“Go. Just keep it covered, yeah?”
I nod at him and place my hand on Sinclair’s lower back, steering her inside.
“You have a gun?” she hisses as we follow signs directing us to where the models are needed.
“Yes.”
Her eyes widen. I thought she would have known I carry one. Sullivan and Sterling are aware.
“You can trust me,” I tell her, not liking the way she’s chewing her lip like she’s anxious.
“You drive with your hand near it.”
It’s not a question, so I don’t respond.
“Denver?” she presses.
“It’s my job to protect you. I need to be able to do that without hesitation.”
“Oh my god,” she breathes. “You sound like Sullivan and my father.”
She doesn’t mean it as a compliment.
“I carry a gun, Sinclair. But you don’t need to be concerned about it, okay?”
She shakes her head with a small scoff. “Yeah, whatever you say.”
We head backstage, and I find a seat out of the way where I have a direct line of sight to Sinclair. She's sitting, having her hair and makeup done. Once finished, she walks over to her bag to change, removing the necklace she always wears. As she tucks the necklace inside and zips up her bag, another model with long brunette hair approaches and starts chatting with her.
I’ve been sitting for two hours when everything starts moving faster, and more people cram into the area as it gets closer to the show’s start time. Sinclair’s changed into a white corset and panties set with stocking and suspender belt and a makeup woman is dusting powder over her cleavage.
A male model wearing a pair of the designer’s male underwear briefs and nothing else comes up behind Sinclair and hugs her from behind.
“Mikey!” she shrills with a giggle as she turns and kisses him on both cheeks.
Mikey, twenty-eight, from Wisconsin, dreamed of being a model since he was twelve, new face of the latest Michael Kors campaign, Sinclair’s friend of four years and three months. A guy I’ve given rides home to at Sinclair’s request, and he’s looked like he’s about to barf each time he’s seen me.
I do my research.
“You look amazing,” he gushes.
“So do you. Oh my god! Have you stuffed those?” She bursts into laughter at the bulge in his pants.
“Want to touch it and find out?” He wiggles his brows.
The weight of my gun presses into my hip as I fight the urge to go over there.
“No!” she shrieks with another laugh.
“Why don’t you go on a date with me after the show and find out instead?” Mikey grins.
I lean forward and crack my knuckles.
Sinclair shakes her head. “You’re terrible.”
“You love me,” he sings as he walks away, throwing a similar offer out to the next model who says hello to him.
A woman approaches Sinclair and hands her a foil-wrapped bundle and she thanks them before walking over to me.
