Working It (10 page)

Emmy: I wanna see . . .

:)

I trusted her, but the last thing I needed was a cock shot ending up online. That’d be a publicity nightmare I didn’t need.

Emmy

I guess he had to be cautious with photos like that. He was a public figure after all, and could probably get in trouble. He was smart. I probably shouldn’t have been so willing to send him dirty pics, but something in me liked being naughty, liked knowing that I was turning him on.

Emmy: Hmm, too bad because I was going to send you a pic . . .

Ben: Emmyyy . . . don’t tease, baby. Send me one.

Emmy: What do you want to see?

Ben: Your ass in a sexy pair of panties.

I nearly giggled to myself. He was an ass man. I had that in spades, so we were a good match there. I turned to pose in front of the full-length mirror, capturing a photo on my camera phone. It was just my lower half, my butt in a pair of black lacy panties, legs, and bare feet. It didn’t look half bad. I hit send and hopped back onto the bed to await his response.

Ben: Mmm I like that.

I felt proud, like I’d really affected him. He had no witty comeback, just raw honesty in his reaction. Satisfaction bubbled up inside me.
I am woman, hear me roar!

Ben: That ass is perfect.

Emmy: You sure you can’t send me a pic?

Ben: You’re killin’ me, girl.

Like a peacock strutting around shaking its tail feathers, I paced my hotel room, suddenly too anxious to sit still.

Ben: Behave or I’ll have to spank that sexy ass.

Texting with Ben was made even hotter knowing that his room was only a few floors up, and he could ask me to come upstairs if things got too heated. What would I say then? How would I respond? I would say no, of course. I had morals. I wouldn’t be someone’s middle-of-the-night secret. Not even Ben Shaw’s. Because I knew already it wouldn’t be that simple. It wouldn’t be the no-strings physical relationship he was probably looking for. My pesky heart was already in the game, sporting a jersey with his name on the back. I was firmly on Team Ben. Shit, I could be the team captain.

His witty banter, sense of humor, dirty mouth . . . all of it was adding up to trouble. I needed to keep my head on straight. Ben was never going to be my boyfriend. We were coworkers. Well, I guess that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was a god. I was a lowly assistant.

Emmy: Maybe next time . . .

Ben: Mmm . . . next time, yes.

My heart raced and my skin was warm and flushed all over. There was no denying how turned on Ben got me. Of course, the brain was the largest sex organ, and all this mental stimulation was like foreplay. My nipples puckered and rasped against my shirt, feeling extra sensitive. The cotton panties I wore were thoroughly drenched and annoyingly bunched against my skin. I was too turned on. I needed relief. Slipping one hand inside my panties, I held the image of Ben in my mind: his chiseled jawline, his full mouth, those dark eyelashes and intense hazel eyes.

I soothed the pad of my middle finger over my swollen clit, a soft moan tumbling from my lips. Using the warm, slick fluid, I rubbed in small circles, quickly building toward orgasm, my body primed and ready. I pushed my tank top up with my free hand and palmed my breasts, rubbing my nipples as I imagined Ben would do. All too soon, waves of pleasure crashed against me, a blind sensation ricocheting through my womb, causing it to clench violently with the need for something to fill it. With a ragged breath, I moaned out Ben’s name as I came.

• • •

I squirmed under the weight of Fiona’s exasperated stare. I had tried the best I could, buying an expensive but basic black cocktail dress from a department store, thinking I could make it work for a variety of occasions. Wrong again. The blocky straps and slit in the back had already earned me generous critiques from Fiona, and we were only fifteen minutes into the welcome party being hosted in Ben’s honor at a local nightclub. He was being paid generous sums of money to make an appearance but hadn’t even shown yet.

Fiona was on her third glass of champagne and was flirting with a few of the execs from the advertisers Ben would be modeling for in the coming weeks.

I inconspicuously watched the door for Ben to arrive. Moments later, I got my wish. He came strolling in, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Black Gucci suit, crisp white shirt, thin black tie. His jaw was unshaven, and his hair was pushed up in a playful swoop in the front. His eyes scanned the room as those long, sexy legs carried him in purposeful strides toward our table. He crossed the room like he owned it, like he was walking a runway. It was captivating.

He turned his body fully toward mine and treated me to direct eye contact for several long seconds. His eyes were so expressive, so intense that my blood pumped faster, my heart working harder just from his attention. It was startling.

My eyes fell to my lap, but I could still feel him watching me. My skin erupted into flames and my heart kicked up a notch remembering the way his mouth felt on mine, how his fingers pumped into me until I came. I gripped the table in front of me just to keep from falling from my seat.

Fiona stood to greet him, kissing both cheeks in her customary way, and then introduced him to the executives who were there to meet the man behind the pictures. I could already tell there would be some serious wooing tonight. They wanted him. And were practically salivating just from meeting him. I was sure Fiona would be in a happy mood, realizing they’d likely book him for several more large campaigns this season and next. I could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she introduced Ben around. He smiled and shook hands, but I could tell something was wrong. He bit down, his jaw clenching as he quietly slipped into the seat next to Fiona.

What was supposed to be a casual night out Fiona had turned into a promotional opportunity to sell Ben. She pulled a stack of the new comp cards and passed them across the table. Ben smiled and fielded questions, turning up the charm like Fiona expected. But I could tell he wasn’t happy. I found myself wondering if he ever got a day off, just time to himself—time to not be the model everyone clamored for.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I felt bad for him. He was gorgeous, wealthy, well traveled, multilingual—yet I did. A tiny piece of me felt bad that he probably didn’t know the simple pleasures of being utterly carefree, able to eat whatever he wanted. Hell, eating enough comfort food to ensure a breakout and an increased pants size were practically the norm after a good breakup. Ben had probably never had that luxury.

He pulled out his phone, checking his schedule as they discussed the upcoming campaigns. Had he known tonight was going to be about work, I’m guessing he would have brought along Gunnar.

Fiona leaned across and whispered in Ben’s ear. She tried to keep her features relaxed, glancing up nervously at their guests, but Ben made no apologies for his pissed-off look.

Fiona thrust her camera at me. “Take a group shot of us, will you?”

I accepted the camera and stood, heading around the front of the table. “Squeeze in a little.”

Fiona threw one arm around Ben, the other around the French executive on her left, and proudly beamed.

“We’ll get the waitress to take it. Emmy should be in the photo, too,” Ben said.

The look Fiona shot him was pure venom. He should know better than to try to stick up for me. “Not wearing that, she’s not. Pierre, if you sign us up, you may have to throw in a new dress for this one.”

She waved a dismissive hand in my direction. All their eyes found me, and the wave of laughter at Fiona’s joke hit me like a smack to the face. I swallowed hard and kept my chin up. I counted to three and snapped the photo, mentally high-fiving myself that Fiona’s eyes were half closed in the picture. She looked like a stroke victim. I inwardly giggled.
Take that, bitch!

“It’s perfect.” I turned the camera off and passed it back to her. Then I excused myself.

I tried not to get emotional, not to let Fiona bother me. But I was PMSing. Bad. And I knew that wasn’t a promise I could keep. I made it to the restroom and ducked into a stall, blinking against the stupid tears filling my eyes. This was supposed to be a great adventure—working for the elite Status Models agency, living abroad, making something of myself. But it was times like this that I missed home. I missed the smell of Tennessee and fresh-cut grass, lazy Sundays watching football with my dad, and the fact that the guys at home weren’t supermodels. They drove mud-encrusted trucks and wore holey jeans. And they didn’t send me into a near panic attack with their sexiness, either.

I sucked a cleansing breath into my lungs. I wouldn’t let Fiona win. And things with Ben were . . . confusing . . . but fine. Yes, everything would be fine. I smoothed the dress that I now despised over my hips and studied myself in the mirror. My brown hair had gone flat. My eyes were tinged in red and I looked pale. Screw it. I exited the bathroom, needing this night to end. Stat.

Ben

Tonight was supposed to be a relaxing night out—not some circus where I felt the need to sell myself to these douche bag executives. And Fiona commenting on Emmy’s dress like that was utter bullshit. I fought to keep my anger under control. “Fiona, can I have a word?”

She nodded tightly and rose, following me from the table.

I took a deep breath. I could handle myself and whatever tasks Fiona threw my way. But I was bothered by how she treated Emmy. We paused in the corridor, facing each other. “Take it easy on Emmy, all right? She’s not used to this world.”

Her mouth pulled into a frown. “I don’t want you distracted by some country bumpkin.”

Biting down, my jaw tensed. I shook my head. I knew I needed to handle this the right way. Things with Fiona were delicate. Always had been. And our past was complicated, to say the least. I reached out toward her, smoothing a hand up and down her arm. Her lips quirked up at the contact. I knew just how to make her putty in my hands. “I’ve got this.”

“Okay, love.”

I should have been thrilled with the amount of work Fiona had lined up for me this season. I was set to appear in all the major campaigns, walk in several big shows, and make a slew of money. Yet, all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel, hang out with Emmy, and maybe take her to Luxembourg Gardens. I wanted to see how her pretty pink skin looked in the afternoon sun. I used to go there with my mother when we’d briefly lived in Paris. Emmy and I could walk to a café, sip wine, and I could hear all about her growing up in Tennessee. Surely, her childhood had been much different from mine.

I had never let anything get in the way of my work. I didn’t know what it was about this girl, but I liked her. I wanted to get to know her more. And I wouldn’t mind getting her naked. Her skin was so soft, her body a thing of wonder. She had curves. Real curves. Not like the models I was used to. Her tits were full and heavy. Fuck, I wanted to suckle those babies. I wouldn’t mind kissing her all over, for that matter.

I shook away the thought, focusing on Fiona again. She was discussing my spring campaign. I’d show up and do whatever she wanted me to. We both knew that. And Gunnar, or Emmy, would make sure I got where I needed to be.

“I mean it, Fiona. Relax, okay?” I turned without waiting for her response and strolled into the men’s room. Sooner or later I would need to make a break from her.

Emmy

Exiting the restroom, I ran smack into something hard. Ben.

“S-sorry.” I stumbled back a step, smoothing shaky hands down his lapels. He was standing in the hallway, leaning against the hall. Was he waiting for me?

“Everything okay?” His eyes saw too much. When he looked at me like that, I felt it deep inside my body. I ached to know the intensity that lurked behind those hazel eyes.

“Fine,” I bit out.

The enormity of everything hit me. I was thousands of miles from home, my boss hated me, and I was in over my head with Ben. Tears welled in my eyes. I hated that I was about to cry in front of him. It all hit me in that moment, and there was no stopping my tears now. I was half a world away and out of my depth. A lone teardrop rolled down my cheek.

“It’s all right.” He reached a hand out for me and I took a step back, quickly wiping my cheek.

“I think I’m going to head out.” My voice sounded surprisingly composed. Thank God for that. Small miracle considering my emotional state. Damn PMS.

“It’s not true, you know.” His voice in comparison was thick, husky, and rolled over me in the most sensual way.

“What?”

“What Fiona said.” His gaze lowered, sliding over my curves.

I felt squirmy when he looked at me like that—all dark and hungry. My tears dried and a new wave of emotions hit me. The way his eyes wandered made me remember his kiss, his warm tongue gliding against mine, one hand buried in my hair to pull me closer, his dirty texts last night. It was all too much.

“The dress
is
a cheap knockoff. She was right, Ben.” I hated how dejected my voice sounded, but I could do little to control it.

Ben shook his head. “Trust me.”

I wanted to assure him he was wrong, but I suddenly found that under his hot, intense stare, with his lean body so close to mine, I’d forgotten the finer points of my argument. Hell, I’d forgotten my damn name. His eyes slid lower, caressing my breasts, and a smile curved over his lips. My breasts had never felt so full and achy, so ready to be touched, licked, and kissed.

Lazily making his eyes return to mine, Ben said, “Let me walk you back. I’m done with Fiona’s shit show, anyway.”

I nodded and allowed Ben to guide me back to the table. We said our good-byes, and Fiona shot me a dark, icy stare. I kept my eyes downcast, knowing she was fuming. Awesome. I’d have that to deal with tomorrow.

Once we reached the hotel elevator, Ben hesitated. The way his eyes traveled over me . . . I just knew he didn’t see an unfashionable dress or an unpolished assistant. He saw me—a girl from Tennessee who wore her heart on her sleeve. I felt fully present with him. Not because I was relaxed—that wasn’t it—I was hyperaware of every sensation, overanalyzing every emotion when he was near. When he looked at me, it felt like he’d always known me. And he accepted me just how I was.