“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching for him and placing one hand on his shoulder. With that, I finally push the handle of the door and step outside, the sharp click of my heels hitting the pavement. I look up at the glass building with a sense of awe, taking in the way it towers over the whole block with its sharp edges and glittering surface, and I make my way in.
Even though the measly salary I used to receive from Sienna barely covered my rent, I couldn’t help but dip into my savings and hit the stores. Now, with the tight fabric of a black Givenchy hugging the curves of my body, and the steady click of my Manolo Blahniks against the marble floor of the lobby, I know I made the right decision. Dressed to the nines like this, I look like I belong in the Mandarin’s lobby, a place where the rich and famous stroll back and forth throughout the year.
Maybe I overdid it, yeah there’s always that risk. But let’s be honest for a moment, shall we? I’m about to meet with someone from Naughty Angel Publishing, the romance publishing behemoth. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t bring my A-game tonight. Writers, models, PAs, designers—everyone across the industry aspires to work at NAP, and I’m no different. I mean, have you ever read one of their books?
Smoothing down the front of my dress with one hand, I make my way toward the elevators and step inside one of them. I take one final look at my reflection in the mirror inside and, smacking my lips together, I repeat the mantra going on a loop inside my mind ever since I swung my legs off the bed—you can do this, Cara.
When the elevator doors slide outward and into their partition, I step outside, walking slowly as I take in the scenery. The lobby bar on the 12th floor is truly a sight with its tall sleek windows surrounding the whole floor; it makes me feel as if I’m an actress playing some part in a movie, the bar just an expensive set. The buildings surrounding the Mandarin rise outside like brightly lit spires, and Central Park is just a pebble's throw away.
The crimson carpet under my feet silences the click of my high heels, and the smooth cool jazz coming from all around me seems to blanket the whole floor with a mellow mood. Small beige couches are spaced evenly throughout the room, and their perfect disposition makes it seem like everything in this building was designed to make everyone feel like part of the elite. And it’s working, even though I’ve just joined the ranks of the unemployed, I feel as if I belong in here.
Scanning the room, I find Mason at the end of the room. He’s standing by the window, a heavy glass of scotch in his hands, and his gaze seems to be searching for something in the distant horizon. I stand there for a moment, just watching him in his tailored black suit, his figure one of the most striking I’ve ever seen. Even though he’s just there, standing still, there’s a kind of poise about his posture. He’s the kind of man that doesn’t need to utter a single word for you to realize that he’s different from everyone else. He’s…better.
I start making my way toward him, but then I stop dead in my tracks as I realize that he’s not alone. Standing by his side is a man as tall as he is, and there’s something about him that ties my throat into a knot. He’s wearing dress pants and a crisp white shirt rolled up to his sleeves, a sleek curved glass of Port in his hand.
My lips part for a moment as I glance at the way his fingers cup the glass, his naked forearms telling me all about the carved muscles he’s hiding under his tight fitting shirt. My gaze goes up his arm steadily, and by the time I look into his face, taking in every inch of his square jaw and perfect features, I’m no longer breathing.
That’s Parker Taylor, one of the most famous cover models working in the industry.
“Cara,” Mason calls me as his eyes find mine, and only then do I remember to start breathing again. With trembling knees, I make my way toward the two of them.
You can do this, Cara.
Chapter 7
Parker
“Parker Taylor,” I tell her, standing in front of Mason and offering Cara my hand. She takes it, slowly, and I feel a lightning bolt shoot up my spine as I feel her fingertips brushing against the palm of my hand. Her skin is smooth and warm, and her fingers so delicate … I just can’t help but imagine how it’d feel to have these fingers wrapped around my cock.
Yeah, I love sex and I can’t stop thinking about it. But I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that, do you? The way I see it, most people are weighed down by the shackles society places on all of us, and I hope you’re not one of these people.
Sex is sin, the world around us insists on, all while ramming it down our throats 24/7. The hypocrisy is maddening. You’re taught to restrain yourself, but then you’re assaulted by sex all the time. Commercials, movies, TV shows—sex is everywhere. And everyone insists on convincing you that’s it sinful, unless they want you to buy some fucking shampoo, that is.
So, yeah, I think about sex all the time and I don’t apologize for it. I live the way I want to live, and I play by my own set of rules. After all, you don’t get to be one of the hottest models in the industry if you’re just like everyone else. Especially if you want to make it at Naughty Angel Publishing.
“Cara,” she finally replies, and her voice is as smooth as silk—the kind of voice God put on Earth with the sole purpose of making moans and screams interesting again. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have her fingernails buried on my back right now, her lips against my ear as I unleash all this lust.
“Glad you made it here,” Mason cuts in, stepping between me and Cara and taking her hand. I notice her lips opening up into a smile, and there’s a strange familiarity in the way with which she’s glancing at him. There’s more than just business going on between these two, that’s as clear as water.
“I had to come,” she simply says, that damn smile still on her lips. I have to take a deep breath in order to stop myself from lacing her waist with one arm, pull her into me and crush my mouth against hers. Luckily, tonight I’m representing Naughty Angel. There are few things I care more about than sex, and the company I work for is one of them. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m ruling out sex, just so you know. Sex isn’t a thing you can rule out.
Not now, not ever.
“So, Cara,” I start, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as her name rolls out from between my lips, “Mason told me you have something important you want to share. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” she nods. Waving at one of the couches close to the window, I tell her to take one and sit down across from her. Mason sits on the one in the middle, flagging the waiter as he does it.
“Just a margarita,” she tells the waiter, and then her eyes jump between Mason and I. She grazes her bottom lip with her pearly white teeth, hesitating, and places both her hands on her knees. “It’s about Sienna.”
“What Sienna?” I ask her, but Mason is the one giving me the answer.
“That Sienna. The one you’re thinking about,” he tells me, and I lean back against the couch and sigh. I still don’t know what it is that Cara has to tell me, but it isn’t going to be good; nothing good happens whenever Sienna is involved.
Just a few months away she tried to convince me to pose for one of her books, and that even though I tried to explain to her that I was working exclusively under Naughty Angel, Abby’s publishing house. Do you think she cared about that? No, she just tried to lure me into breaking my contract, going as far as promising me a large sum if I spilled the beans on some of Naughty Angel’s confidential information. She even parted her legs and offered me a nice view of her thong. Now, I know I just told you I can’t stop thinking about sex, but that was one of the few moments in my life where I just stood up and left.
“I’ve heard Sienna talking on the phone…” Cara finally starts, her bright eyes focused on mine. “I don’t know who she was talking to, but she seemed convinced that Abby’s publishing house would close doors in under three months.”
“Three months?”