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After dropping Britta off Friday night and ensuring she got through her door safely, I realized we hadn’t even spoken about the ‘fake engagement.’ The night of the party she’d consumed too much alcohol, and had let her hair down. But at the same time, she’d also dropped her guard. All three things were very much unlike her, and I had to wonder just how much Roman’s upcoming nuptials were messing with her head.
Britta was a strong and independent woman, but when it came to love, she became putty in someone’s hands, allowing them to take full control, and it was always to her detriment. That someone had been Roman. The fucking scumbag who’d cheated on Britta with Britta’s best friend, and then seemingly had the nerve to ask her to the wedding. That’s gotta fuck with a girl’s head.
I wasn’t entirely guilt free. I was a man who took control of every situation, especially my women. And a huge part of me wanted to take control of Britta, to explore her body with no off-limits, to have her so drunk on love and desire she practically begged for more. I wanted her on her knees. I wanted her under me. I wanted her a quivering mess on top of me.
So instead of calling her, I submerged myself in my work and waited until Monday morning.
Britta was already stuck in paperwork and organizing the next shoot when I walked in. She was excellent at her job and had never once disappointed me.
Her family told me my name is fitting. That they needed to ‘watch me like a Hawk.’ They could see my possessive side. They knew how intense I could be. But Britta was the same, they just didn’t know it. Which was why they were against me hiring her. With what she’d learned at my company, I wouldn’t hesitate in making her partner. She was intelligent, proficient, and cared as much for business as what I, the owner, did.
As I walked down the hallway, I could see straight down into her office through the glass door. Sensing someone approaching, she looked up from her paperwork and offered a small wave. I smiled back while admiring how her cleavage looked in the top she was wearing. Taking a seat in my own office, I wondered how much of Friday night she actually remembered.
The door burst open, and my frazzled assistant Sara stepped inside. She was still wearing her headset and carrying the iPad. “Our model canceled for today,” she started. “I’ve been trying to fill the position all morning but no one’s available. I’m afraid I’ve run out of options.”
“Have you tried Tannika?”
She nodded her head.
“Tannika was the first I tried. I know how popular she is. But she’s out of state this week.”
I gestured for the iPad which was filled with model portfolios. I opened the files and started scanning through, looking for the right fit.
“None are available?” I asked again, almost in disbelief.
We had one of the most extensive lists of contacts, and not one was available?
She shook her head, her brows knitted together in confusion. “Not one.”
I handed back the iPad and sat on the edge of the table, contemplating my next move.
Britta rounded the corner into my office, a muffin stuffed in her mouth. She startled when she saw both of us looking at her. My lips tried to twitch into a smile, but I hid it.
Britta is sexy as fuck, but she pulled off being an adorable dork so perfectly. She was now at a complete stop, mouth slowly working the large chunk of muffin, her eyes flicking between Sara and me.
“What’s wrong?” she mumbled over her food.
“We’re down a model,” I said, on my way out of the office.
“There’s gotta be someone available,” Britta replied, having missed the earlier conversation. She was hot on my heels following me down the hall.
“I’ve called them all,” Sara chimed in once more.
“That’s ridiculous,” Britta said, disbelieving. “We have the largest catalog of women.”
“Obviously, not big enough.”
Britta joined me in the elevator, and I hit the button for level fifteen where the photoshoot should already be underway.
“Let me check,” Britta said, quickly finishing her muffin before wiping her hand on her skirt. She flicked through her phone and asked, “Tannika?”
“Out of town.”
“Shit! This is a disaster.”
“Just get it fixed,” I said, possibly firmer than needed. Britta didn’t flinch at my assertiveness. She was used to it, knowing this was how the business ran. It was one of the reasons why she’d moved up faster than anyone in my company.
She got me when no one else did.
Shoots cost a lot of money and are scheduled months in advance, so this shouldn’t happen.
The elevator doors opened, and we both walked into the studio where the lamps, green screen and reflectors were already set up. Gerrad, the photographer, was fiddling with his camera when we approached. He spotted me, looked to Britta who was furiously scouring her phone, and then back to me.
