Before I can say anything to smooth this over, Luka says, “I just don’t see the necessity for this…lingerie.”
For a moment, Hans just stands there nodding. Finally, he says, “That’s a great point, now that I think about it. And the client wasn’t explicit regarding the model’s wardrobe.”
I’m stunned that he seems to be agreeing with Luka. Ady also looks taken aback.
Hans goes on, “The face of Soirée is a sexy risk-taker, the type of woman who draws every eye whenever she enters a room and loves to shun the rules.” He smiles at me, gesturing to the discarded lingerie. “How do you feel about nudity in lieu of wearing the bodysuit?”
Luka tenses beside me. “That’s not what I had in mind—”
“I’m perfectly fine with it,” I say, interrupting him. I’ve done nude shoots before. It’s never bothered me to take off my clothes for the right photo shoot. “It definitely fits the vibe.”
“Excellent,” Hans says, tilting his head as he looks me up and down again with an artist’s eye. “I’m thinking we go black and white, then, with you stretched out on the sofa, relaxed. I can’t think of a better way for a woman to break all the rules than to be naked—”
“Hell no.” Luka finally breaks in, straightening to his full height. His arms are crossed so his biceps bulge beneath the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and he’s radiating aggression.
“Luka,” I warn.
He ignores me. “I said no.”
I can’t believe him. What the hell is he doing?
“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” I tell Hans and Ady.
Taking Luka by the wrist, I lead him away to a darkened corner of the studio. He won’t look at me, so I get right in his face, making it clear that he’s really pissing me off.
“What are you doing? This is mycareerand you’re acting like a controlling, possessive asshole. Are you trying to screw this up for me?”
He doesn’t flinch. “I’m looking out for DRM’s image. If a shoot featuring one of my models doesn’t feel right, I have the authority to negotiate for change.”
I spread my hands wide. “You’re not negotiating. You’re just being a dick about everything.”
“Your job is to do what you’re told. Do you understand that?”
His words cut right through me, leaving me momentarily speechless. How could I have ever considered that there might be something real between us when he can stand here and be so condescending about my livelihood? He’s not taking my career—or my own feelings about this—into consideration at all.
“My ‘job’ is to be an extension of the photographer and the client’s artistic construction,” I tell him, my voice raising involuntarily. “I am their prop and it’s myjobto do what they need me to do in order to fulfill my contract for this campaign. I’m trying my best to be professional about this and to do what they tell me, but you’re interfering, and you don’t seem to give a shit that my career is on the line!”
He steps into me until we’re inches apart. I glare up at him, trying like hell to keep my temper under control. I don’t want my face to flush and get splotchy, or even worse—for tears to build up. Taking a cleansing breath, I let it out slowly through my nose. I’ll be mad at Luka later, when it doesn’t matter if it’s etched all over my features or not. His jaw works to the side.
“I won’t shut up. And I won’t back down. Did you forget about the contract you signed? The family and the agency always comefirst. My wife isn’t going to look like a slut.”
And there it is. The truth, revealed.
I smirk. The irony isn’t lost on me, but it probably is on him. Luka’s worried about me appearing too slutty when he’s the biggest manwhore in Chicago. I’m about to tell him that, but I bite my tongue. Nothing good will come from having an all-out pissing match right now.
“You know what, Zoric? Fine. You might own the rights to my body in print and behind the camera. But in real life? You’ll never own me, Luka. Never.”
I storm back to Hans, ready to get to work. I’ve spoken my mind a lot in my life, but I’ve never meant the words more than I did just then.
Brooklyn
Chapter 17
After the almost-disaster that was my first huge modeling gig, I’m ready for a good bitch session with my bestie.
No, scratch that. I’m dying for one.
I went straight from high school to professional modeling, and with all the fierce competition and backstabbing that goes on in this business, I’ve never had a ton of friends—though believe me, I’ve tried to make them. But just look at the models at the Danica Rose party the other night. Those women were ready to eat me alive. In contrast, Mateo and I connected from the get-go because he was always so real with me. Nothing about him is two-faced or shady or judgmental. And he’s the one person I can be completely myself with.
