Sinclair turns to her, hatred oozing from her. “Pick it up,” she spits.
“No.”
“Sinclair. Come here,” I say.
She looks at me, her eyes full of fire. But she does as I say, keeping her head high as she walks over to me.
“Don’t touch it,” I say in a soft voice as she comes to stand beside me.
Her necklace is at our feet, and a tiny whimper shakes her shoulders as she glances at it. She’s been through enough. She doesn’t deserve this. And bullies like Theodora only learn their lesson when someone has the balls to stand up to them.
“Theodora,” I instruct. “Pick it up.”
Theodora’s eyes dart around the room at the captive audience we’ve attracted. Even the show seems to have ground to a halt, and an announcement rings out over the speaker system apologizing for a brief ‘technical issue’. It’s because Sinclair should be on the runway right now.
Theodora’s lip curls in disgust in understanding as she listens to it.
The whole show has stopped because they won’t do it without Sinclair.
“Fine.” Theodora takes a step.
“Stop.”
She falters at my command and stares at me.
“On the floor.”
Sinclair sucks in a small breath next to me as Theodora’s eyes widen.
“You can’t be?—”
“Serious?” I arch a brow. “If there’s one thing I definitely can be, it’s serious. Would you agree, Sinclair?”
Her eyes glint as she meets my gaze. “Oh yeah, Denver’s always serious. He doesn’t make jokes. Ever.”
“That’s right. I don’t. She never laughs, so it must be true.”
A couple of seconds pass as we look at one another. Then there’s a collective murmur as Theodora drops to her knees.
“Better,” I grunt, looking at her sniveling on the ground. I don’t take pleasure in humiliating her. But I know it’s the onlything that will make her understand the effect of her actions. “Now… crawl.”
“What?” she snaps.
“Didn’t you hear him?” Sinclair says. “I did.”
“So did I,” another model pipes up.
“Yeah, me too,” calls out another.
“The fine man saidcrawl, dear,” the makeup artist who covered up Sinclair’s scratches drawls.
Everyone watches as she slowly shuffles along the floor on her hands and knees. She stops in front of me and Sinclair and reaches out for the necklace.
I place my shoe over a tiny piece of the chain before she can pick it up.
“I think you’re missing something.”
She lifts her head, looking at me through smudged mascara.
