Yet despite being ready to figure out a way to move forward with her, I can’t seem to banish the part of me that’s still angry with her. Every time I try to let it go, I find a new reason to pick a fight. She let the dog chew up my handmade Italian leather shoes. She didn’t pick up the right protein powder at the store. She leaves the house too often. She’s always at home. It doesn’t matter what Brooklyn does, I somehow find a way to twist it into a fresh argument.
“Elite is still encroaching on our territory,” Stefan reminds me. “They’ve wooed three of our best models into their greedy hands and grabbed a handful of high-profile campaigns right out from under us—”
“I’m aware,” I interrupt, trying to soothe him. “I’ll do everything I can to clinch this.”
My brother pops out of his chair and stalks toward the window, arms crossed as he paces.
“I know you will. I have faith in you. But with Dad’s trafficking trial still all over the news, it doesn’t matter how positive the agency’s image is—in the media, and the public eye, we’re still part of his legacy. DRM needs a win, and we need it now.”
We aren’t the PDA type, but I go to him and clap a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. And I’ll handle it. Okay? Just let me get in there and schmooze my ass off. This Maxilene guy won’t know what hit him.”
He nods and drags a hand through his hair. I know he wants to believe in me, but at the same time he’s not convinced I’m the best person to be meeting with the cosmetics empire.
I feel like he’s forgetting just how much all of the public relations work that Brooklyn and I have been doing has paid off. We’re seeing a hell of a lot fewer negative comments on social media, replaced with reposts and shares of our adorable photos of Mr. Kibbles. If I’d known a dog could single-handedly change so many people’s minds about us, I would have done it months ago. So, sure, our father’s trial is still going on, but people are rooting for DRM. And if I play my cards right at this Maxilene meeting, I’ll have the entire industry talking about us.
A knock at the door has us both swiveling to attention. It’s my assistant, Damien, looking about as nervous as I feel. “Sorry to interrupt. Luka, your two o’clock is here,” he tells me. “I set him up with an espresso and showed him to conference room 513.”
My pulse kicks into double-time. “Thanks a lot. I’ll be right there.”
As I straighten my cuffs and head toward the door, Stefan stops me.
“Listen, if we can’t get Brooklyn signed for this, any of our models will do. Okay? Don’t play favorites when it comes to this campaign. Just give them whatever they want.”
“It’ll be her,” I snap. Tempering myself, I try again. “She’s the best fit. She’s what they want.”
Stefan smiles. “You haven’t been married a whole year yet, so I know you didn’t forget your anniversary…”
I frown. “What?”
He punches me in the shoulder, brotherly-like and a bit too hard. “I’m just wondering why you’re kissing her ass, man. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.” My hand is on the doorknob.
“You seem to be defending her pretty hard,” Stefan mocks from across the room.
I look back over my shoulder. “Have you seen my wife? Can you honestly tell me there’s anyone hotter than her for Maxilene?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I’m surprised you know it, considering the tight leash you’ve put on her career.”
“If Maxilene makes an offer for Brooklyn, she can pose nude and spread eagle if that’s what they want,” I shoot back. “I’ll circle back with you after we’re done.”
With that, I leave Stefan’s office, kicking the door shut behind me.
As I stride down the hall, I can’t help thinking about the fact that ever since I met her, Brooklyn’s wanted one thing: the chance to really prove herself. She’s spent the last decade hustling, taking every job she could get, working her way up to one day be the star of a serious national campaign. She’s done everything she’s been asked to do—certainly everythingI’veasked her to do—and now it’s finally time for the world to see her shine, front and center.
I want that for our family name and reputation, yes.
But I want it for her more.
Entering the conference room, I greet the Maxilene exec with a grin.
“Sommers,” I say, offering a firm handshake. “Great to meet you in person.”
“Call me Guy,” he says, grinning right back. “And I’ll call you Luka.”
“Perfect,” I agree, pouring myself a coffee from the carafe Damien left on the sideboard. “Let’s get down to it.”
Guy is exactly how I imagined him after speaking on the phone. Early forties, very tan, his bespoke suit perfectly on point. His bright brown eyes are sharp and intelligent, and I imagine he usually has no trouble getting what he wants out of a negotiation with just one look. He could be intimidating, yet there’s a relaxed and pleasant air about him that sets me instantly at ease.
