by M. S. Parker
He turned, studying us as he ripped them all open at once. Sugar spilled across the counter, only half of it going into the cup.
Simon Hughes clenched his jaw and focused on me. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
I guess we were going to pretend we were still alone.
“Aren’t you Lee’s assistant?” The man who wasn’t supposed to be there grabbed a stirring stick as he spoke. “What are you doing on the main floor? Isn’t there some kind of attic all you assistants hang in like bats?”
I laughed out loud and then had to pretend it was my ring tone. I made a good show of turning the phone off and apologizing to Simon. If he hadn’t been glaring at the coffee-swilling, sugar-slinging intruder, I don’t think it would have worked. As it was, neither one even glanced at me.
“I’m conducting an interview, Mr. McCreary,” Simon said stiffly.
“And you haven’t even introduced us. I’m Flynn.” The man turned cadet blue eyes on me. All the nerves jittering inside me seemed to coalesce and then explode, turning into something else entirely. Lust.
Plain and simple.
Those blue eyes drifted down, lingered on my mouth, then back up.
Heat suffused me and I managed, barely, not to lick my lips.
He was bossy and overconfident. I knew his type. He’d be flippant and arrogant through and through. He loomed over that snotty Simon Hughes just because he could and I almost felt bad for the poor guy conducting my lousy interview. But I still had a feeling if he decided to turn his ire my way, I’d be a molten mess.
Simon shifted nervously in his chair, clearing his throat as he started his tie, lint, cufflink check. “Mr. McCreary—”
“I’m here for a job interview,” I said, hoping to salvage the situation. “We’ve only got a set amount of time, Mr. McCreary.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me before he leaned over Simon to read the top file. “Gabriella Baine, from Tennessee.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Too bad you lost the accent. Accents are sexy.”
I pressed my palms down on the table and spread my fingers to stop from balling my hands into fists. I didn’t find that eyebrow thing sexy. Nope. And I hated that he was flirting during an interview. Definitely.
Flynn’s blue eyes lingered on me, a faint smile curling his mouth. It was a beautiful mouth, just full enough without being too much. One hundred percent kissable lips.
Simon looked like he wanted to disappear into the chair, or maybe turn into the invisible lint he was now fussing with.
This was getting out of control. Aggravated, I looked back at Simon. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”
Simon went to respond, but Flynn cut him off. “Lee’s assistant, a word please. In private.”
Flynn yanked Simon from his chair and hauled him out the glass door. I watched as Flynn gave clear instructions with a lot of cutting hand gestures and some head shaking. Somehow I’d lost the job in a matter of syllables and I didn’t know why.
As he marched away, I could see one other thing. Flynn McCreary had a great ass. Which I supposed was fitting since he was an ass.
The interviewer’s face was flushed as he came back into the room. “Ms. Baine? Our time is up. I’ll call if we have any further questions.”
Why am I not surprised? “Thank you.”
This entire thing had been a disaster from moment one. Without bothering to say anything else, I pushed through the door. Standing in the lobby with its sparkling glass and elegant marble, I tipped my head back and stared up.
I didn’t belong here and I wasn’t going to pretend like I did.
Kicking off the borrowed heels, I picked them up and walked barefoot across the lobby. Just before I reached the door, the skin on the back of my neck prickled. Swinging my head around, I caught sight of the bastard who’d cut my interview short.
Flynn McCreary stood at the visitor’s desk and he had a camera aimed my way. That infuriating smirk was still on his face.
What the hell?
I lifted my right hand and flipped him off. It wasn’t like I’d ever be back here anyway.
“Perfect!” he called as he snapped my picture.
Two
“Why couldn’t you be one of those models who doesn’t eat? Then I wouldn’t feel bad about having a job that pays peanuts.”
“Great, now I’m hungry for peanuts,” Kendra said. “Did you really give Flynn McCreary the finger?”
“I flipped the bird to a rude guy who interrupted the interview my beautiful, talented, understanding roommate set up for me,” I countered.
We stood in our small apartment’s kitchen with the empty cupboard doors hanging open around us. There was one box of pasta left and I was about to get creative with the remaining cans in our pantry.
It wasn’t the first time we’d been in this situation and it wouldn’t be the last.
Despite the lack of food, our apartment was my favorite place. The hardwood floors glowed in the sunshine and the old-fashioned wall sconce lighting added a soft glow in the evening. Kendra walked around turning the lamps on as I added water to our one pot. There was a built-in window seat that overlooked our busy street and a typical New York City fire escape we had turned into a small, straggled garden.
Kendra watered two of the plants and then stretched out on the window seat. Her legs were so long she had to prop them up on the opposite wall and she smiled as she gazed outside.
We both loved it here.
Kendra had just been signed on to model for a swimwear line at Bouvier, but the money wouldn’t come in for a while.
I wrote for a small creative firm, but I might as well write for peanuts for all the money I brought in. I kept hoping I’d luck out and land a serious job somehow, but for now, we were barely hanging on.
We’d been doing okay, but then our landlord had gotten sick.
He’d recovered, but it had hit home pretty hard, I guess. He was retiring to Florida and his son—the sleazoid from hell—was taking over.
“I’m telling you, we need to figure out who to call about this rent thing,” I told Kendra. My gut was in a twist over what was happening. “I really don’t think he can jack the rent up like that. And we both know he’s doing it because he’s pissed off you won’t sleep with him.”
The smile faded from Kendra’s face and she turned her head. “What are you going to do? I keep calling the agency that’s supposed to handle it and nobody is calling me back.” Her shoulders sagged as she looked around the apartment. “We’ve only got two weeks before the money is due and if we don’t pay, he’ll throw us out. My grandma lived here since she was my age. I don’t want to lose this place.”
“I know.” Feeling terrible that I’d ruined her good mood, I turned back to the food. “Look…” Then I shook my head. “Never mind.”
Kendra would be fine once she started getting paid for her new modeling gig, but we needed money in the meantime. I’d still keep making phone calls to the agency though.
I stirred the water as she went back to the subject she wanted to discuss.
“I can’t believe you flipped Flynn McCreary the bird.”
Tossing her a grin, I shrugged. “I don’t see why not. He was a jerk.”
“That jerk is one of the most talented photographers at Bouvier.”
“I know.” I grinned at her. “It was all part of my grand scheme to become the world’s next top hand model!”
“Oh, stop, Gabs.” Kendra laughed and shook her head. “Was it really that bad?”
“On a scale of one to ten, it was a two thousand.” I shuddered in mock terror as I reached for the pasta.
She beat me to it and put it back on the counter. “In that case, I owe you for your misery. How about a night out?”
“Did you miss the part where I didn’t get the job?” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t afford a night out.”
“What about an exclusive party with free food and drinks? Remember that swimwear gig I landed? They’re having a launch party and
I just happen to have two passes.”
“Please tell me I don’t have to wear a swimsuit,” I said, switching off the stove immediately. For the chance to eat for free and not have to attempt to make do with what we had, I would’ve worn a tutu.
The blue dress Kendra loaned me wasn’t hers.
I was above average height, but she had nearly six inches on me and while there were a few pieces of clothing we could swap out, anything that involved legs was pretty much a no-go. But the blue dress had been left over from a photo shoot and Kendra had a covetous love of clothes. If there was something left lying around and nobody took it, she did.
I’d come to love the habit, because it meant I could raid her closet and sometimes come out with pieces that would fit me. She wasn’t quite as curvy as me—I was little over average in the bust and hip department—but she at least had something of a figure.
The blue dress came just a few inches short of my ass, and showed off more cleavage than it would have on a skinny model, but I didn’t mind. The dance floor at the club was jammed and every time I looked around a new knot of men were orbiting us. After the rejection of the interview and how Flynn had behaved, the attention felt good and I soaked it up like a sponge. I’d also had more than a few drinks, but after that lousy day, I told myself I was entitled.
A new song came on and a thickly muscled blond danced over to me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he yelled over the music.
I shook my head at him and he took it as a sign to pull me close.
“You’ve got curves in all the right places. You two must be models, am I right?”
“She’s the model,” I said, still trying to be polite about it.
“Nuh, huh, baby, don’t lie to me. I bet you’re an underwear model. Much better than those skinny runway ones.”
I gave him a bit of a push, but he didn’t take the hint. He put about an inch between us, but kept dancing.
“Why do I have to be a model at all? Am I less attractive as a postal worker or a chef or a writer?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Models are hot,” he said simply.
I know I should have taken it as the compliment he’d intended. Most women would be happy to be mistaken for an underwear model, or any kind of model. It wasn’t easy hanging out with Kendra and keeping normal insecurities at bay. Maybe I didn’t have my picture plastered on billboards, but I was a good looking woman. I was five-seven with good curves and I could eat what I liked—in moderation, of course—without worrying about hitting the treadmill the second I was done.
I pushed the blond guy away from me more forcefully this time and easily found another dance partner to bump against. This one just smiled down at my cleavage and didn’t say anything.
Oh, well. Not like I expect to find Prince Charming here…
“You’re a devil in that blue dress, honey.”
A shiver raced up my spine and I turned. My brain kicked in a few seconds after my mouth, but what popped out hadn’t exactly been thought through. “Nope…not the prince. It’s the toad.”
He cocked his head, familiar cadet blue eyes studying me. The free drinks I’d been imbibing had the room swirling under me and I started to regret them.
“The toad?” he asked, dark brown hair tumbling into his eyes. Stubble grazed his jaw. I tamped down the urge to rub my cheek against that sexy five o’clock shadow. Damn, he was hot.
“Yeah. The toad.” I swallowed, suddenly feeling more tongue-tied than I liked. “You know. As in Not Prince Charming.”
He chuckled and moved closer. “Were you really looking for him here?”
We stood still in the writhing sea of dancers and just faced each other.
Before I could say anything else—reject Flynn’s compliment, berate him for not giving me a chance at Bouvier—the blond guy returned and gave me a flirty hip check that knocked me off balance. Without looking like he’d even had to think about it, Flynn caught me around the waist and for one brief moment, my body was pressed to his as he steadied me. Breasts to chest, my belly to the flat concave of his, our thighs aligned down to the knee.
Oh, shit…
He held me there; that cocky smirk curving his lips.
A moment later, he was gone.
“Flynn McCreary, the toad.” I muttered breathlessly. I told myself it was from the near-fall and not from the feel of Flynn’s body so close to mine.
Kendra nodded in rhythm with the music before she twirled me around and waved at the bar. Flynn waved back and lifted a shot glass to me.
I scowled. “That’s it. I’m going to find out why he axed me. I needed that job.”
You weren’t going to get it anyway, a small voice chided. I told the voice to shut up.
A new throng of suitors swept Kendra out of the way before she could stop me. I dodged dancers as I made my way across the crowded dance floor, disgusted as I saw Flynn smiling at my thwarted efforts. I narrowed my eyes at him and let a black-haired dancer with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel sweep me into a grinding turn. Flynn’s smile slipped a little, but he gave me an appreciative nod as my oblivious dance partner presented my backside to him.
When I spun back around abruptly, it was to see his eyes still lingering where my ass had been.
Heat raced through me.
Breaking free of my dance partner, I marched up to Flynn and took the shot glass out of his hand, ignoring the surprised look on his face. I knocked back the stiff drink before bringing my still-wet lips to his ear.
“What’s your problem with me?”
He turned slightly so that my mouth was at the corner of his. “You’re not right for talent acquisition.”
“You cost me that job!” I put as much venom in my voice as I could manage. It wasn’t much. His aftershave flooded my head and I think it was potentially lethal. My knees were feeling weak already. Though that could’ve been the shot I’d just taken.
“Because I need you for a better one,” he said.
Flynn took me by the waist and swung me onto his bar stool before ordering another round. I could still feel the heat from his hands and shifted, uncomfortable with my growing attraction. He took the opening and pushed to stand between my legs under the pretense of tipping the bartender. Despite the smell of him making me want to taste his neck, I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, determined not to be distracted.
“What job?”
“Hand model,” he said.
I almost snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding. Did Kendra put you up to this?”
He shook his head and an irresistible strand of dark brown hair fell over his eyes. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and smoothed it back. He smiled down at me and I swiveled to grab the second whiskey shot he had ordered. He had to move back as I slammed back the shot and slid off the barstool.
He grabbed my hand before I could dive back into the crowd. As he raised it, for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss it, but he studied it instead, a serious expression on his face.
“You talk with your hands. I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to apologize about that,” I said, unable to completely stop my smile at the memory of flipping him off.
He laughed and kissed the back of my hand, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Fuck. How did he do that?
“I wouldn’t want you to. It’s a great picture. Too bad the exec I showed it to won’t let me use it in the new jewelry campaign.” His eyes were sparkling.
“Why are you messing with me?” I asked, rolling my eyes. He was charming, all right, but still a dick.
“Stop by tomorrow. No joke.”
Flynn gave me one more look and I felt every inch of it. He handed me an embossed card, clinked his whiskey shot against mine, drained it and then disappeared into the crowd.
I stared after him for a moment, not sure what had just happened. Then Kendra was there, dragging me back onto the dance floor.
He was odd. Ego
centric. Pushy. Arrogant.
And hot.
But odd.
“You have to go!” Kendra insisted. I’d just finished telling her about my insane encounter with Mr. Photographer.
“He really is a talented photographer and he offered you a job. Best case scenario, you get paid for a few hours of standing around holding your hands still.”
“You know that’s really hard for me,” I started to argue despite the weakness of my point, then stopped. My eyes narrowed. “Wait, what’s the worst case scenario?”
“That he hits on you and you like it.” She gave me a devious grin and winked. “He’s a notorious womanizer, Gabs. But hey, if you’re curious… what’s the harm?”
“Curious?” I stared at her. “Are you…saying I…?”
She grinned for a moment and then went back to the ritual of her weekly manicure, ignoring the fact that I was still gaping at her.
Curious…that made me think about things I didn’t need to think about.
That made me think about Flynn.
Made me think about me and Flynn.
The two of us. Together. Naked. Those long-fingered, elegant hands of his running over me. My mouth went dry just picturing it.
“No.” I lied through my teeth. “I’m not curious. Not about Flynn McCreary.”
Kendra’s words echoed in my head Monday morning as I walked into the address printed on Flynn’s business card. The warehouse space was divided into a chic boutique of pale fashionable clothes and an art gallery featuring sketches of designer handbags.
The bored receptionist pointed up the stairs when I told her who I was here to see. The photography studio stretched out the entire second floor with windows the entire length of the street view.
“Mr. McCreary?”
“I detect a little accent, Tennessee. Does that mean you’re nervous?”
I gave him the finger and he laughed. “I’ve already got that pose. Come on. I’ve got other things in mind.”
Fighting the urge to fidget, I lowered my hand and stood there, feeling lost in the vast space. He crossed over to me and cupped the offending hand in both of his, using it to draw me towards the far corner where the windows were covered, creating a darkened—or darker—area.
