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How could I not love him?
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jericho says before excusing herself to go back to work.
Olivier turns to me. “How much is my rent?”
“I, uh…” How to break this to him. “You own the penthouse, I’m pretty sure.”
“I do?”
“I mean I don’t know whose name is on the deed, or whether there’s a lease on it, but most of the units in the building are owned, not rented.”
His eyes light up. “So I could sell it?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
He gets frustrated with me and faces Elodie. “How about we say we want to get our own place? That we’ll handle everything. That we want it in our name or whatever.”
They continue to plot the downfall of their families and the takeover of their own fortunes, both of them displaying the cutthroat ruthlessness of career criminals. It’s weirdly hot, and it’s making it hard for me to keep my hands off Olivier. So I rest one hand on his thigh and lean against the window, watching his mind work and his lips move and his eyes shine with excitement.
“We need to really amp up our presence on social media,” Elodie says.
“So does Drew.”
“Yeah, like—show that he’s connected with us somehow.”
“You need a new agency, you know?”
I look at Olivier who’s addressing me now.
“What’s wrong with my agency?”
“Are they getting you jobs? I’ll make some calls.”
“I—”
I was about to say I don’t need his help—fuck modeling—I’m fine, but I shut my mouth. He’s letting Jericho help him; the least I can do is give him a chance to help me. Once chance, though. That’s all. I refuse to be his cause.
“Drew, are you okay with Ollie and me faking this through spring?”
I look at Elodie. “Uh…”
Olivier’s staring at me, too, waiting for my response, and I know what he wants me to say, but I also know he’ll do whatever it takes to make me happy, even if I’m not his problem to solve. It’s sweet of her to ask. To think of me and my feelings in all this.
The truth is, I’ve become okay with a lot of things since they agreed to take this meeting with Jericho. “I think you should go through with the wedding. You’re more likely to get ownership of the penthouse. But I still think you should sell it when you get a divorce.”
Olivier raises his brows.
I give him a very firm look. “Because you will be getting a divorce. Before the end of the year.”
He grins. “If we make it really dramatic—like with my coming out and all, that would make a great story.”
“I love you,” I tell him, because sometimes it’s impossible to hold in the words.
“Don’t move,” Elodie says.
Olivier and I freeze in place, and she snaps a photo. “Guys, this might actually work.”
In terms of my failed modeling career, I’m one model of thousands at a huge agency in New York. The turnover of employees at the agency has been impossible to keep up with. I’ll occasionally get an email about a casting, show up, and rarely hear back. It’s been over three months since I’ve gotten an email like that.
