Final Call (Call #2)(31)
Author: Emma Hart

What? “He has a f**king Ferrari?”

“A 458 Italia. Boyhood dream car.”

“Even I know what car that is.”

“His apartment block has an underground garage. There’s a private section for his apartment, and it’s under lock and key. Make him show you when you get back. Then, for the love of bloody God, please drag your finger across it.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “Because getting it dirty is my f**king dream, and you’re the only person that could touch it and get away with it. He’d kick my ass.”

“He’d kick mine too, no doubt.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“How are you so sure?” I twist and look at him.

Tyler flashes a card to a security guard and drives into an underground parking lot. “I see how he looks at you. He never looked at Trouty that way.”

“Trouty?”

We pull up, and Tyler cuts the engine. “Yeah. Naomi. You know, those lips? It’s a trout pout.”

I think back to the last time I saw her. Anger builds in me again, but I somehow fight it down along with the sliver of fear tingeing the edges.

“I suppose you’re right. She does rock the fish face a little.”

Tyler winks and places his hand on my upper back, leading me into an elevator. “I’m pretty sure there’s an Anti-Trout group in this building. I’m even more certain Aaron is the president.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. “No, that would be his mom.”

Tyler laughs loudly. “Oh, Aunt Carly. Yes, she’d be the founder.” He sobers when he sees the receptionist looking at him pointedly. “Don’t laugh. Don’t speak. Don’t do f**king anything remotely human while she’s around,” he whispers.

I frown but stay silent as he leads me to the desk.

“Mr. Stone. I trust you know where you’re going.”

“I do. Thank you, Darla. Is Jenna here?”

“She’s waiting for you.”

Tyler turns and takes me to another elevator without responding. I feel the receptionist’s eyes following both of us and burning into my back. I turn, and her eyes are filled with annoyance and hatred.

“You f**ked her, didn’t you?”

Another laugh leaves him. “How did you know that?”

“The sharp voice and eyes that could kill might have given it away.”

“Damn. She was a clingy bitch. I’m not into that shit.”

I raise my eyebrows at his back, following him down a long corridor. “What are you, a sex addict?”

He doesn’t answer, just pushes open a door and hits me with a shit-eating grin that answers my question. I don’t believe he and Aaron could be any more different if they tried.

“Sit over here on the sofa,” Tyler directs me. “This is a boudoir and lingerie shoot, so we’ll be using the bed and the window.” He points to the large window that overlooks London. I peek out as I walk past, noticing Big Ben standing tall across the river, and take my seat on the bright red sofa.

Tyler runs back and forth across the room, adjusting lights and setting up his camera. Other people run around as much as he does, and a girl with a clipboard offers me a coffee. I accept and sit back in the plush cushions, enjoying the anonymity. None of these people have any idea who I am.

That stops the second a tall, raven-haired girl walks into the room wrapped in a thick robe.

“Who is that?” she asks, pointing at me.

“Jenna, it’s lovely to see you again.” Tyler kisses her cheek.

“Keep your charm in your trousers, Tyler Stone. Who is the girl on the sofa?”

“That would be the boss’s girlfriend.”

Jenna looks at me, and I smile.

“Does that mean he’s finally divorced from Naomi?”

Tyler nods.

Jenna sighs. “Thank god for that. I couldn’t stand her. Coming into shoots and acting like she was in charge because she was hot in America for, like, six months. She thought she was Naomi Campbell or something.” She snorts.

“See?” Tyler turns to me. “She has her own little fan club.”

Jenna approaches me and holds out her hand. “Jenna Kelly.”

I stand and shake her hand. “Dayton Black.”

“You’re not here to direct my shoot, are you?”

“No.” I laugh. “I’m just watching. I won’t say a word.”

She nods and smiles with nude lips. “Perfect.” She turns to Tyler. “Tyler Stone, stop looking at my arse. You’re only entitled to do that through a camera, you lecherous git.”

Something tells me that Tyler Stone has a much, much bigger reputation than either he or Aaron has let on.

***

Modeling is a funny business, and it’s easy to see where the incessant bitchiness comes from. Unless you’re someone familiar with the jealous flicking of eyes and thinning of lips, you wouldn’t notice the way the girls tending to Jenna were looking at her.

I spent the majority of the shoot watching and wondering why they were looking at her that way—until I realized. She’s beautiful, she’s confident, and she’s not afraid to show it. It’s a lethal combination. A recipe for jealousy and hatred.

“Dayton?” Tyler calls through to me from the front room in a pained whine.

“What?” I reply, strolling into the room. “What’s up?”

He sits back on his heels and looks at me. “I have no f**king idea what I’m choosing here.”

I look at the vast spread of photos in front of him. “Why aren’t you doing this on the computer? There’s what, one hundred photos here?”

“Hundred and fourteen.”

“I thought you guys only printed when you had them narrowed down.”

He sighs and leans back. He winces when his ass hits the floor. “These are the narrowed-down images.”

“Well, shit.”

“Mhmm. Be a love and get me a beer.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Please.”

“That’s better.” I walk into the kitchen and uncap a bottle for him. Damn, I might as well get myself a glass of wine. I know I’m going to be kneeling on that floor for f**k knows how long.

I pour mine and stroll back into the front room. Tyler has his laptop open on the sofa now, music pouring softly from the speakers. I hand him the beer and sit next to him, adjusting my sweatpants as I do.

“Jenna is the best and worst kind of model to work with. It’s impossible to pick her final images because they’re so f**king good.”