by Stella Gray
The Ruin
Convenience Book Three
Stella Gray
Copyright © 2020 by Stella Gray
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Also by Stella Gray
About This Book
Prologue
1. Luka
2. Brooklyn
3. Brooklyn
4. Luka
5. Brooklyn
6. Brooklyn
7. Brooklyn
8. Brooklyn
9. Brooklyn
10. Brooklyn
11. Luka
12. Brooklyn
13. Luka
14. Brooklyn
15. Brooklyn
16. Brooklyn
17. Luka
18. Brooklyn
19. Luka
20. Brooklyn
21. Luka
22. Brooklyn
23. Brooklyn
24. Luka
25. Luka
26. Brooklyn
27. Brooklyn
Epilogue
What’s coming up next?
Also by Stella Gray
About the Author
Also by Stella Gray
Arranged Series
The Deal
The Secret
The Choice
Convenience Series
The Sham
The Contract
The Ruin
Charade Series
The Lie
The Act
The Truth
About This Book
My life is in ruins. Failed marriage, failed career--I'm a failure.
My husband may have had a hand in it, but I can't help missing him.
We made an agreement. I signed the contract, and so did he. Without our arrangement, everything falls apart.
So we'll keep losing ourselves in each other's bodies.
We'll keep pretending everything is fine.
But maybe I'm getting sick of pretend.
Maybe I want to find something real.
And just maybe, Luka does too.
Prologue
Luka
“So tell me about Monica Shore.” Guy eyes me with keen interest from across the booth.
We’re at my favorite sports bar on Chicago’s South Side, and after shooting the shit about the best local pizzerias, baseball, and DRM’s most promising new faces (and destroying most of a large pizza), the advertising head of Maxilene has relaxed considerably and even removed his tie.
“Monica. Right. Well, as you know, she’s a veteran in the industry,” I say carefully. “Definitely professional and easily recognizable. But probably not the ‘fresh face’ you said you’re looking for at the moment, unlike Brooklyn—”
“Sure sure,” he says, taking another swallow of his beer, a Goose Island IPA. “But there’s something to be said about that kind of longevity. Most models fizzle after a year or two, but Monica’s got serious staying power. It almost makes me wonder if a makeover—a full-on Maxilene makeover—could relaunch her and us, in one fell swoop.
“Get it? The message being that our cosmetics can refresh you, like a…like a reboot. You’re still the same person, but now you’re revamped.”
I can tell Guy is getting excited about this new line of thinking, and I know I have to do everything I can to steer him away from it. The goal is to get him invested in hiring Brooklyn, my wife. This Maxilene campaign has been her dream for ages, and on top of making her a household name, it’s exactly the kind of career move that will launch her into the big leagues. Plus, Monica is Brooklyn’s biggest competition. There’s no way they can hire her instead.
He adds, “I gotta tell you, it was a shock to hear that Monica left Elite Image. She’d been with them, what, seven years?”
“Just about,” I admit. “But she was ready for a change.” I take the opportunity to pivot. “And that’s what DRM is all about, as we discussed. Ushering in big changes, shaking things up, disrupting the industry. That’s a big reason why we launched our Curves division and signed models like Brooklyn—”
“Sure,” Guy agrees, eyeing the pizza stand in the middle of the table. “You mind if I take the last slice?”
“Please, go ahead.”
He picks it up and takes a huge bite, grinning around a mouthful of sausage and cheese.
I smile back, but I’m tense. I’ve been singing Brooklyn’s praises for the last half hour to convince Guy that she’s the perfect model for Maxilene’s new campaign. His sudden inquiry about Monica has taken me completely off guard.
“Look, Brooklyn is a shoo-in,” he says, and I relax a bit.
“That’s great news,” I tell him.
He goes on, “But I gotta go back to the execs in a few days and present them with different options. It’s not just about what I want, you know? And I’ll definitely mention that other woman with the roller skates. Tessa, you said her name was? Her too.”
“Sure, of course.” From what I gather, he’s already decided on Brooklyn. He just needs to go through the motions and pitch his bosses at Maxilene a variety of models so they feel like they’re making their own choices.
He shrugs, looking satisfied with himself. “Back to Monica, though. Just for the sake of argument, and given that she’s nearing icon status in the national scene, what do you think of her potential for this job? I gotta make my presentation to the bigwigs, right?”
Damn, he’s good.
I steeple my fingers and mull it over. “Well, I will say that Monica is a perfect example of a classic beauty. That’s what accounts for that staying power you mentioned. Her face alone is its own brand. But at the same time, it’s static. No matter how she’s styled, she gives off the same vibe in every shoot. That old Hollywood glamour thing. Not that I’m complaining.”
He laughs and I scramble to think of how to phrase this properly.
“From what you’ve told me, Guy, I’m not sure that residual essence is what this campaign needs. Maxilene would go much farther with an eye-catching, natural beauty, the type who goes from sultry fantasy girl to girl-next-door in the snap of your fingers. The type who appeals to the entire target demographic.”
Guy nods. “I see what you’re saying. And Brooklyn is all of that.”
“Exactly.” My wife has certainly painted the wholesome picture, thanks to my careful engineering of all of her photo shoots. She’s never liked it, but it might just pay off now.
His eyebrows arch and he taps his fingers together, slightly mimicking me. I hope that’s a good sign. “I agree we need someone fluid who can roll with any changes the campaign may take. Someone who can exude a different look on every billboard, at every event we send them to. Like a chameleon who can adapt to whatever given look we’re after.”
I raise my beer to him in a toast. “You’ve seen Brooklyn’s portfolio. Have you ever seen a face that versatile? She’s perfect for this campaign.” I don’t want to push too hard, but Brooklyn really is the best model on DRM’s roster for this particular job.
Guy wipes his mouth and then nods. “We’re on the same page,” he tells me, and I’m encouraged by the pleased glint in his eye. “You’re obviously passionate about this project, Luka, and I appreciate everything you’ve told me. That’s exactly why this campaign is going to Danica Rose Management. I always go with my gut, and my gut says DRM.”
My heart flips into the base of my throat. “Thrilled to hear it, Guy.”
Just then, our waiter stops by
with the check. Guy goes for his wallet, but I wave him away and tell him I’ve got it, then hand over my Amex.
“Listen,” Guy says. “I need to get going, but I’m heading back to LA this week to meet with the team, and rest assured, you’re going to be very happy with our decision. Thanks for the lunch and the talk. I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t mention it, man.”
He holds out his hand with a grin, and we shake.
There’s no doubt in my mind that the campaign is definitely going to Brooklyn.
Luka
Chapter 1
Brooklyn is packing in a fury. She storms around the penthouse grabbing her things, carrying clothes and toiletries and everything else into the guest room where her two suitcases lie open on the bed. She’s still in her black gown from the Maxilene event, her heels making sharp clicks on the hardwood floor. She hasn’t spoken to me since we got home.
Meanwhile I’m standing in the hall, not wanting to invade her space but not wanting to walk away either. All I can do is watch my wife pack, and rack my brain trying to remember my conversations with the Maxilene rep. What did I say that caused him to choose Monica Shore over my wife for the biggest campaign the company has ever planned to launch?
I would have bet my life on Brooklyn clinching this. I had no idea that when I opened that envelope to publicly announce the new face of Maxilene that I’d pull out a card with Monica’s name written on it. What the hell happened? Where did I go wrong?
Our greyhound, Mr. Kibbles, sits by Brooklyn’s feet. His gaze shifts back and forth between us as she hastily folds some clothes, then loses patience and shoves them into the suitcase in a messy pile. I haven’t fully processed what she’s doing yet. Logically I know what she’s doing because I’m watching her from the doorway, but it hasn’t completely sunk in.
She’s leaving me.
And…she’s taking our dog.
Mr. Kibbles whines and slinks over to me for a pat on the head. He knows something is up, too, but my touch does little to comfort him. The anger radiating off Brooklyn has both the dog and me tied in knots. I’ve seen her angry before, furious even, but not like this.
This is something else entirely.
“Please,” I say gently. “Talk to me. Say something.”
“What do you want me to say? That I know you’re a liar? The same liar you’ve always been?” she says, her voice deadly calm. “I swear to God, Luka, every time I put my trust in you, I get stabbed in the back! Every time! I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit again.”
She turns away in disgust. Her words have gutted me.
“I swear, I don’t know what happened.”
As she zips up a suitcase, she shouts over her shoulder, “You let me think I had this campaign! You told me they agreed I was perfect for it. When all along, you were conspiring with Monica against me. I can’t think of anything more cruel.”
“That’s not—I swear, I didn’t conspire with anybody.”
“Oh no?” She zips up the second suitcase, and whirls around to glare at me.
I run a hand over my mouth. “Listen, I know it looks bad—”
Brooklyn laughs sarcastically. “No. I’m done ‘listening’ to you. I should have seen this coming, actually. You’re the one who told me the company was in dire straits. That’s why you signed Monica, isn’t it? You knew Maxilene could save DRM’s ass from going under, and you figured she was your best bet at getting the campaign. Did you even pitch me at all?”
“Of course I did,” I insist. “I pushed harder for you than anyone else.”
“Oh, I’m sure. And now we can see the results of all your hard work.”
She pulls the bags to the floor and starts wheeling them toward me.
“It was a mistake to put my career in your hands, Luka. I’ve worked my ass off for years trying to get somewhere, and then you came along with all your big promises and somehow managed to convince me that you actually intended to keep them. But you never keep your promises, do you? You’ve been pulling the bait-and-switch with me since the first time we met.”
I can’t even defend myself. Because what she’s saying has the cold ring of truth. The first time I set eyes on Brooklyn, years ago, I promised her an exclusive modeling contract just to get her into bed. And now, with our marriage contract, it looks like I’ve done the exact same thing all over again.
Stepping aside to let Brooklyn pass, I watch her make her way across the living room, toward the entryway of the apartment. Mr. Kibbles is following her, whining softly.
“I should have known better than to trust a Zoric,” Brooklyn hisses.
It feels like the wind just got knocked out of me. I blink, a little stunned that she just compared me to my father. Contemptible. Criminal. Sleazy. Exploitative. Manipulative and self-serving. Maybe she didn’t fully verbalize the comparison, but that’s how I take it.
My wife sweeps by me again, collecting Mr. Kibbles’ leash, toys, and food from the kitchen. I wish I could convince her that I’m telling the truth. I really did think Guy was going to give the campaign to her, and I really did do everything I could to sell her as the next face of Maxilene. But why bother trying to earn her forgiveness and make her stay? It’s obvious that she only cares about her career. I was aware of that going into this marriage—hell, it’s written right into our marriage contract—but it still hurts.
And if she’s able to throw away our relationship so easily, I’d be a fool to try to save it. It’s clear she has no interest in working through this together if it’s so easy for her to believe the worst in me, to just walk out on our marriage like it doesn’t mean a thing.
“Where are you going?” I ask, striving for a neutral tone. I watch her clip the leash onto the dog’s collar and then whip out her cell to tap on the Uber app.
“Mateo just got a gig in LA for a few months. I’m going to stay with him since there’s nothing meaningful here for me anymore.”
I was right. Nothing I say to her will change her mind. She really believes that I booted her out of the way so that Monica could take the spotlight, and she believes I did it because the only thing I value is making money, even if it means destroying other people in the process.
So, fuck this. Fuck all of this. If that’s what she thinks of me, this entire relationship really has been a sham. I’ve worked so hard to make this work, to make us work, even if my original motive was to repair my reputation. But along the way, something changed. I changed. But she doesn’t believe it. She thinks I’m just as bad as my father, a trafficker currently on trial for his crimes. I hate that he makes me feel dirty by association, but I despise that my wife just made me feel stained by it in a way I can’t ever hope to wash away.
The worst part is, I really had faith that Brooklyn and I were going to make it.
“I can’t believe I actually cared about you when it’s obvious you don’t care about anybody but yourself,” she says, punching the button for the elevator that opens into the penthouse. “All you’ve ever done is lie to me.”
My defenses go up, way up. I feel myself shutting down, compartmentalizing, pushing away any concern that I had over her feelings. I’ve never stuck my neck out for someone the way I have for my wife. I’ve never cared enough to try to work on a relationship. I’ve never let myself fall for someone. You know why?
Because I couldn’t stand the thought of going through exactly what we’re going through right now.
“All I do is lie, huh?” I snap. “Well, it’s the Zoric way. You should have known better.”
She glares at me. “Fuck you, Luka.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
“C’mon, Kibby,” she says, tugging the dog’s leash. He’s still hovering at my feet.
But as she wheels her suitcases into the elevator car, the little traitor actually runs to her and sits on a wiggly bottom, gazing up at her with his ears back, anxious for attention. He’s leaving me. They’re both leaving me.
My mind goes blank, and I feel like I’m watching this all happen from a distance. A hole could open up and drop me a thousand feet right here, right now, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’m just…empty. Numb.
I know this feeling. It’s one that visited me often as a kid after my mom died, and my father was physically in the same house, but never truly present. When I was upset or lonely or scared, but I had nobody to tell me it would be fine. Part of me would just go someplace else.
“Goodbye,” Brooklyn says, her gaze cold as the elevator doors start to close.
Something in me breaks, and I kick the doors so they slide back open.
“It was never about you and me at all, was it?” I say accusingly.
Her brow crinkles, and her look of hard resolve wavers. “What?”
“All of it. Every moment we spent together. It was never more than a way to further your pathetic career.”
“Pathetic?” she shoots back. “Get the hell out of the way. I’m leaving.”
I keep one foot over the threshold so the elevator doors stay open. “You were a failure when I met you! A nobody. I could have chosen anyone to marry, but for some reason I still can’t figure out, I chose you. But you’re still nothing, Brooklyn.”
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