by Stella Gray
“Fuck you,” she says. With that, she kicks me in the shin and I finally pull my foot back. The doors start to close again, agonizingly slow.
I know how to low-blow her to her knees, and I’m going for it.
“You want to know why you didn’t get the job?” I tell her. “Your image was too clean. You’re just not sexy enough, Brooklyn. That’s why they chose Monica.”
I’m acting like a monster and I know it. I wish I could feel regret for what I’m saying, but I can’t. The only thing fueling me right now is the need to defend and protect myself from pain.
Brooklyn jabs the Door Open button and smirks as she hurls her final words at me:
“Well, whose fault is that? Maybe if you’d done a better job of putting me first and not your little fuck buddy Monica, I would have had a fighting chance. But it’s always been about her. You should have just married Monica Shore, so you could be part of the power couple you’ve always wished for.”
The doors slide together and just like that, she’s gone.
I don’t stop her, but her words dig down and rip me apart. I’ve known Monica for years, and I’ve never wanted her. From the moment I met Brooklyn, though, something was different, was real, and that feeling has never changed. No matter what we’ve gone through, we’ve been connected. Stronger together than we ever were apart. I know I’m not wrong, that it isn’t all one-sided. I’ll never tell that to Brooklyn, though, because she’ll just use it against me.
I kick the closed elevator doors, the contact vibrating through me as I storm over to the liquor cabinet to pour myself a drink. As I gulp it down on the balcony, I tell myself repeatedly that I don’t care, that I never wanted Brooklyn to begin with. She can go. I don’t need her.
But the more I try to talk myself into believing it, the more the truth hits me.
I really am a liar.
Brooklyn
Chapter 2
I’m done.
Done trusting Luka, done believing things might actually work out between us, done hoping my career will finally take off if I just let other people make decisions for me. Luka is the whole reason my image turned squeaky clean in the first place. He tried to play it off as some kind of masterful branding strategy, but in reality he was just too precious and too jealous when I did my job the right way—when I’d been free to express myself as a real artist should.
Well, those days are over. I’m ready to become the model I should have been all along. “Operation Sexify” is a go.
Mateo welcomes me to LA with open arms, and I’m so relieved to be with him again. A girl needs her bestie at a time like this. I’m not actually planning on staying in town for too long—I’m not the type to hide from my problems and I have a broken marriage to deal with—but while I’m here, we’ve come up with a hell of a plan.
“Luka can kiss my round, firm ass,” I declare, taking a slug of champagne.
“Preach, girl,” Mateo says, raising a toast to me.
I’m at Mateo’s apartment in West Hollywood, both of us sitting on the floor as we devour our In-N-Out burgers and fries, along with a two-hundred-dollar bottle of pink champagne that I know he was saving for a special occasion but which he popped open the second I walked in.
That’s what friends are for.
“I really miss this place,” I tell him wistfully, looking around the room.
“Your bedroom’s always open,” Mateo reminds me. “Although Mr. Kibbles seems to think your bed is his personal napping corner.”
I smile. Mat and I lived in this apartment together for years, and making the decision to move back to Chicago was one of the hardest of my life. But I did it for my career, and regardless of how things have turned out with Luka, the Windy City has become my home again. Who knows, though. Maybe a return to Los Angeles is in my future.
“I’m so done with Luka’s lies,” I say. “And I’m done allowing him to push my career in a direction I never wanted it to go. From now on, I’m doing things my way.”
“That’s exactly why we’re going to slut you up, Brookie,” Mateo agrees. “From here on out, it’s sexy time. No more of that squeaky clean, wholesome girl-next-door shit.”
“Damn straight,” I agree.
I might have the face for it, but trust me, I can be a living wet dream, too. My husband just never gave me that chance, unless it was a private session for him. He’s the entire reason my image was so hands-off, and if any part of what he said was true, then I lost the biggest campaign of my life because I wasn’t coming across as sexy enough. It’s not something I ever had a problem with before he took control of my career choices.
I take a huge bite of my cheese- and grilled onion-smothered fries, letting out a little moan. Mat always gives me grief for eating them with a fork, but it’s the only civilized way.
“They’re called animal fries, not orgasm fries,” Mateo teases.
“You’ve got sauce on your chin,” I tell him primly. Case in point.
He blots at the sauce with a napkin and then makes a grab for my phone, pulling up the calendar app. “Okay, let’s get some dates on this calendar. You’re going to be seen at every club in town in your trampiest dresses, and in my arms as much as possible. Clean image, be gone!”
We both giggle, but deep down is a pit of hurt and devastation over the way things have turned out. That’s why I’m jumping so hard into this campaign of sexiness and stoking my anger toward Luka. If I let myself really think about our breakup right now, I’ll totally crumble.
Handing my phone back, Mateo looks me up and down, and I see his concern.
“You sure you’re okay, babe?” he asks gently, and I can feel the tears I’ve been fighting back start to well up at the softness of his voice. “I support all your choices, but I just want to make sure this is what you really want—”
“It is, Mat. I’m committed. Consider it a necessary first step in my healing process. And if Luka gets jealous about my tirade across the city, even better. He deserves it.”
“Atta girl,” Mateo says with a grin.
The next day, Mateo brings me to the private studio of a female photographer he knows well. It’s housed in a renovated industrial building in the historic part of Downtown, with brick walls, cast iron light fixtures, and lots of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in amazing natural light.
“This place is gorgeous,” I whisper as we step inside the lofty space.
Beyond my public appearances, we decided we’re going to bring back my sex appeal with some new photo shoots while I’m here. I’m also going to try to book a few smaller gigs to fill the time and bulk up my new and improved portfolio. Operation Sexify, full speed ahead. I’m leaving my good-girl image behind without an ounce of regret.
“Hope you two are hungry!” Jasper greets us, ushering us to a low table made out of a massive tree trunk that sits in the corner of the studio. There are velvet floor cushions all around the table to sit on, and Jasper has set out iced coffees and fancy artisanal donuts for us. She’s got tons of energy, artsy glasses, and an outfit that looks a lot like mechanic’s overalls. I like her.
“I brought a few shots for inspiration,” Mateo tells the photographer.
As we all get settled with our snacks, Mateo pulls out the black and white photo spread of me and him from the luxury hotel shoot we did back in Chicago. Jasper slides a few of them closer, studying every angle and expression, pointing out every hand placement that makes the spread look so overtly sexual. I’m instantly comfortable with her and impressed by her sharp artist’s eye. We talk about the way my eyes are sultry, my lips pouty, how confident I look. I agree that I had no hesitation about showing off my body in that string bikini.
“That was one of the hottest shoots I’ve ever done,” I tell her. “I love how it turned out.”
Jasper nods, waving over the makeup artist so he can look over the photos as well. “We’re going to put together something even better,” Jasper assures me.
“I really like this look,” Mat
eo adds, tapping one of the photos. “Let’s have Brooklyn do something like this, with that amazing body spread out over the staircase.”
There’s a three-story metal staircase in here, and another cast iron spiral staircase. For my photo series I choose the spiral one, that way I can hold on to the center pole with the same love a stripper would give it, while arching and curving my body to fit the contours of the railing.
Jasper plays with the lighting and gives a few general suggestions, and then I go to a back room for hair, makeup, and wardrobe. I try not to think about Luka as I get fixed up, but it’s hard. I know he said some things he didn’t mean to try to hurt me, but he was successful. It’s impossible to keep his harsh words from replaying in my mind.
“You almost ready for this sesh?”
Mateo strides in, looking amazing with his dark eyes lined in heavy black eyeliner. I must look envious, because he shoos the makeup artist away and grabs several sticks of liner, tipping up my chin to put the finishing touches on my eyes.
“So, this hot husband of yours has zero chance of crashing our party here, right?” he asks. “He has a really bad habit of doing that.”
I make a sound that indicates he won’t. I haven’t spoken to him since I walked out of the penthouse a few days ago. There’s no way he’d know where I am right now.
Mateo pulls back to give me a dubious look with one perfect eyebrow arched. “You really think he’s sleeping with Monica Shore, don’t you?”
Over champagne last night, I’d vented my suspicions over why she really got the job instead of me. The suspicion seems hollow and I feel gross when I say it out loud, but it doesn’t stop my brain from repeatedly going there. I can’t figure out why the hell else I wouldn’t have gotten the job, no matter what Luka said. It feels like there’s more to it.
I shrug.
“Hold still!”
I almost roll my eyes but I refrain like a good little model. Being with Mateo lifts my spirits, yet I’m still haunted by my horrible shouting match with Luka, and I can’t stop seeing Monica’s smug face when her name was announced for the Maxilene campaign. Nor can I shake the utter shock and disappointment I felt in that moment.
“I honestly don’t think he is,” Mateo murmurs as he leans back and nods approvingly at my finished hair and makeup. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Brookie. Deep down, he’s completely whipped. A man who feels like that can’t get it up for anyone else.”
“Luka Zoric has never had trouble getting it up in his life, and he’s not about to let a little thing like marriage or fake loyalty stop him now,” I scoff.
“I love you, but you’re wrong.” Mateo holds out his hand and I take it, letting him pull me out of my chair. “Okay. You’re ready to steam up the camera, bitch. Let’s get this done so we can go have a few drinks.”
“Go clubbing, you mean.” I press my lips together.
“Yes, clubbing. God, you’re a pain in my ass. Come on.”
The photo shoot starts with me draped over the spiral staircase, just as I imagined.
“Do you want to try a few shots with you topless?” Jasper asks. “No pressure, of course. I want you to do what’s comfortable.”
Mateo is watching from the back of the room. He shrugs. “Why not?”
“Sure,” I agree, and slip out of the black demi bra I’m wearing.
She has me hold it lazily off one finger while I lean forward with my chest on full display. We do several semi-nudes, then a few with my arms placed strategically over my breasts. One where I’m on my knees looking back over my shoulder. One where I’m curled in a ball, one where I’m leaning over the railing.
Switching into a bodycon dress, we do a few shots against the brick wall with draped overhead lights dripping down on me like little stars. Mateo joins me for a few shots. He’s shirtless of course, and completely unapologetic about making the shoot as sexy as possible.
Next, I’m photographed on a velvet chaise, then against the huge windows. As I press against the cool glass looking out over the city, I’m reminded of posing like this in the penthouse for Luka’s pleasure. My ass bare to him as I spread my naked body against the window for anyone below to see.
My heart flips at the memory and I push it away. That was one blip, one brief moment in a relationship filled with deception and broken promises. I’m not doing it anymore. As soon as I figure everything out, like where I’m moving and which agencies I have the best shot of switching to, I’m going to cut myself as free of Luka as possible and start over fresh.
A lump forms in my throat. I never thought my marriage would be over this soon.
I bet he doesn’t care one bit that I’m gone.
We finish the shoot and I slip back into my street clothes. I decided on a tight white dress today, which practically glows against my olive skin, and I slick on a layer of wine-red lipstick for good measure. Daylight is just starting to fade from the sky as we slip into an Uber.
“Well, what did you think?” Mateo asks as he looks over at me.
“Jasper is amazing. It was so…freeing to be able to use my body like that.”
The Uber driver looks at us in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows shooting up. He’s been eyeing me since I got into the vehicle, as if he recognizes me. Which is a real possibility.
“We got some great shots for my portfolio,” I follow up in a hurry, but I’m not sure that what I just said sounds any better. Not that I care what anyone thinks.
I pop in my AirPods and listen to music as we idle in traffic for a while, finally pulling up to a club that opened pretty recently on Melrose. The line to get in stretches down the block—not that Mateo or I will have to wait in it—and a couple paparazzi are waiting at the curb, cameras ready. Mateo flashes me a grin.
“You ready?” he asks.
Slipping on a pair of movie star sunglasses that I know full well will only serve to draw even more attention to me, I say, “Let’s do this.”
We climb out of the car and are immediately surrounded.
“Brooklyn! Brooklyn Zoric, over here!”
Mateo slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing his lips into the top of my head. It’s as much a protective move as it is a statement.
I smirk as I think of Luka’s face when these images start rolling through all the social media outlets and gossip channels in a matter of minutes.
Too bad.
Because I haven’t even started yet.
Brooklyn
Chapter 3
With a sigh of frustration, I slam my laptop closed.
“It’s insane what people are asking for rent on a decent apartment in this city,” I gripe to Mr. Kibbles, switching out my computer for the dog. He makes a much better lap warmer.
I’ve only been back in Chicago for three days and I’m already burned out. I meant it when I told Luka I wanted a divorce—I have to mean it, for the sake of my heart—but when it comes to actually moving on, I’m paralyzed. There’s no way I’m moving back in with my parents, and I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that I’ll be living on my own. Unfortunately, it looks like I might have to sell a kidney in order to afford it.
Thankfully, a close, personal friend (a.k.a. fuck buddy) of Mateo’s invited me to stay with her until I decide what I’m going to do. I wish I could just stay at Mateo’s place in Chicago, but he already Airbnb’d the place for the entire time he’ll be out of town, and I couldn’t afford to cover his rent anyway. I’ll be okay, though. I’ve met Shay a couple of times in the past. She’s nice, a little aloof, and basically never home thanks to her bartending job, which suits me fine. I’m not up for late-night girl chats, and I prefer being alone considering my emotional state right now. But this living situation is obviously temporary. I need to figure out what’s next.
All I really cared about was that Shay didn’t bat an eye at allowing Mr. Kibbles to stay too (which was essential), and that she had no connection to Luka. I know plenty of other models that are good en
ough friends that they’d happily take me in with no questions asked—in fact, it’s pretty common in the industry to have other models for roommates when you’re starting out, since nobody is raking in the big money yet—but I don’t want my husband to know where I am.
On top of that, assumptions would be made and then the rumors would start to fly. Our breakup is exactly the kind of gossip that would spread through the modeling world like wildfire. I can’t stand the thought of everyone talking about our failed relationship behind our backs, wondering how things fell apart so fast. Especially Monica Shore.
It would also be easy enough to call Emzee and ask to stay at her place, but I’ve been low-key avoiding her and Tori ever since I walked out on Luka. As far as I know, they have no idea that we’ve separated, and I’m not ready to talk to them about it yet. Especially because it hurts knowing that we won’t be sisters-in-law anymore. I’ve answered a few texts here and there, but only to say that I was on a short vacation in LA or that I was super busy doing a photo shoot. At some point, though, they’re going to find out the truth. I’m dreading it.
As for Luka, I haven’t heard a peep from my husband since I left him, nor do I expect to (not that it’s stopped me from checking my phone more often than I should). I haven’t reached out to him either, and it’s left me feeling hollow and adrift. I’m used to our texts full of emojis and banter, or at the very least the bare minimum check-in calls we’d have a few times a day. It’s been a while since we’ve gone an entire day without talking. I miss it.
Even Mr. Kibbles seems sad not to have Luka around for their nightly ear-scratch sessions. I feel a little guilty that the dog is depressed. I try to give him the same scritches, but it’s not the same. I can tell by the melancholy haze in the pup’s eyes after I’m done.
Realizing my Bloody Mary is just about gone, I get up off the couch for a refill from the premade mix in the fridge. But there’s no more celery left, and no woman with any self-respect would dream of touching a Bloody without celery. I’ve got to keep it fancy somehow, considering I just gave up the hottest man in Chicago and a multimillion-dollar penthouse.
