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Bradley took another sip of wine, then set the glass down. “Of course, not for that. Just that none of the damage has been too bad.”
Harper kicked off her shoes. “So you’re in Philadelphia for business?”
“I am.” Bradley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We got the offer, Harper.”
“We?” She tilted her head, completely confused.
“The swimsuit issue. The magazine came to me. They want you for the cover this year.” Bradley was grinning from ear to ear—and Harper understood why.
The cover of the swimsuit issue had been Harper’s white whale, the one goal she’d set for herself as a model that she’d never achieved.
“That’s wonderful, but, Bradley?—”
His smile faded quickly. “No.” He raised his hand, cutting her off. “No, Harper. You can’t turn this down. It’s a seven-figure deal. Not to mention the prestige. This catapults you into the top tier of supermodels. Do you know how many more doors this would open? How many more offers would follow?”
“I get that, Bradley. I do. It’s just?—”
Bradley stood up, shaking his head. “Dammit, Harper. Enough is enough! I’ve indulged this midlife crisis of yours for too long.”
Harper’s temper piqued. “First of all, I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake. And secondly, what the hell do you mean, midlife crisis?”
“So you collapsed. I get that it was scary for you, but it was one time. It happens to every model at some point. It’s time to get the fuck over it!”
“Get the fuck over it?” she yelled. “I modeled the entire time I was in culinary school. I didn’t just quit.”
“So you know you can do it. I don’t understand why you’re walking away from this. You were at the peak of your career. Leaving now doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m never modeling again, Bradley. I don’t know how to say that to you any more clearly.”
He stared at her like she’d just announced she was carrying octuplets. “That’s…no,” he said in disbelief.
“Please tell the execs at the magazine I’m flattered, but I’m not taking the job.”
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, his face red. Typically, Bradley was a mild-mannered man. She could only recall a couple of times when he’d really lost his shit…one time being the night her mom had put her foot down at the hospital, demanding he cancel her attendance at the Milan fashion show. He’d cussed a blue streak—loudly—until a nurse and two orderlies showed up and told him he needed to keep it down or leave.
In the end, he left.
The second was when she’d first announced she was quitting modeling and going to culinary school.
Right now, she felt the need to brace herself because he was about to blow.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yelled.
Harper started to reply, but Bradley didn’t give her the chance.
“I can’t go back and say no thanks. I’d be a laughingstock! Do you know how fucking hard I had to work to get you this deal?”
Harper set down her glass and rose. “Wait a second. Did they come to you, or did you go to them?”
“What does it fucking matter?”
Harper placed her hands on her hips. “It matters, Bradley, because I’m no longer your client. I’m no longer a model. You had no right to pretend you still represent me, to attempt to solicit work on my behalf.”
“You ungrateful bitch!” he snarled. “Do you know how much of my life I’ve dedicated to your career, to making you into the success that you are?”
Harper felt her face flush with anger. “How dare you? I had a hell of a lot to do with that success you’re claiming. But if you want to play it that way—fine. Do you know how much my dedication and success led to yours? Don’t act like you were some selfless martyr. You got paid very well to do that job!”
Bradley ran a hand through his thinning hair, the action disrupting the work of his hair gel so that his comb-over became apparent. When he turned back to her, he looked somewhat calmer. “Harper…the agency is in trouble.”
