Ruslan was stopped by another man wearing designer everything, from his shoes to the glasses slapped on his face. “I want to talk to you about the advertising campaign for your clothing line,” he said with a hopeful smile.
“This is our model, Augustine Hart.”
The man glanced at me. “That’s nice, but could I have ten minutes with you tonight?”
“Sorry, I’m not here to work. Make an appointment with Anatoly.”
The man winced and gave me a glare, as if Ruslan not wanting to work every moment he was awake was my fault, and I decided I didn’t like the guy much.
Ruslan was flagged down several more times, and he told each person the same thing: talk to Anatoly.
I snorted when we walked away from a disappointed woman in a beautiful red dress who belonged on the cover of a magazine. She glared directly at my face as we walked on.
“I’m starting to feel like everyone hates me.”
He grinned. “The most expensive thing I’m giving you tonight is my time.”
I mulled that over. The sentiment sounded arrogant, but with the way we’d been harassed across two rooms, maybe he didn’t mean for it to be.
“This is a fancy party,” I said, glancing around the new room we’d wandered into. There was a waterfall wall in one corner and the people in here had very mellow vibes.
He squeezed my hand.
Yeah, this was okay; not exactly what I’d thought might be happening when Ruslan had said he had a surprise for me, but I was really enjoying the way he kept smiling at me in between conversations, so whatever.
This is the life of a pampered model. It could be worse.
“Champagne, sir?” a caterer asked as he slowed near us with a tray on his hand full of glittering glasses. I shook my head, but Ruslan took one.
“Don’t rich people like anything else?” I sighed as the caterer walked away from us.
Ruslan laughed. “Would you like me to order you something?”
“No, I’m good. I just don’t get the obsession,” I said, flicking the stem of the glass he held. A tinytingrang through the air.
“There he is. Miguel!” Ruslan guided me toward an attractive older man sprawled out on an odd mint green leather couch, and he had a beautiful woman tucked up under his arm. His silvering hair was at the stage where people called it distinguished and not gray. The woman smiled at us and waved. When we reached the man, he grinned and shook hands with Ruslan enthusiastically.
“I love your dress,” I said to the woman because she locked eyes with me and it would’ve been rude to ignore her. “Who designed it?”
“Ah, it was a gift from my friend Ingrid. Bespoke.”
I nodded, trying to work out who Ingrid might be, but despite the fact that I was a model, I didn’t know half as much about clothing as some of the guys I worked with. Giselle probably would’ve known exactly who this lady was talking about.
Miguel winked at me, and Ruslan dragged me slightly closer to his side.
“Nice turn out,” Ruslan said.
“I wasn’t sure you would make it tonight.” Miguel ran a hand through his hair. “You should really stay in the city. Driving all the way out to that estate before the week starts.” He shook his head. “What a nuisance.”
Ruslan shrugged. “I work in the car, and the location affords me many other benefits.” He drew me another step forward, and Miguel’s eyebrows rose.
“I see. And who is this?”
“Uh, Augustine Hart,” I said, offering my hand.
He cocked his head but accepted the gesture. You could tell a lot about a guy by the way he shook hands, and Miguel was friendly and energetic. “You look familiar.”
My face heated. “I’ve done a few product campaigns.”
