A Model Romance (True Love Book 3)

by Anne, Betsy

  A MODEL ROMANCE

  Book Three in the True Love Series

  BETSY ANNE

  OTHER BOOKS BY BETSY ANNE

  Mine, Not Hers

  Book One in the True Love Series

  A Love We Deserve

  Book Two in the True Love Series

  Text copyright © 2015 Betsy Anne

  All Rights Reserved

  For my three wonderful children, Shelby, Hank and Jack, who have taught me what unconditional love is all about.

  ~ Part One~

  Chapter 1

  Come on, pal, look down, already. The slit of my skirt has been hanging open, revealing all of my leg and some of my bare hip, for at least five minutes now. The silky fabric is all but covering his left leg. Even in first class, the seats don’t allow for much personal space. My handsome row-mate has been chatting away on his phone and staring out the window since I’ve boarded. It never takes this much effort to get a man to notice me, but today I need it. I need some validation that at the ancient age of twenty-eight, at least by modeling standards, I’m still worth gawking at.

  Here comes the flight attendant’s announcement; he’ll have to turn off his phone soon. I hide behind my Elle magazine, of which I’m gracing the cover. As he finishes his conversation, I hear him whisper, “Damn.” Just what I’ve been waiting for. I lower my magazine, slowly close it and place it on my lap. That’s when I just happen to notice that my skirt has gone wayward.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. This is a terrible outfit to travel in,” I say as I hurriedly gather the side of my skirt.

  His eyes are glued to the side of my body, taking in my long, bare leg. He glances at my face, down at my lap and back up with a keen look of recognition.

  He clears his throat before he finally speaks.

  “I know you, you’re the woman from that gum commercial aren’t you? That’s you, isn’t it?” He points down at the magazine askew on my lap. He looks rather pleased with himself, and more than a little excited that he got so lucky to be in seat 1D.

  “Oh, yes, that’s me: Brightness Gum for the brightest teeth around!” I throw him my best commercial-worthy smile, and he eats it up. I can’t believe I’ve stooped to the level of B-list celebrity, practically begging for someone to notice me.

  We chat and drink for the entirety of the flight. Thankfully, Chicago to New York isn’t long, and we land before I get in too deep. He shoves his business card into my hand, and with Scotch-laden breath begs me to call him to meet-up while he’s in town. What an ass. Like I don’t notice the wedding band, shiny and new, gracing his left hand like a beacon in the night. It’s my own fault, though. If my self-esteem weren’t so battered right now, I wouldn’t have spoken to him about anything other than a polite mention of the weather.

  A career in modeling will do that to a person. It skews perception of reality. Thirty-year-olds are washed-up hags, twelve-thousand dollars seems perfectly reasonable for the latest handbag, and a full meal consists of sixty ounces of water and half an apple.

  I’d been blind to how everyone else in the world lives until the trip to Chicago for my older sister Melanie’s wedding. It was just the wake-up call I needed.

  * * *

  The line for taxis is a block long. I’ve been calling and texting Harrison since I landed, but no still no response. He knew what time my flight was supposed to arrive, he confirmed with me last night. I would have scheduled a car to pick me up, but he was insistent he would do it.

  The older woman in front of me keeps staring. I get that a lot. Modeling and commercials offer enough exposure to get you recognized, but rarely do people want an autograph from the gum lady. They would just prefer to stare. I’ve been edgy since I left Chicago, and now with Harrison blowing me off, I’m pissed as well. I don’t feel like being leered at right now, so I put on my dark Jackie Onassis sunglasses and step out of line to go back into the terminal. I call Harrison one last time; maybe he was stuck in traffic. No luck: The call goes straight to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message, and instead call for a car service.

  Two exhausting hours later, I make it to the Upper East Side, my home sweet home. My feet feel like freckled sausages stuffed into the heels I’ve been wearing all day. All I want to do is collapse on my bed. The doorman, Frank, rushes to help me with my bags.

  “Goot afternoon, Miss London, how vas your treep?” He asks with a heavy eastern European accent.

  “It was lovely, Frank, thank you for asking. Have you seen Mr. Bernard around today?” I ask, I’m curious if I missed him.

  “No, ma’am, I have not.” He looks uncomfortable answering personal questions. He shuffles his feet as we ride the elevator to my floor. I change the subject and ask about his wife. His eyes light up when he speaks about her, which is daily, and it always puts a smile on my face. I’ve never had that with anyone.

  Harrison and I met two years ago at a charity event sponsored by the investment bank where he works. I was there with a good friend, who happened to notice him first. Harrison is a strikingly handsome man who commands any room he’s in. He gave a speech before dinner, and my friend grabbed me to go with her to be the first to meet him when he got off stage. He walked right past her and took my hand to introduce himself. He oozed power and grace. After dinner, he sat with me and we talked until the end of the night. We dated for six months, and then he asked me to move in.

  Our relationship has changed since we’ve been living together. Our once hot sex life has become routine, and the only time we go out is if there’s a business function for which he needs me on his arm. Otherwise, he works all hours and we rarely spend time together. He’s a nice guy; I just don’t know what changed. I thought I loved him and that we would get married someday, but now I don’t know. I need to feel more passion in my life.

  Frank carries my bags to the door, and shuffles back to the elevator. I hear Harrison’s voice as he speaks on the phone when I enter our place.

  “Yes, I will. She just walked in. I’ll speak with you soon,” he says in a clipped tone, almost as if he’s angry or nervous. “Hi, gorgeous, you’re early!” He crosses the room to greet me. He stops short when he sees the unpleasant look I’m sporting.

  “Early? Harrison, you told me you would be there to pick me up! I had to wait for a car service for over an hour. I told you last night what my travel schedule was,” I huff, as I walk stiffly past him.

  “What? You did? I’m sorry, Bec. My head has been all over the place lately. Please forgive me.” He seems genuinely contrite, but this behavior is so unlike him. He dots every “I” and crosses every “T,” He doesn’t forget things.

  “Well, what’s done is done. Who where you speaking to on the phone?” I ask, innocently, almost robotically, as I sort through some mail on the coffee table. I look up and he’s white as a ghost. I’ve never seen him like this, ever. My stomach flips and I brace myself for what’s next.

  “Becca, we need to talk.”

  Oh, God. Does that ever end well?

  “What is it, Harrison? You’re scaring me. Are you OK?” I ask, not really sure what I’m about to hear.

  He walks over slowly, and sits down next to me on the sofa. He places his warm hand on mine.

  “I’ve met someone, Rebecca,” he whispers quietly as if he’s trying to soften the news. I’m momentarily stunned, not feeling much other than confusion.

  “What? When? Who?” All I left out was the “where” and the “why.” I pull my hand out from under his, and move over to the next cushion. I need to fully see him.

  “I haven’t cheated on you, I need you to know that. You mean the world to me, but I think we both know our relationship has been on
e of convenience for a long time now. I wasn’t looking, it just sort of happened.”

  He looks sad, I almost feel sorry for him. He’s a good person; I’ve never had any doubts about that. If he says he hasn’t cheated, I believe him. That makes this news a tougher pill to swallow. He’s fallen for someone.

  “Please tell me, Harrison, I need to know what’s happened,” I plead; I just want this over with.

  “She’s in your agency. Her name is Cara; she’s a legal assistant in the corporate law division. We met at the Fashion Week party while I was waiting for you after your show. We started chatting, and it turned out she went to school with one of my firm’s partners. I didn’t see her again until weeks later at the Christmas party. Remember? You were in L.A. She asked her friend to invite her because she wanted to see me again. We’ve been speaking ever since. It began very innocently, Bec, I swear to you. I’m drawn to her, and I need to explore these feelings. I never intended to hurt you, please know that.”

  He’s sincere. I vaguely recall who she is. I’ve had no interaction with her in the agency, no need to. I’m a little embarrassed that I don’t feel like crying and screaming. That must be a sign. He and I have a good friendship, but the romance part has cooled. We’ve been going through the motions, and for him, at thirty-eight, he needs more. He wants a wife and kids, and we never talked about it much beyond speculation. In a strange way, I’m happy for him. I’m also jealous; I wish we could have had those feelings for each other, but it wasn’t meant to be.

  “I love you, Harrison, you know that. I want you to be happy,” I say as I feel a tear roll down my cheek. The emotion is real; I’ll miss him. He embraces me tightly, and I feel him exhale. We sit like this for a long while. This day officially sucks.

  In the next few days, we cordially discuss my moving out and the separating of goods. I sold my last place with all the furniture in it since he had everything already. I need to start from scratch. Find a place to live, and get on with my life.

  Chapter 2

  I find a great loft in the Village. It’s just what I need at this stage of the game: Young, trendy and full of life. Now if I could just get my mood and attitude to match my neighborhood. Harrison and I have remained friends, which in the grand scheme of things, is remarkable. His girl, Cara, left our agency to work someplace else. I respect them both for trying to spare my feelings. I guess it’s what I have to do.

  Ever since I returned to New York from Chicago I haven’t been the same. The the upheaval in ending a relationship helps to distract me, but I feel depressed. At my age, I’m near the pinnacle of my modeling career and on the downward slope. Sure, there are models out there that keep going through their thirties and forties, but they’re a rare breed. The rest of us begin to notice the phone doesn’t ring as often with job offers, until one day it stops altogether. I’ve been one of the lucky ones, I know. Being a natural redhead set me apart from the pack, especially at the beginning of my career. There’s a great deal more diversity in the modeling industry today, but the blondes and brunettes still make up the majority.

  I have a meeting today with Embrace, a large cosmetics company that I’ve been the face of for the last three years. My contract is about to expire, and we have to renegotiate the particulars of a new one. It’s been steady work, and they’ve paid me handsomely. I’d love to squeeze another five years out of them, and be finished for good. I have plenty of money to stop now, but this is my career. I want it to last as long as possible. Thinking back on our last contract meeting, I remember Cara. She was sitting with our attorneys taking notes. I feel a little pang of jealousy.

  I don’t sleep well, so I decide to get up and get my workout done to burn off excess energy. I take my time getting ready, too. My makeup is flawless, and my hair is down with long, loose curls. I’m wearing one of my favorite outfits, a custom-fitted Chanel suit in a deep purple. My five-inch gold Louboutin heels put me around six-four. I love feeling the power that comes from standing tall. Contract negotiations are dull, to say the least, but I want to remind them what they’re getting.

  I arrive at our downtown offices early. When I enter the lobby, I see my agent speaking with the receptionist.

  “There she is, good timing,” Deb, my agent, says with a smile. “Let’s go in this conference room, Rebecca, we’ll have some privacy.”

  Strange.

  “OK. Am I late? I thought I was early,” I say as I follow her into the smaller room down the hall. She doesn’t speak; she keeps walking ahead. There’s no one in there, so she must want to go over some details first.

  “Becca, I can’t sugarcoat this, so I just have to tell you upfront. Embrace is passing on your contract renewal. They contacted me yesterday, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I did everything I could, but they’ve made up their minds. I’m terribly sorry.”

  My mind takes this opportunity to unleash all the pent-up rage I’ve felt for the past few months onto my poor agent. Knowing, and not caring, that everyone in the place can hear me, I begin to shout.

  “What the fuck, Deb! You have one fucking job, and that’s to keep me employed! This was supposed to be an easy renewal, sign the papers and get on with my day. Now you’re telling me that my biggest contract is gone?” Each word that comes out of my mouth gets louder and louder, until I feel the veins pulsating in my forehead. I see a small group gathering outside the frosted-glass walls of the room. I take a deep breath, and begin again in a lower tone.

  “OK, Deb, I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault, but something had to happen. What did they say?”

  She looks down at the table, and inspects an invisible speck of dust.

  “They wanted someone younger,” she doesn’t look up. She knows this is a model’s greatest nightmare. In this business, news travels at the speed of light; every other company will know that I’ve been pegged as “too old.” I could start appealing to the face-cream bunch, but even they hire twenty-year-olds who pretend to have wrinkles. I knew this day would come; I had no idea it would be this soon. I’ve picked up on some subtle, and not so subtle, clues, though. A photographer at a recent shoot complained that he needed a softer filter for my layout. He muttered under his breath in French that I should try some Botox. I told him, in French, as clearly as I could to go fuck himself. That news spread fast, and labeled me “difficult to work with” even after all the years of stellar behavior.

  I storm out the room, and the sea of onlookers parts for me to pass. I walk with lack of direction; I allow my feet to make the decisions. I keep my head held high and even though I feel like crying, I don’t dare. I walk out onto the busy street, and keep walking until I can’t go any farther. My feet are screaming in these shoes; It’s time to catch a cab and go home. The leaves are beginning to turn, and the air feels lighter. Fall is around the corner. Thank God, because the summer I’ve had I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  * * *

  My sister, Melanie, is due to have her baby sometime late September. That’s only a couple of weeks away. I think I’ll go out for an extended visit, and offer to help her and Brian. I desperately need to get out of the city for a while. Ever since I returned to New York after their wedding, my life has turned upside down. Maybe a repeat trip will flip it around.

  Melanie couldn’t be more excited that I’m coming. She and I were close growing up, but with my lifestyle and her asshole first husband, we haven’t gotten to see each other very often. I’m thankful that her friend, Katie, helped her see what a jerk her first husband was. Her new husband, Brian, plays for the Chicago Bears and he’s adorable. He reminds me of a big teddy bear. He adores her and her boys, and is so excited for their new baby to arrive. I love being around the two of them, they give me hope for the future. If she can find that kind of love after everything she’s been through with men, there’s a chance for me yet.

  Even though her house is huge, I insist on staying at a hotel. I don’t want to get in the way, especially now when so much is go
ing on. I can always stay at her house if she needs me, but it’s better for everyone if I have my own space. They are still newlyweds, after all. Brian’s been away at training camp, and he’s done well in preseason games so far. He’s had limited playing time, testing out his injured Achilles, but so far he says it feels great. I make my plans to go out in the middle of next week. Since I’m staying an indefinite time, I need to get things in order here before I go.

  I rent a car at the airport, and type their address into the GPS. Glencoe is one the quaintest towns I’ve ever seen. The homes are beautiful, and the little village downtown looks like something from a movie set - far from the madness that is New York. Melanie is waiting on the front porch when I arrive. She looks cute and impossibly large. She waddles down the front steps to greet me.

  “I’m so happy you’re here! Poor Brian, I’ve been wearing him out talking about it. I think he’s thankful to be on the road this week. Here, let me help,” she says as she rocks her swollen body from side to side trying to pick up one of my suitcases. I agreed to stay with her through the weekend while Brian is away.

  “Are you insane? Not only can I carry all of these and you at the same time, if you go into early labor picking up my bags, Brian will never speak to me again!” I laugh as I gently push her hands away from my bags.

  “Oh, I’m not helpless. Everyone keeps treating me like I’ll break, but I’ve been through this three times before. I can carry a damn suitcase!” She huffs. I relent and give her my small carry-on vanity case. She’s as stubborn as they come, and I know better than to argue, and she knows better than to push me too hard, too. I can keep up with her.

  We drop everything in her front foyer and hug. It’s not the easiest thing to do since she’s six inches shorter than me, and twice as round. This feels good. I’ve missed her so much over the years; it feels natural to reconnect this way. My nephews come screaming down the stairs and hug both of us.