“I didn’t say that.” I softened my tone. “I said there are concerns.” It would absolutely paint a target on her. Threat assessments were probably going to be nightmarish. We would need to take real time on them.
Her gaze flicked up, hopeful and uncertain all at once.
“And third,” I said, “you’d need to build a whole new team around you. New agent. New contracts. New circles. That means new people in your life. New connections to vet. Which we can do, but it’s work.”
There it was again, that tiny flinch when she thought she was going to be a burden.
“Hey,” I said, nudging her pinky again. “I didn’t sayno. I’m just giving you the reality. If you go back, we build the safety net before you take the first step.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. That… makes sense.”
I could tell she wasn’t done, though. The words were bunched up behind her teeth, fighting their way out. So I waited. Let her get there herself.
Finally, she whispered, “I do miss modeling. I miss the creativity. The artistry. I miss… feeling beautiful. Strong. Like I owned the space I walked into.”
God. Yeah. I felt that one like a punch.
She wasn't being vain. She was remembering a version of herself she’d been forced to abandon.
“You were good at it,” I said. “Hell, Firecracker—you lit up runways. When Alphabet found some of your old campaign videos? I thought Lunchbox was gonna have a stroke.”
That pulled a shaky laugh from her. “Legend said he almost tripped over a chair.”
“Lunchbox absolutely tripped over a chair,” I corrected. “Don’t let him lie to you. Man damn near face-planted watching you pose with a scarf.”
Of course, it hadonlybeen a scarf draped creatively. Rather than pornographic, it had been utterly sensual and captivating. Which posed another problem, her body, her call. But anyone being near her while she was that naked would need an even closer look and one if not two of us on set.
Her cheeks pinked in that way that always made me want to pull over and kiss the breath out of her.
“But…” she said slowly, “I also miss the people. The relationships I built.” Her throat bobbed. “After Eleanor died, I didn’t just lose my sister. I lost my world. All of it. And I don’t… I don’t want to hide forever.”
I reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—gentle, deliberate.
“You don’t have to hide,” I told her. “Not anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
“If the thing you want,” I added, “is to go back to modeling—not because you feel like you should, but because you miss it? Then say that. Say you want it.”
She swallowed hard. “I think I do.”
“Then we figure it out.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “Grace, if modeling is where you feel mostyou? Most alive? Most in your element? Then we’re not gonna lock you up in the mountains and tell you no.”
Her shoulders eased. A small smile tugged at her mouth.
“I guess I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Oh, I will,” I shot back, “if you tell me you want to go do runway shows in South America with zero support crew and shit security. Or if you say you want to go back tomorrow without a plan.”
“I wasn’t planning that,” she promised.
“Good. Because I like my heart beating inside my chest, not ripped out by Bones.” Who would take far more convincing and I didn’t have a single argument that would work—yet. I turned that over in my head. Putting her out there would put us out there and any anonymity we relied on now would be eroded.
“So you’re not worried?” she pressed.
