Her smile turns wicked and daring, as if she’s taunting me. The venom in her eyes says she’s definitely not over the whole Monica thing. I get the sudden feeling that we’re on the brink of war, Brooklyn and me.
I open up the file on my computer screen, and thumbnail images start loading before my eyes, one after the other until the entire spread is right there for me to see. My nearly naked wife draped all over a nearly naked Mateo. His skin is slick as if he’s been greased, the black and white photography showing off every glistening monotone ripple of his physique. And Brooklyn’s loving it. Her hands grip him like a lover, her eyes radiating sexual hunger.
Her breasts are pushed into him. His hand cups her ass like it belongs to him.
All I see is red. I would smash my computer screen, but more images are still loading—and like a car accident on the side of the road, I can’t tear my eyes away.
The next batch of images are all in color. Brooklyn’s hair is mussed in a few pictures and she wears that freshly fucked expression that I know all too well. She grips Mateo’s inner thigh, her hand way too close to his dick. In another, she’s reaching down the back of his swim briefs.
“Well? What do you think?” She cocks her head slightly to the side and blinks.
I’m on the brink of losing my goddamn mind, but I can see what she’s doing. Point taken. Closing the folder, I take a few steady breaths through my nose and look directly at her.
Then I slide my food back over. My insides are tight and wound, but I’m going to fucking drag this out. Let her sweat a little.
She starts to rise from her seat.
“Sit down,” I bark. “We aren’t done.”
“I should go,” she protests. “Leave you to your lunch.”
I gesture at the chair. She’s not running out on this so fast. “I said, sit your ass down.”
I know now why the makeup is still smudged around her eyes. She wanted me to know, before I really knew, that she did something I wouldn’t approve of. She’s paying me back for Monica. She and Mateo planned this as a payback. I almost laugh to think that I felt guilty for not apologizing to her.
She sinks back into her chair, hands gripping the armrests. Pouting, practically.
Smiling at her, I eat, allowing the motions of it to calm me down. After a few minutes, I feel more in control of myself.
“So,” I finally say. “You clearly thought it would be a good idea to not only go against my stipulations for your image, but to do it with your…friend. I assume this was some childish attempt to one-up me over Monica. Nice try. Not your best work, but a good effort.”
I steeple my fingers and hold her gaze. She narrows her eyes but doesn’t respond.
“You still haven’t learned that I’m in charge,” I go on. “Me. Not you. Your image belongs to me and you will do everything I tell you in order to uphold and maintain it. Get up.”
She doesn’t move fast enough. She’s too busy fuming. I come around my desk and take her by the elbow, leading her down the hall and out into the central reception area. DRM’s creative director, various assistants, marketing people, a few models, and many admins are all within earshot, some of them milling around as they go about their usual afternoon hustle.
I pull Brooklyn with me to the middle of the room and squeeze her into my side.
“If I could have your attention please!” I call out, loud enough that even the execs behind closed doors are poking their heads out now. “Attention, all DRM employees and associates!”
“What are you doing?” Brooklyn hisses, covertly trying to pull away from me.
People are waiting and watching, eyeing us with interest and curiosity.
“Thank you all,” I boom. “I’d like to make an announcement. I’ve worked tirelessly to build an image for my wife, Brooklyn Moss, in the interest of promoting her success as a DRM model. That image isclean. Wholesome. Sexy, in a good girl kind of way.
“Therefore, under no circumstances is she to be booked for any campaign that does not exemplify these same values. There are no exceptions, and I’m to be informed immediately if anyone hears or sees otherwise.”
As I look around the room, meeting eyes and accepting nods of understanding, I can feel Brooklyn’s shock and anger boring into me. I don’t care. She wants to see what happens when she pushes me, then I’m going to show her.
“Furthermore. I’m a hands-on kind of boss. I will frequently be seen in public with our models. Out to dinner. At events. One on one. As often as I need to.” I look at her and smile. “I trust we all understand that this necessarily coincides with the responsibilities of my job title as Executive VP of Talent.”
I wait for the nods and murmurs of agreement.
Fraternizing with models like Monica just became company policy. My darling wife can accept it or not; I don’t really care.
I wink at her, speaking softly as I head back to my office. “Checkmate.”
