All or Nothing (9 page)

Once inside my silent and familiar apartment, I padded to my bedroom, undressed, and climbed under the covers. It was obvious I wasn’t cut out for casual sex. Yet I knew with absolute certainty I wasn’t doing anything to stop Braydon’s pursuit of me.

8

The following day, I woke up with a clearer sense of myself. I was glad I hadn’t stayed in that hotel room when I’d felt uncomfortable. Waking up in my own bed had done me some good. I felt the tiniest bit more in control. I was in too deep with this arrangement with Braydon and I needed to maintain some semblance of control. Later that day, Emmy called.

“Hey, are you almost ready?” Emmy’s voice crackled through a bad connection on her cell.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

It was clear she didn’t hear me because she kept right on with her questions. “And are you guys driving separately or is the limo picking you up?”

“Emmy, what are you talking about?”

The static in the phone crackled and faded, and Emmy went silent. “Oh. Shit, Ells, I’m sorry, I just assumed you were coming tonight with Braydon.”

“Coming where?” Now my curiosity was piqued. Apparently they were all headed somewhere tonight. And I wasn’t invited.

“It’s um, a gala honoring the best male models in the business. Both Ben and Braydon received nominations for awards.”

“Oh.” It sounded pretty significant. A huge honor for Braydon, and he hadn’t mentioned a thing. I guess that told me where I ranked on his list of priorities. Getting his tux cleaned was above
Call Ellie
on his to-do list. “It’s fine, Emmy. Have fun tonight.”

“Nonsense, put your best cocktail dress on and throw your hair up into one of those pretty up-dos you’re so good at. You’ll come with me and Ben. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

I was so not okay with accepting a pity invite. And I certainly didn’t want to play third wheel all night. Hell no. If Braydon had wanted to see me tonight, he would have invited me. I had standards. Shit, I wasn’t going to show up and beg for his attention. Though the idea of wearing a sexy cleavage-baring dress to tease him was intriguing, I would never go where I wasn’t welcome. “Emmy, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Go to the gala, have fun, and don’t give it another thought. I just ordered a pizza, and I’m in yoga pants cruising Netflix. I’m cool with a night in by myself.” Especially since I was planning to have a good cry once I hung up the phone.

“This is awkward, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just assumed you’d be joining Braydon as his plus one.”

“No, he never mentioned it. It’s totally cool, sweetie.” Lies. All lies. I was crushed. It hurt like hell, but no one needed to know my inner turmoil. “I told you we’re not dating.” And he seemed reluctant to be seen with me in public. His comment about walking red carpets alone came rushing back to taunt me. “Listen, have a great time, take lots of pictures, and I hope Ben wins.” I forced a smile onto my face to try to sound cheery.

“Thanks, I hope either Ben or Braydon wins. That’d be fantastic!”

I chuckled, realizing a win for Ben would really stick it to their nemesis, Fiona. It would show that he no longer needed the backing of a big modeling agency. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too,” Emmy said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

I hated myself for it, but after talking to her I sulked for the remainder of the night. After overdoing it on ice cream, I felt sick and anxious. I finally decided to just call it a night and go to bed, knowing I’d never be able to live with myself if I purposely waited up for his call.

When I was finally drifting off to sleep, my phone chimed with a new text. I reached frantically for my phone, hoping it was him. My heart kicked up in my chest, beating in a steady rhythm.

Braydon: You asleep?

So it was a less-than-inspiring text, but still, it proved he was thinking of me. A quick check of the clock informed me it was already two in the morning. I considered not responding—letting him wonder if maybe I was out on the town. I clutched
my phone in the darkness, debating what to do. I realized by not responding I’d only be punishing myself. I wanted to talk to him. Besides, Emmy probably mentioned my night in with Netflix.

Me: Not yet. What’s up?

There. I kept it casual and breezy. Not overly needy.

Braydon: I was thinking about you.

A sleepy smile curled my lips upward. Okay, so he was being sweet. Rather than chastise him for not inviting me along, or this apparent late-night booty call, I decided to play nice.

Me: How was tonight?

Braydon: Fine. I didn’t win. Neither did Ben. I went to the afterparty and got trashed, though. And I’m pretty sure Ben and Emmy fucked in the coat closet.

I rolled my eyes. That sounded like them. I wanted to ask why he didn’t tell me about the event, but didn’t want him to know I was hurt by the lack of invite. Things between us were supposed to be easy and light.

Braydon: I want you.

I stared at his words, deciding what I wanted. Earlier, I probably would’ve jumped at the attention. Now I was feeling stronger and more in control.

Me: I’m in bed.

Braydon: I’ll join you.

Me: Not tonight.

I waited for him to write something back, to try and coax me into it in a cute, sexy way, but no reply ever came.

I was thankful our conversation had been through text, rather than face-to-face. I knew my hurt and contempt would’ve risen to the surface. He would have read me like a book. He had a knack for that. I just didn’t understand why he didn’t invite me along tonight as a friend. I knew we weren’t an item. He’d made that abundantly clear. Something nagged in the back of my head and I vowed to get to the bottom of Braydon’s strange, secretive behavior—first about his apartment and also about being seen in public with a woman.

I rolled over, hugging a pillow to my chest, and went to sleep. I’d figure out my next move in the morning.

• • •

I took myself out to Sunday brunch the next day, putting on an air of confidence and reminding myself I didn’t need a man. I dined at a pricey neighborhood restaurant in a dress and a strand of pearls. While I happily sipped a mimosa and nibbled on chocolate chip pancakes, I celebrated myself. I was a strong, confident woman. A scientist, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t need a man like Braydon Kincaid to make me feel worthy.

Stuffing a bite of sausage into my mouth, I vowed then and there I would make him communicate better with me. I deserved that much, at least. I needed to know where I stood with him, what this was between us, and why I couldn’t go to his apartment. I swallowed the bite and washed it down with the rest of the delicious orange juice–and-champagne combination, feeling so much better and in control for the first time in days.

On my walk back home, Emmy called and I picked up my phone.

“Hey, you busy today?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Wanna come to a shoot with me? Ben and Bray are being photographed together for a small local magazine. I thought it might be fun to see.”

I wondered if this was her attempt at fixing things between me and Braydon after the gala snub.

“Sure.” I’d love the chance to see Braydon at work.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”

“Make it twenty. I’m not quite home yet. Wait. What should I wear?” I wanted to look stylish. It wasn’t every day you crashed a photo shoot.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll be behind the scenes, remember?”

“Of course.” I was being silly. But that didn’t stop me from putting on my most fashionable black ankle pants, cute black and sparkly ballet flats, and a designer cream-colored silk blouse. I fixed my long dark locks in a low ponytail and added lip gloss, then studied myself in the mirror. There. At least I felt more put-together. I was ready.

When Emmy arrived, she sent a text letting me know and I jogged down the four flights of stairs to the waiting black sedan chauffeured by Henry.

“You look cute,” Emmy noted, looking me over.

I felt cute, too. But mostly just excited to surprise Braydon. There was no reason things needed to feel weird be
tween us. We just needed to talk things over. I was convinced we could fix this.

“Ready?”

“Yup.”

I listened while Emmy filled me in on the details of their charity. Things were going quite well and Ben was taking on fewer modeling jobs to devote more time to their very worthy cause of helping children in need. It was quite admirable.

Soon we were rolling to a stop by an old, run-down building. It didn’t look like much, but I quickly saw its potential. The photographer was using the rough brick façade as a rugged backdrop to capture his subjects. Ben and Braydon were stationed against the wall, each striking brilliant poses as the photographer clicked away. They were dressed casually—each in jeans, Braydon in a simple black T-shirt, and Ben in a white button-down.

Emmy and I approached from the far side, staying out of their line of vision, not wanting to distract them. This world was entirely new to me, but Emmy seemed a bit more comfortable, waving to the makeup artist and moving with authority to the sidelines.

We chatted with a set designer, the editor for the magazine, and nibbled on snacks from the catering table. While Emmy went to talk with the makeup artist she seemed to know from another shoot, I sat down on a brick ledge near the edge of the building to watch the shoot. I didn’t realize a photo shoot could last so long, and just when I’d grown bored
with waiting around for Braydon to finish, a bubbly blonde with bouncy curls plopped down beside me.

“He’s stunning, isn’t he?” I assumed she meant Ben because he was the more well known of the two, but a quick glance up told me her gaze was pinned on Braydon.

“Yes, he is.” No denying that fact. The man was frickin’ sex on a stick. Lickable in every way. And I would know. Just the memory of our naughty hotel room encounter made my skin heat up.

Her smile faltered ever so slightly as she sized me up. Pushing her thick blond curls over one shoulder, she offered me her hand. “I’m Katrina.”

“Hi, I’m Ellie.” I returned her handshake. “Are you one of the . . . set workers?” I didn’t know the right terms. My newbie status was obvious.

She laughed a light musical sound. “No. Just . . . an admirer.”

Oh. “Of Ben Shaw or Braydon Kincaid?” I wondered out loud.

“Braydon.” The familiar way his name rolled from her lips set off a warning bell in my head. “What about you?” she asked.

I flushed pink. How did I explain our arrangement to a perfect stranger? “Oh, I’ve been, um, sort of seeing him,” I said softly.

“Really?” This seemed to surprise her, her eyebrows lifting high up her forehead.

I couldn’t get over the unmistakable feeling that some
thing wasn’t quite right. “Do you know him?” She’d said she was just an admirer, but I sensed they had a past.

“Yes. He and I . . .” she stopped herself. “Doesn’t matter. But I know how he can be, and commitment is tough for him.”

I nodded, spellbound. I wondered if she’d been one of his past arrangements. My heart pumped wildly in my chest.

She pulled a scrap of paper from her purse and scribbled something down on it before thrusting it at me. “My phone number and email. If you ever want to talk.”

“Thanks.” I tucked the note inside my wallet.

Emmy approached and offered me her hand. “Ready? The boys are done.”

I accepted her hand and allowed her to pull me to standing. I hadn’t realized they were already through. Something about meeting Katrina, and the way her eyes had followed Braydon’s every movement, made my scalp tingle. A quick glance back told me my new friend was already gone—without a trace, by the looks of it. Strange. Shaking away the eerie feeling, I followed Emmy. The guys emerged a few minutes later and Braydon’s brows crinkled when he spotted me. He looked agitated.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he approached.

“Yes, we came to see you guys. Nice work.”

The tension in his face fell away just slightly. “Oh. Cool. Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “There was just a little issue. Security had to remove someone from the set.” Emmy’s concerned eyes met Ben’s. “Everything’s fine now,” Braydon explained.

Weird.

I suddenly felt strange being here. Not only was this the first time I’d been around the three of them since learning about their steamy night in Paris, but Braydon hadn’t invited me here today—Emmy had. And I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t exactly welcome. My plan to push him to talk died when I saw his serious expression. Now was not the time. I shifted my weight, hitching my purse up higher on my shoulder. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do today. I should probably hit it.”

Emmy shot me a confused glare. “I thought you were free all day?”

“I’ve got errands to run, I need to go to the store, do laundry, get groceries, return an overdue book to the library. . . .” I stopped myself from spewing any further lies.

Braydon’s posture relaxed a bit and he leaned down to give me a hug. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Sure,” I murmured, my agitation growing. Braydon wasn’t happy to see me. He didn’t appreciate my effort. He was so confusing, it made my stomach hurt. Coming here had been a bad idea. I turned and fled, heading for the nearest cab or subway station I could find. I just wanted out of there.

That evening when Braydon texted me, asking to come over, I immediately said yes. I’d let him know what was on my mind when he arrived. I had to, for my sanity’s sake. I couldn’t keep walking around day after day, not knowing. When he arrived at my apartment, bottle of wine in hand, I ushered him inside, my resolve weakening at the sight of this handsome man. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans, a vintage
tee, and his beat-up Converse, as he usually was. He looked frickin’ adorable.

He kissed me briefly then set about opening the wine and pouring us each a glass. I bit my cheek to avoid asking him about the gala or his strange behavior on the set of the photo shoot.
Let it go, Ellie.
Move on
, I begged myself silently. There are more important things to discuss.

“Here you go, gorgeous.” He handed me a glass of ruby-colored wine. “Shall we sit?” He motioned to the living room and I led the way, nestling into my couch, which was worn in all the right places. Braydon sat down next to me but left enough room between us so that we could carry on a conversation naturally.