Sex, Lies & Her Impossible Boss

by Jennifer Rae

  She was a beautiful woman—too young for his tastes—but she was going to be a big thing at some point, he could tell. He should be excited about working with her, but somehow he couldn’t summon the energy for it today.

  A wave of tiredness crashed over him. He’d been searching for inspiration for this new exhibition for months, desperately trying to drop-kick his muse into action, but for some reason he kept missing his mark. He’d ended up destroying every picture he’d painted recently, disgusted by the banal rubbish he was coming up with. Just like the picture he’d been working on before he was interrupted.

  The dark-haired journalist’s face slid back into his mind as he tore off the page in the sketchbook he’d been working on, crumpled it up and lobbed it at the bin.

  She had enormous eyes, he reflected now, dark blue with bright, white flecks that had drawn him right in. She wasn’t conventionally attractive, but there’d been a kind of spirit about her that had made his blood pump faster. Thinking back, there had been something about her expression that disturbed him when he’d said no to the interview. It hadn’t been the usual sort of annoyance or disappointment he tended to invoke in journos when he refused to talk to them—she’d looked as if he’d just stomped hard on her life’s dream and left it broken and bleeding on the floor.

  He had a sudden mad urge to sketch the image that had just pinged into his head. It was brighter and clearer and sharper than anything he’d envisaged in a very long time and his sluggish blood picked up speed as a long-forgotten feeling of elation coursed through him.

  Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he felt the puffiness that had taken up residence there since the insomnia had set in. It had been months since he’d slept properly and no matter what he tried it wouldn’t break its hold on him.

  It appeared to be making him crazy.

  ‘Everything okay, Xander?’ his model, Seraphina, asked, unfolding herself from the chair and sauntering over to where he sat with his now blank sketch pad on his knee. ‘Hmm, so are you using invisible ink here, or what?’ she asked.

  He flashed her a look of irritation and her smile faltered.

  Guilt pulled at him and he replaced the unreasonable expression with an apologetic smile to try and make up for offending her. ‘Look, Sera, I’m sorry but this isn’t working out.’

  ‘What? I’m not making your creative juices flow? Do you need a bit of inspiration?’ she asked, her voice laden with innuendo.

  Before he could react she slipped her top over her head, stepped close and picked up his hand, pressing it to her bare breast.

  He felt nothing.

  Closing his eyes, he shook his head and carefully removed his hand.

  He’d partied hard this year, needing an outlet for his frustration and anger after the cutting reviews of his last exhibition—where the reviewers had wondered in full public view where his talent had disappeared to—but it had all caught up with him recently.

  He felt hollowed out by all the vacuous affairs with an ever-changing kaleidoscope of willing women, none of whom lasted for more than a couple of months. He’d been constantly on the lookout for something new and fresh and revitalising to draw him out of his depressed funk but he’d overindulged, leaving him feeling strung out and empty.

  His work had suffered. Big time. In fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt a genuine urge to pick up a paintbrush, or pencils, or even a spray can and make his mark. He felt washed up, wrung out and desiccated.

  Looking up at Seraphina, he was horrified to see tears had welled in her eyes. He held up a placating hand—none of this was her fault and he felt a sting of shame at hurting her. ‘Look, you’re a beautiful woman, but you’re not what I need right now.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sera. I wish I did. I’ll know it when I see it.’

  ‘Fine,’ she interjected, her voice wobbly and high. ‘If I’m not good enough for you I’m not wasting my time hanging around here.’ Pulling her top back on, she gave him one last accusatory look before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  Jess was smoothing her hair down with a shaking hand and trying to pull herself together in the loos across from Xander’s studio when the door flew open and a tall, beautiful woman stormed in and slumped against the porcelain washbasin, swiping away a waterfall of tears that were making her meticulously applied make-up run.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jess asked, grateful for a reprieve from worrying about her own problems for a moment. She wondered whether the woman was anything to do with Xander. She wouldn’t be at all surprised.

  The woman glanced up into the mirror. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, giving a shaky smile before looking away again.

  Jess went into the toilet to grab some tissue and placed it on the basin next to the woman before leaning back against the wall in companionable silence. The woman nodded in surprised thanks and picked up the tissue, dabbing under her eyes.

  She was incredible-looking, all Bambi limbs and delicate bone structure. Her huge blue eyes seemed to glow with life—even through the tears—and her skin... What Jess wouldn’t give for flawless, soft skin like hers.

  She pulled her long suit jacket around her, feeling like a massive frumpy lump in comparison.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Yeah. Feeling humiliated and rejected, but I’ll survive.’

  Jess snorted. ‘Join the club.’

  The woman looked at her in confusion. ‘What happened to you?’

  Jess sighed. ‘I was supposed to be interviewing Xander Heaton but he blew me off.’

  The woman snorted. ‘Sounds like Xander. Does what he wants, when he feels like it and sod everyone else. He’s a law unto himself, that guy.’

  Aha, so she was right.

  ‘What did he do to make you cry?’ Jess asked tentatively. If she couldn’t get an interview with the man himself, she could at least get some information from one of his disgruntled models to try and appease Pamela.

  The model looked down at the sink. ‘I’ve been stupidly excited about working with him and I’ve been telling everyone I’m going to be in a famous painting, but apparently I’m totally uninspiring. He doesn’t think I’m attractive enough,’ she said quietly. ‘He was all sweetness one minute and cold as ice the next and I have no idea what I did wrong.’

  A shot of anger fired through Jess’s veins. Just who did the guy think he was? ‘What’s your name?’ Jess asked gently.

  ‘Seraphina.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re a very beautiful woman and Xander’s an idiot to reject you,’ Jess said, giving the woman an encouraging smile. ‘From what I’ve heard about him you’ve had a lucky escape. He’s not exactly known for having meaningful relationships.’

  The model snorted, but managed to raise a smile. ‘No, I guess not. And it’s not as if he made a move on me, but I hoped he might.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘I just got a bit swept away by the excitement of it all and he’s so damn hot. You can’t blame a girl for falling for him.’

  Jess nodded. Okay, well, that answered the ‘are you sleeping with him?’ question. ‘Yeah, I imagine that’s easily done.’ She brushed a speck of dust off the sleeve of her jacket. ‘Right, well, I’d better go. I have to go back to work and persuade my editor not to fire me.’

  Her stomach sank at the thought of returning and admitting she’d failed.

  Seraphina gave Jess a sympathetic smile. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘You, too,’ Jess said, giving the girl’s arm a reassuring squeeze before leaving her alone in the bathroom—hot wrath at Xander rising like an out-of-control soufflé in her chest.

  * * *

  Xander was locking up the studio when the dark-haired journalist slammed through the ladies’ toilet door and stalked
towards him. Her cheeks were flushed and disdain and anger flashed in those huge midnight-blue eyes of hers.

  She jerked to a halt, a dark frown marring her face, before turning to go on her way. She’d only taken two steps before she swivelled back to face him again. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she practically spat.

  He took a step backwards in surprise. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The way you treated that woman is inhumane.’

  He frowned at her hard, baffled. ‘What woman?’

  She threw her hands up in disgust. ‘Seraphina.’

  Her reprimanding tone bothered him. Who was she to tell him how to conduct himself? ‘She needs to toughen up if she’s going to make it as a model.’

  Her eyes widened in contemptuous disbelief. ‘Not everyone has rhino skin. Can’t you remember what it feels like to be young and filled with hope and excitement for the future?’

  There was a hint of expectation in her face, as if she wanted to hear him admit to his weaknesses out loud.

  His automatic privacy barriers shot up.

  Not a chance, journo.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been filled with hope. I may have filled a Hope in my time, though.’ He flashed her a grin and took a step towards her.

  Her frown deepened and she took a shaky step away. ‘Have you always been this arrogant?’

  He grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was too tempting not to tease her, to see that passion flash in those amazing eyes again. ‘Yes.’

  Shaking her head, she looked away from him, over his shoulder at the closed studio door. ‘No wonder everyone’s beginning to think you’re just some washed-up playboy. I’m not surprised your reputation’s on the rocks if that’s the way you treat people.’

  Indignation trickled through him. That was a low blow. He couldn’t let her get to him, though; she had no idea what it was like living in his world. Perhaps she wouldn’t be quite so quick to judge if she did.

  The immense pressure to continually produce better and better work had been a killer to his self-confidence, and more importantly to his self-control when it came to distractions.

  Not that he was about to explain that to her.

  She turned back to face him and he stared into her eyes for a moment, lost in their depths. Her little show of snappy rebellion intrigued him—in more ways than one.

  She was properly saucy, in a hands-off-the-merchandise kind of way. Her face wasn’t classically beautiful: her nose was a little too big, her eyes set too far apart, but there was definitely something striking about her. He was pretty sure there was more going on behind that guarded expression, too, that wasn’t quite reaching surface level. The suit that hung so badly on her curvy frame looked like something a fifty-year-old woman might choose to wear and the long bob of dark hair she sported dragged her already long face down. She was all buttoned up—her youth and vitality clearly being repressed and controlled.

  The thought of getting beneath that well-secured facade made him want things. Things he really shouldn’t be wanting right then, not when he ought to be swearing off women until he started producing some decent art for this long-overdue exhibition.

  His gaze dropped to her small, cupid-lipped mouth and he wondered for a second what it would feel like to kiss her, how she would taste on his tongue, before dismissing the idea. He really needed to focus right now.

  A flash of him sitting down to capture this intriguing contradiction of a woman in paint and pencils flitted through his head. He’d love to have her pose for him. He hadn’t felt this captivated by anyone or anything for such a long time it was as if he’d been given a shot of adrenaline to the heart. His fingers itched to pick up his pencil and start sketching her face.

  She threw her hands up in exasperation when he failed to respond to her last jibe. ‘Okay, well, I guess I’d better leave you and your massive ego in peace so you can get back to work.’

  Turning on her heel, she strode away from him, her shoulders pulled forward with tension and her hands balled at her sides.

  ‘Let me draw you.’ The words came out of his mouth before she reached the stairwell, stopping her abruptly in her tracks.

  She turned round to face him and her look of utter confusion made him laugh out loud. She’d make a great comic actor.

  ‘What did you say?’ The words seemed to catch in her throat and she gave a little cough at the end as if to clear the blockage.

  He walked over to where she was standing. ‘I’m in need of a portrait model and I think you’d make a fascinating subject.’

  ‘You want me to pose for you?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘Firstly, because I have a job as a serious journalist, and secondly, because I’ve seen how you treat your models and, I have to say, I’m not champing at the bit to get the same treatment.’

  He startled her by lifting a hand and running it vigorously over his face before snorting with laughter. ‘Okay, Lois Lane, but in my defence Sera was the one up for more than just modelling and I was being a gentleman for once by turning her down,’ he said, resting one arm against the wall behind her so it nearly touched her shoulders. ‘That’s why she was so mad at me.’

  She seemed to bristle at his close proximity and readjusted her stance to lean away from him. He tried hard not to let her casual rebuttal bother him.

  ‘Okay, clearly I’m off my game and I apologise for being rude to you earlier,’ he said, tipping his head to one side in an attempt to mollify her. ‘Can we call a truce and start again?’

  He stared at her hard, attempting to commit her face to memory in case she refused his offer and he never saw her again. The thought bothered him more than it should considering they’d only just met. What was it about her that he found so enticing?

  ‘Okay. Truce,’ she agreed, smoothing her hand down the front of her immaculate blouse.

  ‘How about this?’ he suggested, spurred on by her acceptance. ‘You come out to Italy for a few days and let me draw you and I’ll give you an exclusive interview.’

  Her eyes widened at the—admittedly rather out of the blue—offer. ‘You want me to go all the way to Italy to interview you? Why can’t we do it here, now?’

  ‘Because I need to leave for the airport in a couple of hours and I want to be able to give you my full attention. It’s Italy or bust.’ He had to forcibly stop himself from dropping his gaze to her own rather impressive bust that nestled beneath her shapeless, overlarge jacket. He didn’t want her to think he was asking her to do more than pose for him. He didn’t need a complication like that right now, not when he’d finally started to feel the buzz of creativity that had been eluding him for so long.

  She stared at him for another minute, clearly trying to process it all, twisting her hands together as she thought about it.

  ‘What’s the matter, Miss Prim, too wild for you? Perhaps I should offer an exclusive to one of your rivals instead. I’m sure it would help sell a truckload of their magazines.’

  Her eyes widened at the challenge and he wondered for a moment whether she’d be brave enough to rise to it. He sensed from her earlier frustration that she was hungry for an interview with him, so perhaps this would push her to say yes.

  He hoped so. He really wanted her to come now he’d suggested it.

  She was twisting her fingers together as she thought about it, but when she caught him looking at her hands she crossed her arms defensively in front of her. ‘Okay. I’ll come to Italy and sit for a portrait, but I want an in-depth interview, not just the usual pat answers you reel out for everyone else.’

  He raised an eyebrow. There was no way he was giving her anything deeply private, but he could break his no-discussing-anything-personal rule just this once. It would be worth it if it meant finally breaking his dry spell and getting this exhi
bition off the ground.

  ‘Deal.’ He went back into the studio and jotted down the address of the villa on the banks of Lake Garda, which he was borrowing from a friend for a few weeks while he worked on his exhibition in peace and isolation. A complete change of scene was exactly what he needed right now in order to get his head straight. He felt stifled here in London. He needed space and sunshine and fresh air.

  Coming back out, he handed her the slip of paper and she took it with a shaking hand. Was she nervous? The idea of it surprised him. She seemed so put-together with her straight clothes and strident manner.

  ‘Maybe we should formally introduce ourselves,’ he said, flipping her a cheeky grin and smiling as a pink hue tipped her cheekbones. ‘Xander Heaton.’ He extended a hand and she put her own small, cold one into it. Her grip was firm, though, which surprised him. Usually women did that limp-handed press that left him feeling as if he were an overzealous brute when he shook hands with them.

  ‘Jessica LaFayette. My friends call me Jess,’ she said, giving him a tight smile.

  He grinned. ‘So which should I use? Clearly I haven’t made it into the friends bracket yet.’

  ‘Jess is fine,’ she said. ‘But I might withdraw the privilege if you do something else to annoy me.’ She flashed him a more relaxed smile this time, a hint of playfulness flashing in her eyes.

  He laughed at that. ‘You have cold hands, Jess,’ he said, enclosing hers in both of his.

  ‘But a warm heart,’ she said, giving him a solicitous smile before pulling her hands firmly out of his grip.

  She was going to be a fascinating subject to get to the heart of. The mere thought of it excited him. She was exactly the breath of fresh air he needed.

  He was finally on his way back to the big time, baby.

  Copyright © 2014 by Christy McKellen

  ISBN-13: 9781460331569