TRAGIC: Rook and Ronin, #1 (18 page)

"You've never asked where they come from?"

"Nope."

"Why? If you've always wondered."

"Because it's gonna be something stupid like Mamie Chaput or the fucking Fruit of the Week Club. And I'd rather imagine something more exotic, like maybe it comes from some long lost love who lives in Fiji—and she misses Antoine so much, she sends him fruit every week to remind him of what they might've had?"

"You have a Mamie Chaput?"

I laugh. "Yeah, well, Antoine is French, in case you haven't noticed. I kinda got sucked into the family by extension."

"Wouldn't that be weird for Elise if there
was
some woman sending Antoine fruit baskets every week?"

"Yeah, probably. But I like picturing this girl in a string bikini, lying in the sun on a tropical island, pining over the one that got away. I never said it was practical, just exotic."

I hand her a Cutie and take out a container of pom seeds for me.

"So all you eat at home is fruit?" she asks, looking at my fridge.

"Nah, I eat everything, but I never go grocery shopping, so I just steal fruit from the baskets downstairs."

"But you have beer?" she adds, looking at the many different Colorado microbrews I have stashed in the fridge.

I grin at her. "OK, enough of your questions. Go eat your orange."

"So you make it to the liquor store and the fruit basket, but that's it? And you don't bring girls up here, but you do take them to some hidden harem room downstairs?"

I'm not sure if she's joking at this point.

"That's some picture you've painted in my head, Ronin."

I take her orange back and start peeling. The sooner she can eat it, the sooner she stops psychoanalyzing me. "That's not the picture I want you to have at all, Rook. I'm just your typical twenty-two-year-old guy."

"OK," she says, taking the orange back half-peeled. "I get it."

"Get what?" Somehow this whole day has turned against me and I'm not quite sure where it all went wrong. "I wasn't sending any messages, so I'm not sure what you get."

She hands the orange back and walks away.

"What?"

I let out a deep breath as the front door closes.

And I sit on the couch, absently flipping through channels, wondering how the fuck I just blew this whole day with a conversation about fruit baskets.

Chapter Twenty-Nine - ROOK

OK.

I'm certifiably stupid for just walking out over a fruit basket, but it's not about the fruit. It's about Elise's warnings. Both the one she gave me last night and the one she just gave Ronin downstairs. I only caught part of it, and maybe I don't know who Mardee is, but whatever happened to her, Elise thinks Ronin was the cause and Ronin was immediately defensive.

I'm no shrink, but I'm guessing that defensiveness comes up when you're playing defense. Which means he had something to do with the bad thing that happened to this Mardee girl, regardless of what he says.

I head straight for the door and skip down the stairs to get my own food from Cookie's. There's no baseball game today and lunch is technically over, so the streets are fairly quiet. I walk the block over to the diner in thought, then tell the hostess inside that "I belong to Ronin" and head back to the table. It's empty so I sink into the booth and grab a menu sitting behind the salt and pepper shakers.

Elise also said I needed stability and maybe Ronin doesn't fit that criteria. I think that bothers me a little more after he got all personal in the photoshoot than it did before. Before the shoot we were just flirting, but his hand went beyond flirting today. And then there was the little remark about Elise being protective of the girls he dates.

Why?

I mean, I don't consider us dating, but beyond that—why does Elise need to feel protective towards the girls he dates?

I order a salad and watch people as I wait. This place is still pretty busy for being almost three o'clock. A guy comes in who catches my eye. Not because he's hot, even though he is hot, but because from the minute he comes through the door he's watching me. I look behind me just to make sure, but there are no people dining behind me. He takes his attention to the hostess. He's got short messy hair, not quite blond, but not really brown either, and a little bit of facial hair. Enough to make him look rough, but not unkempt. The waitress points back to me and I watch the hot guy smile.

What the hell?

He starts walking towards me and once the counter is out of the way, it's hard to miss the fact that he's a biker. He's got the tell-tale biker boots on and they sound off a manly thud on the polished concrete floors as he approaches my booth. When he pushes up the sleeves on his white thermal I see what else he's got. Tattoos all over. Like everywhere.

He stops right in front of the booth and smiles down at me.

"Let me guess," I say sarcastically, "you belong to Ronin?"

He slides into the booth across from me and laughs. "Hey, if it gets me a seat here with you, I'll belong to that dickhead for an hour." He offers his hand. "Spence."

"Rook," I offer back as I shake his hand.

"Yeah, I figured. Antoine described you on the phone, but shit, he really played you down. You're perfect."

I twist my eyebrows at him. "Perfect for—?" and that's when Ronin walks into the diner. The hostess points back to us, but he doesn't need an invitation, he's already halfway down the aisle. I watch him very carefully, but whatever his deal is, it's got nothing to do with me because his eyes are blazing at my new dining companion.

"Spencer Shrike, what the fuck are you doing sitting in my booth talking to one of my girls?"

Oh, really! If these asshole men weren't about to throw in the diner I would be so offended at that comment!

Spencer Shrike gets to his feet and claps Ronin on the back. "Good to see you too, asshole. Now sit the fuck down. You know too fucking well I'm here on business. And now that I've met Rook, I'm more convinced than ever you guys deserve the STURGIS contract."

Ronin motions for me to move over and pushes on my upper arm a little to make me hurry. I shoot him a dirty look as I scoot, but he ignores me. "Rook has a job, sorry. I've already set up Bonnie and Val for you to try out tomorrow."

Spencer takes his attention to me as my salad arrives. We all sit back and shut up until the waitress leaves, but then Spence picks it up right where it left off. "Is that so, Rook? You're booked up through August?"

"August? I have no idea," I admit. "When does this job end, Ronin?"

Ronin growls and it takes all my self-control not to spit out a crouton as I laugh. Oh, shit. He might start pissing on me soon.

I shake my head. "I highly doubt I'll be busy until August. Is this another modeling job?" I take another bite of salad and chew methodically as I watch the silent bro-down going on at the table.

"She's busy," Ronin says through clenched teeth.

"I'm not busy, Ronin. Let the man speak."

Spencer smiles and then scoots down his booth bench so he's across from me again. "It's a complicated deal, Rook, but I'd love for you to attend the meeting I have with Antoine in about," he checks his phone, "thirty minutes. You in?"

"How much does it pay?"

"Not set in stone, so don't worry about that. We've got studio money behind us for this job," now he's talking to Ronin, "so think about that before you turn into a Neanderthal, Flynn. Can I expect to see you in the meeting?"

His blue eyes track back to me and I shrug. "Sure, what do I have to lose?"

Spencer Shrike slips on some very dark sunglasses and shoots me with his finger. "See you then, Blackbird."

I smile at the nickname. A rook is a blackbird over in Europe. Not many people know that. Most of them think I'm named after a chess piece.

Ronin catches my pleasure and even though every defense mechanism left over from my previous life tells me to hide that smile to avoid a confrontation, I don't. I flash it even bigger, daring Ronin to make a big deal about getting my pants charmed off by a biker.

I take another bite of my salad and then Ronin gets up and follows Spencer out the door, leaving me alone.

I show up fifteen minutes late for the meeting. On purpose. I figure they're all in there acting like dicks and that's not something I need to be a part of. Chaput Studios might own me for the TRAGIC contract, but I highly doubt this thing lasts for three months, so there's no way they can stop me from doing this STURGIS job if I really want to. It's best to just let the men-folk fight that out in private, come back to reality when they figure out none of them are in control, I am, and then settle back down in the world I live in.

The one where I call my own shots.

I knock softly and Ronin opens the door.

There are like ten people in the room, some suits, some bikers, and of course, Ronin, Antoine, and Elise. It doesn't take a genius to understand the STURGIS contract is about bikes. Obviously the only thing associated with Sturgis is bikers. So this should be interesting. I'm game, that's for sure.

Everyone goes silent as I enter, then Antoine takes over.

"Sit, Rook. Spence invited you, so you're welcome to listen in, but there will be no model negotiations for this meeting."

I almost do shut up and sit down, because that's basically what Antoine just told me to do. But that's dumb. "Well, I'm not about to sit in on a tense meeting when it has nothing to do with me, so if I'm not going to be provided with any useful information, I'll just take off."

They all stare at me.

Spencer stands and takes control. "Rook, we're going to offer you the contract. I've been told that TRAGIC wraps up next week…"

Next week
? That was quick. I figured this job would last a little longer than that. Ronin was not kidding about modeling being erratic. I think I might actually
need
this job.

"… so we'll talk more then."

Wait—what did I just miss? Everyone is looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I break into a sweat. "OK, yeah, sure. I'll leave you guys to it then." I pull the door closed behind me and go back to my apartment, still thinking about how quick I could be homeless again. I mean, this is their place, I'm no one, just another model among hundreds who have probably come through here, and they are letting me stay here because I have a contract with them.

Which will run out next freaking week!

I plop down on my couch and watch TV for a while, my gaze absently wandering to the front window, waiting to see if Ronin will come by for a visit tonight.

But he doesn't.

And I don't blame him.

Because I was a total bitch today.

I bite my lip and watch RetroTube until Gidget comes on. And that just makes everything worse, because even though I've been trying to talk myself out of it for the past week, I think I might actually like Ronin Flynn.

Chapter Thirty - ROOK

I wake early the next morning. Elise came by late last night and told me to be downstairs at seven AM, so I make my way into the studio ten minutes early to find everyone is already working. It still amazes me the early schedule these people keep. The dressing room is buzzing with girls. And every single one of them is naked.

I'm not talking topless, I'm talking
naked
.

They are chatting and laughing and generally acting like being nude is just another day on the job. And I guess it is when you work here.

I stand there a little lost when I hear Ronin's call.

"Over here, Gidget. Get on the scale and then Elise wants you in the salon for hair and make-up."

I forgot about the fucking scale.

Ronin doesn't smile at me, in fact, he barely notices me as I walk over to him. I step on the scale and I'm about to say something to break our awkward silence when a girl storms in, fully clothed and looking like she never went home from a party the night before, screaming at Ronin in French.

Ronin walks away and takes the girl by the arm, trying to shove her out of the dressing room. It's only then that I recognize her. The screamer from the day I came for my test shoot.

Clare.

Ronin's voice rises with hers and they stand toe to toe, yelling right up in each other's face. She pushes Ronin and he spins her around and drags her out into the studio, where her French threats echo off the tall ceilings.

"Fucking Clare," a naked blonde girl huffs out next to me.

"I know," another naked girl, this time a redhead, says with disgust. "I don't care who that bitch is, I'm glad Ronin canned her ass. She thinks she can break the rules, do whatever she wants, and still have a job?" The blonde girl snorts at this. "No," Red answers herself emphatically. "She's under his thumb just like we are. Right, Rook?" She smiles over at me.