Page 58 of Hired Husband

“Why, because I’m not happy with anything?” I sniffed. “Maybe if people would actually do their fucking jobs, I⁠—”

“Jasmine,” she said patiently, huge green eyes holding mine intently. “This is for Deja, remember? She designed this whole line around this idea that some things are too perfect for earthly existence. She’s deeply in love and she’s looking to share the almost otherworldly beauty of that with your customers.”

I pouted but drew in a deep breath through my nostrils. “I know.”

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. Because I could’ve had that too. Maybe. It was a possibility, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’ve just got some things to work through and I’m struggling.”

Mostly because I had to do everything in my power to stop my father’s plans to marry me off. Even if it meant having to choose between whatever had been growing between Isaac and me and my future happiness.

I was dangerously close to losing the right to decide for myself what I wanted, and as a result, I’d been forced to take step back from Isaac. If I was going to lose him anyway, I’d rather do it now, before it hurts too much.

I squeezed Sasha’s hand again and shook my head as I rose to my feet. “Come on. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Who am I kidding? It already hurts like stubbing a pinkie toe after you’ve already broken it—and that’s coming from experience.

My stylist appeared like she’d been summoned, settling me into an elegant ivory gown I was still annoyed by. While I usually loved helping Deja bring her work to life, I really just wasn’t feeling it today, but she’d spent months perfecting every bottle, every scent, and every ribbon, so I sucked it up and got out there.

This campaign was for the American launch of the line, and as much as nothing felt right, we were still relatively new to that market and trying to expand. The launch was way too important in the greater scheme of things for me to mess it up.

Even so, the lighting irritated me, the music grated against every nerve, and when I was offered sparkling water instead of flat, I nearly bit Sasha’s head off. “What, do you want me to look bloated?”

Eventually, the photographer lowered his camera. “Jasmine, I need the woman who usually walks onto my set. Where is she?”

“I am her.” I held his gaze. “Will you just take your pictures already?”

He smiled kindly. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“We need the girl who actually has fun doing this and you’re not her. I can’t take pictures when it looks like you’re hating every second of what you’re doing. We will sell nothing.”

As I looked back at him, knowing full well that he was right, I moved my arms back to my sides and nodded. He deserved better than this from me. They all did.

Despite the guilt over ignoring Isaac pressing down on my chest and the worry about my future hanging like a thundercloud over my head, I forced my lips to form the shape of a smile. “Fine, but can we please have some different music? I’m feeling old-school, girl-power pop. Give me the Spice Girls, and Destiny’s Child, and Lady Marmalade. And turn it up. I want to feel that empowerment running through my veins.”

He blinked a couple times, then shrugged and nodded at someone. Seconds later, my request was fulfilled and I drew in another deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to channel my inner badass who didn’t need a man to make her happy.

For the rest of the morning, I posed, smiled, and laughed, turning as I sprayed perfume, played an air-guitar, and shouted some of the lyrics at the top of my lungs. By the final setup, even my diva tendencies were exhausted, but I’d done it.

The photographer finally grinned at me and spread his arms out to his sides. “That’s a wrap!”

Applause echoed around the studio and I thanked him, then accepted a bottle of flat water and slipped into the hallway leading to the dressing rooms. It was only then that I noticed someone had been sitting in the small observation area behind a pane of mirrored glass overlooking the set.

A familiar broad-shouldered figure leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked out at the studio beyond. My footsteps slowed, but my heart rate spiked. It looked like he’d been watching for a while and my cheeks suddenly flooded with heat.

“Isaac?” I said as I headed toward him. “What are you doing here, and how much of that did you see?”

Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at me, rising to his feet in the same motion but not moving closer. “If you’re asking what I’m doing in Cairo, then the answer is that I came for a few meetings and such.”

It felt like my heart was cracking as I looked into those blue eyes and saw the hurt and confusion in them, but that didn’t change anything. “I meant here here. As in, at my studio.”

“I wasn’t aware it was yours,” he teased, but it fell flat. “Either way, I came to talk to you. You’re either ignoring me or avoiding me, and since you won’t take my calls, I figured I’d do it in person.”

I pressed my palms flat against the bottle of water in my hands, the cold doing nothing to help the sudden shame cascading through me. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind, I guess.”

His head tilted slightly as he slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “I figured, but can I ask you something?”