I don’t have a specific route in mind as we begin to wind our way back through the familiar neighborhood. Traffic is light, the usual noise giving way to the hum of bees and the chirp of birds. I let the dog sniff almost every tree for two blocks before deciding to cut across the bridge and into a more populated area full of cute shops and restaurants. An iced vanilla latte from the café up the street sounds great. And maybe Mr. Kibbles would like one of the little doggie cupcakes they sell at the bakery four blocks down.
I wait for traffic, then cross behind Luka’s favorite family-run Italian eatery, Armando’s. He loves their entire menu, but his guilty pleasure is their Italian subs—soft rolls layered with provolone, spicy salami, and mortadella, then doused with oil and vinegar and red onions. I grin. Maybe I should stop and get him one to go…for later, in case I end up too distracted to cook.
I veer toward the restaurant, then remember I have the dog with me, who I certainly can’t take into the building. Oh, well. Guess I’m playing chef tonight after all. I’m about to keep going when Mr. Kibbles’ ears perk up, tail furiously wagging as he strains on the leash.
There’s a couple canoodling at the curb up ahead, the woman in a big sun hat and dark sunglasses, arms thrown around the man whose shirt perfectly outlines the shape of his broad shoulders. But then he turns his head in my direction, and my heart stutters as I do a double take.
It’s Luka…in Monica Shore’s arms.
Right out here on the sidewalk for the whole fucking world to see.
The dog starts barking excitedly, pulling harder away from me to get to Luka, whose eyes are now locked on mine. I have no choice but to approach them now.
As I head over, Monica grins and makes no move to let go of my husband. Luka still has his arms around her, too. He seems to notice and pulls away as if it’s no big deal.
“Thanks for lunch,” she coos sweetly, making me want to rip off her sunglasses and scratch her eyes out. “Nice seeing you, Brooklyn.” She winks and slips into a waiting SUV.
I’m numb with rage. Mr. Kibbles starts jumping on Luka’s leg, whining and begging for attention, but my own limbs are frozen in place. All I can do is stare my husband down.
“You nitpick aboutmyimage?” I try to breathe. My head is spinning. “What aboutyours? Out with another model! In broad daylight! Weliterallyjust did an interview to make people forget about shit like this, and you turn around and take out Monica Shore behind my back?”
I storm away, dragging the dog with me back toward the apartment, pumped full of adrenaline now that the initial shock has worn off. Luka follows. We’ve gone about a block before I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer. It’s like the rage is just boiling out of me.
“You’re not even going to try to pass that off as being innocent?” The words hiss out of my mouth, my gaze darting around to check for paparazzi or witnesses.
Luka is walking beside me now, Mr. Kibbles happily walking in front of him even though I’m holding the leash.
“Itwasinnocent,” he insists. “I told you, I had a business meeting today.”
I shake my head. I’m so pissed I can hardly see straight. We pass behind some buildings, ducking down an alleyway far from the eyes of any casual passersby, and I turn to him and raise my voice again. “Tell me. What legitimate business could you possibly have with that snake?”
He shrugs as if this whole thing is being blown out of proportion. “I signed her.”
My mouth drops open and I’m absolutely speechless for a moment. “You…you did not.”
“I did. Yes.”
I think about last night, how tender and emotional he had been.
It was all a lie.
“Why the hell would you do that?” I shout.
My voice is too loud. A woman with a stroller jogs by, giving us a cursory glance, but keeps on going.
“I’m DRM’s Executive VP of Talent. Signing models is literally myjob.”
I scoff. Lowering my tone, I lean closer to the man who’s just stabbed me in the back. “That doesn’t mean you should sign my enemy! She’s going to be my biggest competition!”
Not to mention, she’s the person who tipped off Luka about my almost-contract with Elite Image, and essentially ruined my marriage before it even really began.
He shrugs again, his expression cool. “You were never guaranteed all the best jobs, Brooklyn. Some things you’ll have to work harder for, and if it turns out that Monica is a better fit, then that’s who’ll get the gig. Do you think you’re entitled to special treatment?”
“I never said I wanted special treatment. But Monica fights dirty, and you know it.” I shoot him a glare. “Is there something between the two of you?”
He shakes his head, and I actually believe him. “Not outside of a working relationship.”
Luka folds his arms over his chest and I can tell he’s losing his patience. I don’t care. I’m mad as hell and there’s nothing he can say to calm me down.
