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CHAPTER THIRTY

Kira

Augustus

They’re letting us choose our own looks for the Beauty & Bliss photo shoot, so just a heads-up, I’ll be wearing chartreuse. You should probably get a spray tan. You know how sickly you look when you’re pale.

Mom

How’s it going, honey? Call me sometime. I miss you! Kisses!

Greer

I’ve called you like five times. Why are you avoiding me?

Claire

Just touching base because I haven’t heard from you. I sent over some wardrobe options for the Beauty & Bliss photo shoot. Heads-up: Augustus is wearing chartreuse. I tried to push back because we know how washed out you look in bright colors, but he’s not budging. I think our safest option is to go with a muted navy or sage green. Let me know what you think.

The messages and missed calls just keep coming, reminding me that the clock is ticking and my time here is almost up.

I open Augustus’s text and type out a lengthy response telling him that instead of worrying about me, he needs to be worried about his migrating hairline… Then, I think better of it and delete it.

Perhaps the most singular piece of useful advice my mother ever gave me growing up was to never put anything in writing that you aren’t okay with being broadcast. A paper trail is hard to deny. If only I could’ve applied the same logic to losing my shit in public when everyone has a recording device in their pocket… My life would look very different right now.

Not that I’m complaining.

My conversation with Marge comes flooding back, and I quickly shake it away. She said a lot of things that I’m not sure I was ready to hear, and has my mind all jumbled up and confused. I know I’ll have to address it…eventually. But that doesn’t mean it has to be today. Besides, I’m working. If that isn’t a good enough excuse, then I don’t know what is.

On that note, I place my phone in my desk drawer. The problems aren’t going anywhere, and right now, I have work to do.

Speaking of work, I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. I won’t be quitting acting any time soon, but at least I’m being somewhat useful.

My product placement idea seems to be going well. I was able to pull a few strings and get an exclusive sponsorship with my favorite reality show, Cryptid Chasers. Since the contestants' alcohol consumption is limited, I tossed out the idea of adding some special sparkling water options and mocktails, and the whole thing took off from there.

As exciting as it is seeing all our hard work come to fruition, it just reminds me that the summer is quickly coming to an end. My vacation from reality is almost over. Before I know it, all of this will be a blip, a fun story about how I went from hitting rock bottom to being tied up.

Maybe that’ll be the title of my memoir.

I catch sight of the rope marks still lingering on my arms, and my cheeks warm as flashes of last night come rushing back.

In my wildest dreams, I never would’ve believed that I, not only tolerated a man tying me up, but that I’d actually enjoy it. That I’d crave submitting to his control. Crave the freedom of surrender that his ropes provide for me.

My eyelids flutter closed as I remember the delicious bite of the rope against my skin, my head tipping back as my nipples harden beneath my thin silk top.

“You ready for this meeting?” Roman’s baritone voice pulls me out of my fantasy. I look up to find him watching me. His signature dimpled smile is in place, but there’s nothing friendly about it. I can feel the heat from his gaze as he drags his eyes over my legs. The man isn’t subtle. That much is for damn sure.

Another flashback of last night flutters through my mind, and I have to force myself to push the highlight away.

God, my vagina can be such a needy whore.

“Yeah, of course,” I say, trying to seem unaffected by all the eye-fucking we were just doing.

Roman smiles like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind right now.

Frankly, I don’t know how he manages to appear so unbothered, walking around here and actually talking about work. Meanwhile, all it takes is a whiff of his aftershave and some direct eye contact, and suddenly I’m fighting the urge to hump his leg.

He places a hand on the small of my back as we make our way to the conference room. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, did you ever hear back from the entertainers for the festival?”