“You better not be fucking lying to me,” I say.
“It was just business,” he says, his voice getting hard. “Anyone could see that.”
“Anyone?”
“Anyone but you, apparently.”
That’s it. I’m a second away from snapping. Just being near him makes my skin crawl. I thrust the dog’s leash at him. He takes it with a surprised jerk.
“Walk your own damn dog,” I tell him, stalking off.
I don’t look back.
Brooklyn
Chapter 18
They say some of the best advice for a healthy relationship is never going to bed angry.
If that’s the truth, my marriage should be in the ICU.
After catching Luka out with Monica on Saturday, I spent the rest of the weekend in my room, only venturing out to take Mr. Kibbles for a few long walks and pay for the meals that I had delivered to the apartment. No way in hell was I still cooking for Luka like I’d planned.
Thank God it’s Monday. I have a shoot lined up for a luxury-resort client, and that means I finally have something else to focus on besides my anger and feelings of betrayal.
Heading for the door, I leave a few twenties on the sideboard for the dog walker and try to ignore Mr. Kibbles’ sad eyes as I hurry off for a few blessed hours of work. It’s bad enough I have to do so much emotional labor for Luka all the time—nobody warned me I’d end up so invested in my dog’s feelings as well. I’ll have to talk to Luka about looking into some doggy daycares. On second thought, maybe I can just send him an email.
As I drive toward Old Town, I can’t hold back the waves of bitterness washing over me. Luka never once tried to speak to me over the past few days, nor attempted to smooth things over about Monica. Which only infuriated me more. If there was truly nothing going on between them, he should have made an honest effort to clear the air between us. As for signing her to DRM? It will be a cold day in hell when I let that bitch take my place.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’ve done things I never would have done in the past to give myself a fighting chance. Going down in vindictive flames is not the way I want to go.
She’d better stay out of my way.
I valet my car at the high-rise building where we’re shooting today and take the fancy elevator up to the suite where the set is all a-bustle. I’m glad Luka was too busy to accompany me today like he has been—nobody needs to see us fighting. It also means he won’t be hovering over me and trying to take control…so if the photographer wants to get some down and dirty pictures, I’m ready and willing. In fact, I hope he wants me to pose naked just so I can see my husband’s eyes go red when he finds out later.
I’m greeted by an assistant and in no time, I’m whisked off to hair and makeup. The photographer comes in while I’m getting my hair curled. He’s an older gentleman with an aristocratic air that I’ve worked with before. He leans down to kiss my cheek.
“Brooklyn Moss, as beautiful as ever.”
“Thanks, Cyrus. It’s so good to see you,” I say. “What’s the setup today? All I know is that it’s for a company that builds all-inclusive resort hotels in the world’s beachiest places. Are we using a green screen, or will I be sitting in a sandbox while you spray me with salt water?”
His eyes light up with good humor as he sits on the edge of the makeup counter, looking on as the hairdresser winds a lock of my hair around the thick curling iron.
“You might get a kick out of this, actually,” he says. “Did your agency mention that this company exclusively buildsadults-onlyresorts?”
“As in, unlimited booze and no children?” I ask, stifling a giggle as my lips get painted.
“That’s it exactly,” he says, and now I know why he seemed so amused. “They initially wanted to focus on the luxurious, zen-like aspect of their vacation packages, but they’ve had a last-minute change of heart. The new vibe they want is—and I quote— ‘dirty billionaire.’”
We share a laugh, and I shake my head at how ridiculous this is. “So does that mean I’m the billionaire?”
Cyrus shrugs. “Both of you can be billionaires. The marketing angle is that the hotel offers you the chance to feel like you’re part of the one percent, even if it’s just for a weekend.”
My heart starts pounding with the gratifying rhythm of sweet, sweet revenge. “Did you sayboth of us?”
Just then, the assistant pops back in with her brows drawn together and speaks low in Cyrus’ ear before hurrying out. The photographer takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as if he’s keeping himself in check, then slides off the counter.
“Well, team, it appears we’ve had a wrinkle. Our male dirty billionaire just canceled.”
