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Quickening her pace, she headed up the broad sweep of stairs up to the function suite. Inside, she saw that the other nine girls were already there—and so was Mr Big, talking to the most important suit. Deliberately not looking at him, Kat took her place beside the group, standing quietly to one side.
Angelos looked up. Immediately his eyes went to girl he’d added to the short list. His gaze stilled.
She was looking stunning. With part of his mind he tried to analyse why—and failed. Every girl here looked outstandingly beautiful, yet there was something about the edgy blonde that made her stand out even from them—that made him want to look at her …
Was that quality, whatever it was, enough to make him break the brief he’d given his creative team? That the models for this campaign should have the glossy, upmarket look that went with the new line of luxury yachts Petrakos Marine was launching? He turned to his creative director, taking a seat at the table and tilting his chair back slightly.
‘Have the girls walk,’ he instructed.
Deliberately he studied the other girls as they paraded up and down as if they were on a runway. Then, equally deliberately, he let his eyes go to the edgy blonde.
She doesn’t like it, surmised Angelos. She doesn’t like parading up and down on command. Doesn’t like taking orders. Showing herself off. He could see her resentment in every stiffened line of her body as she stalked up and down.
‘That’s enough.’
The girls stopped, came back to the table. The creative director leant forward to say something to Angelos, but he held out a hand to silence him. His gaze remained on the girls clustering around. He worked his gaze along them, his face expressionless.
Then he simply said, ‘You, you, you,’ nodding at each he’d chosen in turn.
One was blonde, with long hair down to her waist—clearly her particular asset—the second was an aristocratic brunette, and the third was Eurasian and any man’s private fantasy. They would all be ideal for the campaign.
Having made the required decision, he left everything else to his staff. But as he got to his feet his eyes went to the girl at the end of the row. She looked even more apart than before. The other rejected girls were peeling off into a group, some shrugging, some looking unconcerned, while the favoured three were taken off by two of his staff to get more details of the forthcoming shoot.
For a long moment the girl in the eau de nil silk just stood there, very still. Her face was quite expressionless. Then she turned away, walking back to the door.
There wasn’t any sign of resentment now. Only deliberate indifference.
Except that it wasn’t indifference. He could see exactly what it was—defiance. Not by the slightest slump of her shoulders letting any trace of having been rejected show. He watched her a moment, ignoring whatever it was his creative director was saying to him.
Then he went after her.
He caught her up just in the upper foyer, as she was heading for the stairs down and out of the hotel. He took her arm.
She stopped dead and jerked around. Her eyes flashed.
‘Don’t handle the merchandise, sunshine!’ she said, and made to tug away. It had no effect on his grip.
Angelos looked down at her upturned face. There was antagonism bristling in her eyes, but more than that. Something behind the antagonism.
‘There may be room for one more model. I’m prepared to consider it,’ he said.
Something flashed in her eyes, then disappeared.
He let go of her arm. ‘I’ll discuss it with you in my suite.’
Her eyes flashed again, but not with the emotion that had just been in them.
‘Get stuffed,’ she said, and wheeled round. He caught her again.
‘You mistake me,’ he said, and his voice was icy. ‘This concerns merely whether you are, or are not, suitable for this campaign. Nothing else.’ He walked towards the bank of lifts, not bothering to see if she was following. She would be, he knew.
She stepped into the lift beside him, standing as far away from him as possible, staring straight ahead, her shoulders rigid. Wary as a cat, but with a hunger, he knew perfectly well, for what he had in his power to offer her. As the elevator lifted away he caught the faintest tang of perfume—something citrusy. Sharp. It suited her, he realised.
Beside him, Kat stood, every nerve end bristling. It had been a rollercoaster all afternoon—from realising she wasn’t going to be short-listed to the exultation that she had been, and then, just now, the bitter knowledge that she still hadn’t made it, despite her best shot and her evening gown.
Only to have hope flare all over again—
She felt pincers snip away inside her stomach. And now it was not just because of the jo
