arm and marches me toward the front door.

  Throwing my head in the air, I exit without looking back at the man who pulverized my heart.

  I can never look back.

  26

  Emilie

  Nearly three weeks have passed since that awful fight with Wills and I am finishing up Fashion Week in London. Going through the motions. Standing for fittings, walking the catwalks, smiling for photos. Rinse and repeat. Last night, I went out to dinner with Lizzie and we talked about her “transition” out of full-time modeling into her fulfilling career as a furniture designer. And soon-to-be wife. Her parting words, “Modeling launched my career, but it does not define who I am—only I can do that,” hit home with me. And echoed the advice from the man who I have been trying desperately to keep out of my thoughts.

  I think I am finally coming to realize who I am. And what I can do within the industry and for others. And for myself.

  Today is the last of the shows. I have shoots in Germany and Belgium next, then I go to Barcelona for the movie premiere. While the hair stylist teases my hair, I catch the silhouette of a reed thin woman with long, straight blonde hair as she sits down in the chair next to me. I turn my head and realize I am finally meeting Geonna Broz.

  Our eyes meet. Widen.

  Blood zings through my veins.

  Up close and without any makeup, she looks twelve, not eighteen. I exhale all the pent-up animosity and competition between us, my limbs unwinding into veritable mush. I extend my hand. “Geonna, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Emilie.”

  The young woman smiles so wide her eyelashes dance. I am transfixed by her innate beauty. “Oh, Emilie. I heard you were going to be here and hoped we would meet. I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I was a little girl. I became a model because you made it look so glamorous.”

  I cannot help myself, I laugh. “Have you learned the truth yet?”

  She winks. “It can be tedious, with all the travel. But I absolutely love it! I love the sets, the people, all the great things I get to experience.”

  She reminds me of how I felt at the beginning. When it was all new and exciting. Instead of rekindling a passion within me, however, her zest for modeling makes me realize she deserves to be the fresh new face of the industry. Meeting her brings it home that it is time for me to pass the torch. Is this how Lizzie felt when we met all those years ago?

  All of a sudden, I want to mentor her like Lizzie mentored me. We spend the rest of the day inseparable, even hugging each other on the catwalk when the show concludes.

  Another two weeks have disappeared in a blur. Barcelona in early October is beautiful, the weather gorgeous. I wear my smile like armor, just like my Alexander McQueen dress and Jimmy Choo’s. As I transfer my Fendi wallet into my matching tote, it opens and my brand new California driver’s license falls out. Even though it does not bring me joy, it does offer a sense of freedom.

  It was a miracle I was able to get the required fifty hours of driving time in, given my hectic modeling gigs. Preparing for and walking in London’s Fashion Week really stretched my driving instruction company’s time, but it all worked out in the end. Picking up the laminated card, I tuck it back into its slot.

  And the Agency’s insistence on using a bodyguard to up my profile seems to have panned out as well. My new one, Ricky, is so quiet I hardly notice him. Not that I really look for him, anyway—bodyguards are no longer my style. But his presence, combined with my recent streak of appearances, has led me to beating out Geonna for a new contract. After meeting her in London, though, it feels like a victory with too high of a price tag. She is young and excited for her career to start, much like I was.

  Before.

  No, I cannot think about him again.

  To refocus my thoughts, I grab a lightweight jacket and leave my room. I told Rinaldo to meet me in the lobby to take me to tonight’s premiere or “our” movie. Finding a comfortable wingback chair tucked away from prying eyes in the hotel’s lobby, I escape into the world of Instagram. Read all of my followers’ comments, questions and respond to their new photos. This is what brings me happiness.

  “There you are.” Rinaldo’s deep voice slides over my body like silk. He stands tall and proud, wearing a smart black suit and an open collared black button-down shirt. His Latin good looks are on full display, yet my pulse remains steady as we share a double-kiss greeting. Like everything else in my life since he left, this meeting is strictly business.

  “Emmie. Beautiful as ever. Looking forward to tonight?” After his eyes skim over my body, he takes my fall coat from my hands and holds it open for me.

  Slipping my arms into the sleeves, I reply, “I am interested in seeing the completed movie, oui. How about you?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “I better watch closely as I doubt I’ll have another chance at acting. I think my odds of being able to kiss you again are better.”

  Shaking my head, I place my hand into the crook of his arm. “I do not think I will choose to do another film either. However, I am looking forward to walking the red carpet as an actor in the movie instead of as someone else’s date.”

  “I think it’s great you were able to come out to do the premiere here, with me. Football season is in full swing, and I couldn’t get back out to LA.”

  With that, he escorts me past the other hotel guests to his black Ferrari waiting out front, and we take off. On the ride, we catch up about our families—avoiding the aftermath of the movie shoot—and I relax into the conversation. It is easy and lighthearted, and I do not have to worry about pressing any uncomfortable buttons that would activate some bad memories. I do not think Rinaldo is capable of having tortured thoughts. Or any thoughts beyond his own means to success.

  After several turns, Rinaldo pulls up to the red carpet line. Paparazzi are lined up by the entrance. If this were Hollywood, we would have had a limo, but the captain of the Barcelona football team can drive himself anywhere he wants.

  “So, where’s your bodyguard?”

  I inhale, count to three and then exhale. “The Agency knew you would be escorting me to the premiere, so he is not with me for this leg of my trip. I will meet back up with him in LA.”

  He nods and inches us forward to within one car length of the entrance. “I’m surprised Wills agreed to leave you alone with me.”

  “It is not him.” I cannot bring myself to say his name. “I have a new bodyguard.”

  Rinaldo puts his hand on top of mine. “Maybe that means my chances of kissing you are higher than I expected.”

  I shake my head, remove my hand from his and look down at my clasped fingers.

  He sighs, pulls the car forward, then puts it into park. “C’mon. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You look smoking hot
in that dress. I want to show you off.”

  I am not some shiny toy to be shown off. This is as much my movie as his.

  Without waiting for my reply, he exits the car and hands the keys to the valet while another attendant opens my door. Mentally preparing for the onslaught of flashbulbs and shouted questions, I make sure the belt of my coat is secure and place my high-heeled feet on the pavement. Rinaldo appears outside my door, offering his hand, which I take and stand up with a practiced smile. He keeps mine in his firm grip.

  “Emilie Dubois! Rinaldo García! Over here!”

  We both turn toward the voices and endure the paparazzi. At least, I endure it. Rinaldo basks in the attention. After a few minutes, I squeeze his hand and we start up the red carpet, stopping for photos every few meters. When we reach the reporters, we are called over as a couple.

  “I see that you two arrived together and I understand you filmed a scene jointly. Can we assume that you are back together?” The female interviewer asks us this question, all the while staring at Rinaldo.

  I force my expression to remain unchanged. I thought the questions would be about the movie.

  “You are correct in that we share the screen,” he begins. “As for the rest, you know I don’t kiss and tell.” He winks at her.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. His coy response can only increase interest in us—thereby raising both our profiles. He does live for the media and he knows how to sway it to suit his needs. “Acting was something new for both of us, and it was nice to do my first time with Rinaldo,” I add.

  After a few more similar interviews, we make our way inside the entrance and mingle with the people we met on set all those months ago. No one mentions the after-party, and I actually relax enough to enjoy the camaraderie.

  Once we are seated in the large theatre, Rinaldo leans over to me. “Can’t wait to see us pop our cherries on screen.”

  I snort at his outrageous comment, then put my hand up and laugh at the sound. Rinaldo joins me.

  “Oh, Emmie, I’ve missed you. Missed this.” He leans over and kisses my cheek.

  “It has been nice,” I admit. And it has. Just. Nice.

  The lights dim and all conversation ceases. The movie rolls. When our scene comes on, I am surprised to see they chose the original take where I turn my head for the kiss. Relieved, actually. I cast a sideways glance at Rinaldo and catch his eye. He shrugs and we continue to watch the film through the credits.

  Afterwards, we are invited to a party, where we congratulate everyone on a great project. Because I have an early flight to Paris tomorrow, I ask to make it an early night.

  Back in the Ferrari, I remember the fun we used to have. Stealing moments when our schedules allowed. Laughing at inside jokes only the two of us knew. I am comfortable with Rinaldo. Like a well-worn pair of jeans.

  I decide to delve beneath the superficial to get his perspective. “So, I am thinking about making some changes. I want to take more control over the direction of my career. I am looking ahead—more long-term. Making changes with my Agency.”

  He changes lanes and replies, “Your Agency has been doing a great job for you all these years, right?”

  I nod, my stomach souring at how Monsieur Price treated me. Not that I am willing to reveal my vulnerabilities to Rinaldo.

  “So, why rock the boat now? You’re one of the world’s top supermodels, thanks to them. And you’re back to being neck-in-neck for jobs against Geonna. They obviously know what they’re doing.”

  “But, I have missed important events. Bridal showers, birthdays. I want to have more say over my schedule. Plus—”

  “There are always sacrifices. Thanks to the Agency, your career has never been better. Designers fall all over themselves to have you in their ads. My advice? Now is the time for you to stay the course.”

  “I want to look ahead—”

  He cuts me off. “Why get traded to another team when you know you’re already at the best?”

  I collapse back into the seat. “I guess so.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  He smirks. I used to basically hand over my panties when he did that. Now … nothing. I yearn for one man. And he is not in this car.

  Rinaldo passes a lively nightclub. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a little dancing? Barcelona style.”

  While dancing does sound fun, in my heart I know he is not the man for me and I do not want to lead him on. “I cannot. You know I am catching an early flight tomorrow to spend some time with my family before returning to LA on Tuesday for an audition.”

  “Which the Agency got you, right?”

  “Oui.”

  “See. Listen to me. I’ll keep you on the right track.”

  We take an exit as Rinaldo discusses his football team and how well they are performing. He turns the blinker on and waits at the stop sign to turn down the hotel’s street. “My agent got me a few more modeling gigs for athletic apparel.”

  I grin. The cameras love him, but he was always too distracted with football to explore possibilities beyond team photos and some endorsement deals. “Modeling finally got their clutches in you, yes?”

  Giving me a sideways smirk, he pulls up outside the hotel and cuts the engine. Although I enjoyed our evening, our conversation did not stimulate me. He did not challenge me to really analyze things the way he does. Rather, did.

  Shaking my head once, I say, “Thank you for a very nice evening, Rinaldo. You made the movie premiere very fun.” Not a lie.

  Placing his hands on my cheeks, he pulls me toward him. Looking directly in my eyes, he says, “I was honored to be your escort tonight.”

  My eyes close as our lips meet. He kisses me with all the skillful finesse I remember. After a beat, I pull back.

  Running my fingers through his silky hair, I say, “Good night, Rinaldo. Be well, my friend.”

  27

  Wills

  Rose Morgan and Cole Manchester invite you to share in the joy of their wedding, the nineteenth of November….

  I flip the invitation over and over. It arrived the day after my life went to shit.

  When my temper unleashed on Wade Block, resulting in my former boss at the PI agency smoothing things over with the police.

  When I lied to Emilie and said the most hateful things to her, cutting her out of my life for her own good.

  Pain and emptiness war with each other inside me, but I tamp down the feelings. The same way I’ve shut down all my emotions.

  “Hey there, W,” Zak says as he breezes into my office. I put the wedding invitation into my desk drawer as he continues, “There’s some new prospects at registration. A couple of hot ladies. Want me to show them around or do you want to have the honors?”

  I sigh. I take newbies at Complete on tours, but only when I have no other alternative. “Nah. Why don’t you do it? Maybe pick up another personal training client.”

  Zak wiggles his eyebrows. “Sure you don’t want to join me? We could see which of us they’d rather train under. I mean, with.”

  A sour chuckle escapes my lips at Zak’s antics. He tries to bring me out of my funk. Too bad I’m a lost cause. “Nah. I don’t want to show you up that badly. Not good form to make the employees look bad.”

  Zak punches me on the arm, then shakes his hand. “Damn, dude. You’re getting more jacked every time I see you.”

  “Don’t forget that. Now go and make nice and sign up some new clients.”

  He salutes and leaves me alone. He’s a good guy who deserves a better boss than me. I’ve dumped way too much responsibility on his shoulders while I try to get my head out of my ass.

  Like that’s happening anytime soon.

  I flip through the reports on my desk. Even though I took over a full week into September, the numbers are higher than this time last month. I can’t take total credit for the increase, but I’m not tanking the place. I have to keep the doors open, for Three.

  At least I’m making good on one of
my promises. Too bad it came after she’s no longer here to see it.

  I toss the reports back on my desk and check my calendar—my next therapy appointment isn’t for a couple of days. After everything went down with Emilie, I reached out to David like a dog with its tail between its legs and asked him for his therapist’s info. He made no secret about seeing someone to help him through Three’s death and he’s getting back on his feet after two years. So what if it takes me longer to start getting over the angel who came into my life like a lightning bolt? Angels aren’t meant to stay with mere mortals such as myself. Not sure how much progress I’m making against my demons, but I have to start somewhere. My therapist sure has his work cut out for him.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I leave my office for the workout area. Machines are humming with clients and the rock wall has a good number of people on it. Music pumps everyone up as they tend to their evening workouts. Complete is as it should be. At least I haven’t ruined this. Yet.

  Zak leads the potential clients over to the classroom area, where a spin class is going on. He gestures toward the closed doors for physical therapy—my newest addition—and massage, which produce two of the gym’s highest profit margins. My eyes stray to the juice and smoothie bar, another profit center. Several clients chat while enjoying their beverages. “Ninja Heroes” runs on the flat-screen television overhead.

  I nod and smile as I walk through Complete. I’ve learned to put on my own professional mask—something I learned courtesy of Emilie—as I can’t let anyone see how broken I am. They’d run for the hills and never want to step foot inside here if I exposed my true darkness.

  “Wills, can you please help me with the elliptical?” A young woman in skin-tight workout gear approaches me, her color high. She plays with her ponytail.

  “Sure thing.”

  I ignore her flirting. Nothing’s going to happen between us, for her own sake. Not to mention I have nothing left to give since Emilie took the best of me when she walked out the door. The best of me? What a joke. As if I ever had anything good inside.