by Imani King
Stay With Me
A BWWM Russian Billionaire Romance Novel
Imani King
Contents
Copyright
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Imani King
Copyright © 2015 by Imani King
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expression permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination. Please note that this work is intended for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or older. Kindle Edition.
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1
Thania
“I can’t believe you’re doing a photo shoot today! I’m so jealous,” Daya said on the three-way call to her best friends, Asha and Thania.
“She deserves her success, Daya,” Asha responded, but even through the phone, the sadness that seemed to follow her everywhere lately was apparent.
“I know she deserves it, especially after the incredible success of her clothing line,” Daya said.
“Okay, girls,” Thania interrupted. “No one is more surprised than me about how a simple magazine article could have such an impact on my career.”
“A simple magazine article!” Disbelief laced Daya’s tone. “You know as well as I do that Modeliste can make or break a designer’s career. And a model’s,” she added, almost under her breath.
Thania knew that Daya hoped to someday model in the internationally-renowned fashion magazine, but so far she’d only had some modest success in their local metropolitan area.
“It’ll happen for you, honey,” Thania said softly into the phone, keenly aware that this newfound success of hers was changing the dynamic between the three best friends. “What work do you have coming up?” Thania asked, hoping to bring Daya to a happier place.
“Oh, I’m doing a runway show for Redmond’s next week,” Daya said, referring to a local high-end department store.
“That’s great!” Thania said.
“When is it?” This came from Asha. “We want to come and see you in all of your model-strut glory,” she added, and the three friends laughed.
Daya told them the details, and the women promised to make it to support their best friend.
“Don’t you have to get going to the shoot, Thania?” asked Asha.
“Oh no, sweetheart. You’re not getting off that easy. What’s going on in your life?” Thania asked Asha, and the friends heard Asha give out a big sigh.
“That bad, huh?” Daya said dryly. She never understood why Asha was so unhappy, especially lately. Her life seemed fine to her.
“Stop, Daya,” Thania chided, as always playing peacemaker in their little threesome. “What’s going on?” Thania repeated.
“Working at the nightclub is just…difficult. But I’ve told you that before.”
Her two friends were silent. They’d heard this so often from Asha lately that they didn’t know what to say to make things better for their friend.
“Then, get another job,” Daya said, her constant refrain when this topic came up.
“It’s not that simple, Daya,” Asha said, her voice defensive now. “I can’t just leave the nightclub, no matter how much I might want to.”
“Well, how are things with David?” Daya said, referring to Asha’s long-term boyfriend, and it was Thania’s turn to sigh now.
Daya meant well most of the time, but she didn’t know Asha like Thania did. Thania and Asha had been best friends since childhood, and there were certain things that Daya didn’t know about Asha, even though they had grown to be very close, too. Plus, they were very different women—Daya was outgoing and used to pushing through whatever obstacle was in her path to get what she wanted, while Asha was more reserved and tended to accept her lot in life.
“David’s fine,” Asha replied softly, her voice tense. She continued, “Thania, tell us what the magazine people said when they called you to do the photo shoot,” quite adeptly changing the subject.
Thania jumped in eagerly, deciding that changing the subject was indeed a good idea. “Well, the photographer for the magazine called me out of the blue a few days ago. I was totally shocked when she said the magazine wanted to do a follow-up with me, but this time with photos of me, as well.”
A few months ago, Thania had landed an article in Modeliste, right before the debut of her very first fashion line. The article, combined with the coverage of her runway show, had catapulted Thania and her fashion line into the stratosphere. Suddenly, representatives of exclusive national stores were courting her, agents were trying to sign her, and she was attempting to keep sane while enjoying every moment of this newfound success.
“They want to know how I’m handling the sudden fame,” she finished with a smile in her voice.
“Did you tell them you’re handling it with lots and lots of wine?” Daya asked, and the three friends laughed again, breaking whatever tension had been there earlier.
“I figured that was a given,” Thania said with another small laugh. “I have to get ready though, so this fabulously fun conversation with my girlfriends must end.” Daya and Asha wished her luck and hung up.
Thania arrived at the photo shoot almost an hour early. She had showered and put on some soft, wide-legged cream-colored linen pants, and a white bohemian-style top. The assistant from the magazine had called earlier in the week to give her some final details about the shoot—she had said to dress comfortably, and not to wear any makeup.
For Thania, leaving the house without makeup was a serious fashion crime, so she already felt out of her element. But she had never modeled before so she was really quite nervous; her fashion line had been the center of attention for the last article. This time, she was the focus. Her thick gold bangles clinked together against her mocha-colored skin. She wore them everyday, almost like a security blanket.
A kick-ass, ridiculously expensive security blanket.
She pushed through the swinging doors of the magazine’s headquarters, her Jimmy Choo sandals lightly slapping against the marble floor as she walked to the reception desk.
“May I help you?” The receptionist was dressed head-to-toe in Armani, and Thania wondered how much working at Modeliste paid.
“I’m Thania Walter, and I’m—”
“Oh!” The receptionist stood up immediately and continued, “Ms. Walter, it is such a pleasure to meet you!”
Well, this is…different.
The Armani-Girl was now around the receptionist desk and shaking Thania’s hand as if she were meeting Diane Von Furstenberg. Than
ia’s nerves were stretched thin by that point, and she hoped, for about the hundredth time, that everything went off without a hitch that afternoon.
The receptionist had left her post entirely and was escorting Thania to the photography studio. It was quite a walk, and the longer it took, the more anxious Thania grew.
“Here we are!” the Armani-Girl crowed, opening a door and swinging it wide, revealing an enormous room filled with people.
When Thania just stood wide-eyed in the doorway, the Armani-Girl gave her a discreet shove and told her to ‘just hang out, someone will find you’ before she closed the door and left.
Thania looked around the vast room, filled with lights and photography equipment and TV monitors. Off to the left were racks of clothes, and she was relieved to see a few racks from her fashion line among them. She had personally delivered them to the building earlier in the week, but had been fretting that somehow they wouldn’t make it to the shoot.
Off to her right were models in various states of undress, being poked and prodded by makeup artists and hair stylists. Most of the models looked bored, but they were all so beautiful in their own unique ways.
As was her habit, she began to look each person over and evaluate what pieces from her line would look best on them. Her line wasn’t designed for models—in fact, her clothes were meant to be worn by women with fabulous, real curves—but she was nervous enough that she began the ritual anyway.
That blonde would look incredible in the pencil skirt and cowl-neck blouse. The model with the beautiful caramel skin would look amazing in the burnt-orange dress with the plunge front. Let’s see, who else is here? There’s that guy over there being photographed right…now…holy shit…
Thania stared at the male model, unable to tear her eyes away. He was tall, with thick dark hair that was artfully styled to look messy, and even from this distance she could see that his eyes were the most gorgeous shade of green—like moss in a lily pond.
Okay Thania, get a grip. Really? Like moss in a lily pond?
She was still scolding herself when the man under her inspection turned and caught her staring. A shiver ran up her spine at the look on his face—he looked like he wanted to eat her with a spoon, and just for that moment, she didn’t care about that because he had released her eyes from his hold in order to run his own gaze slowly down her body, seemingly cataloging every single curve she had. The shiver turned to a burn, and his gaze was like a physical touch. By the time he looked back up into her eyes, she felt as if he’d branded her.
What the hell is going on?
But she still couldn’t pull her gaze away from him. Their eyes were locked in a sensual combat from fifty feet apart, and suddenly she wasn’t aware of anything or anyone else in the room. He licked his full lower lip and her eyes darted there of their own volition. At that moment, someone near him called out, and he turned away, but not without quickly sliding his eyes down her body once more.
She stood there feeling let down somehow.
It was over before it had even begun.
“Hey, doll,” a bright male voice said from behind her, and she turned to see a man dressed in a periwinkle silk shirt and extremely expensive black slacks, perusing her form.
She felt nothing when he did so, and briefly looked back at the male model, but he was busy taking instructions from the photographers. Feeling like she had lost something, she turned her attention to the man next to her.
“Are you Thania Walter? Never mind, I know who you are. I am Leonard Millis, but everybody calls me Len.” He held out his perfectly manicured hand to her.
“Hi, Len. Yes, I’m Thania, and it’s nice to meet you,” she said as she grasped his hand tightly.
“A little uptight, doll?” he asked, as he pulled his hand away and shook it in the air.
“I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “I just…don’t know what I’m doing.”
Len had a kind expression on his face as he put his arm around her back and shoved her none-too-gently toward the makeup stations.
“You poor thing. You’re a photo shoot virgin,” he said straight-faced, and she laughed.
“Yes, I guess I am,” she admitted as he pushed her into a chair facing a large mirror with bulb lights all around it.
“Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take it nice and slow,” he said with a good-natured smile, and she started to truly relax.
She couldn’t see the sexy model anymore, which was good for her heartbeat and her libido. That was the oddest thing that had happened to her in a while, and in the world of fashion design that was saying something. Len began by misting her face with a cooling spray, telling her everything he was going to do before he did it.
Poor guy. I must be a hot mess for him to treat me with such kid gloves.
She listened with one ear to Len’s chatter while her mind remained on the model.
“Do you know who that male model is?” she blurted out, interrupting Len’s lecture on the importance of face primer and proper contouring shades. “Sorry,” she said, embarrassment rolling over her like waves when Len didn’t speak right away.
Great, I’ve made him go mute.
“You don’t recognize him?” Len asked, mild disbelief in his tone, and Thania shook her head.
At that moment, the model moved into her view in the mirror and her heart sped up again.
“Who is he?” she practically whispered, even though the guy could not have possibly heard her from that far away.
“That is Vladislav Sakharov, doll,” Len said, and she was stunned. He wasn’t a model at all; he was a Russian jewelry magnate. He ran a world renowned jewelry empire, and she wondered why he was here of all places.
“I’m guessing from the look of shock on your face that you know who he is,” Len said, as he added a smoky gray eye shadow onto her lid.
“Yes. I just…would never have thought he would be here,” she said softly, watching Vladislav with one eye as he talked to the photographer.
“He is quite the delicious package, isn’t he?” Len sighed and took a moment to stare at Vladislav himself, causing Thania to swat his arm. “Girl, what are you doing?” Len said, hitting her in the face with a makeup sponge.
“He’s going to catch me, I mean you, staring,” she whispered as she threw the sponge back and hit him on the nose.
Len laughed, the kind of laugh that made other people laugh just by hearing it, and Thania relaxed again when she couldn’t hold back her smile. Len was silent for a few minutes, highlighting her nose, forehead, and Cupid’s bow with a smirk on his face. Thania chose to ignore him and keep watching Vladislav in the mirror.
“He has got women chasing him around the globe,” Len said in a warning tone.
“I’m sure he does.”
“It is really quite sad, when you think about it. All of these women thinking they have got a chance with a gorgeous hunk of man-meat like him,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“Shut up,” she replied with no venom. But still, she watched Vladislav in the mirror.
“Did you know his last name means ‘sugar’ in Russian?”
“No, I didn’t,” she said, and she just knew that from now on anything related to sugar was going to make her think of him.
Great. He’s famous and ridiculously rich, like a gazillionaire or something, he’s got women from here to Timbuktu, and I can’t stop staring. Get some self respect, Thania!
“You know that old song ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’?” Len asked, interrupting her musings.
“Yes…” she replied warily, afraid of where he was going.
“Well, he can pour his sugar on me anytime, doll,” Len said, and Thania laughed loud enough to have a few people around them look over.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said with a smile.
* * *
She had been coiffed and plucked and stuffed into one of her own designs. She was ready. On the outside anyway. On the inside, she was a mess.
Vladislav ha
d finished up and had disappeared behind the curtains of the changing area. She tried to pay attention to the photographer and the magazine’s fashion editor, who were both giving her instructions.
“You are going to be great, Thania. Just act natural,” the photographer said.
“We want you to be your authentic self,” the editor said, and Thania nodded absently, wondering exactly what that meant. Her authentic self did not get coiffed and plucked and stuffed.
“Don’t turn around,” a gravelly male voice said from behind her, and without even looking, she knew it was him.
Even without his Russian accent, his voice would have been recognizable to her, as impossible as that sounded. She closed her eyes as the thrum of his voice sent a wave of heat pulsing throughout her body.
“I wish they had paired us together,” he continued, so close now that his breath was hitting her hair.
She kept her eyes closed, not really capable of anything else at that moment. His body was so near that an invisible string seemed to be pulling her back toward him.
“You are exquisite,” he said, his mouth practically touching her ear now, and she bit her lip hard to keep from making any noise.
She said nothing because she didn’t know what to say. He backed off and she heard his footsteps as they took him further and further away. She took several deep breaths before she opened her eyes. The photographer and the editor were looking at her with renewed interest, and she turned to her right only to see Len smirking again from his makeup station.
“Sugar, doll!” he called out, making a show of taking a big drink from his coffee cup.
Thania rolled her eyes and fought to keep her head from floating off her shoulders and onto the ceiling.
Concentrating on the photo shoot after that encounter with Vladislav Sakharov was very difficult for Thania. She was dazzled, she could admit it, at least to herself. He was sexy and gorgeous, and he was so famous that most people knew his name. It was beyond flattering that he would seek her out like that.
