Instead, he leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
“I should go,” he said. “I’ll call you.”
Somehow I managed to nod, laying there in a daze as Ford let himself out. It wasn’t until I heard the door click closed that I realized exactly how much trouble I was in.
I was screwed, and I knew it.
Figuratively, since Ford was such a damn good lover and my heart was bound to get attached…but I was also pretty sure I’d be getting literally screwed soon enough as well.
Because there was no way I was going to be able to resist him.
And I knew my heart wouldn’t be able to, either.
Emzee
Chapter 19
Even though my brain and body were in complete disagreement regarding what to do about my fake fiancé, I was able to push that debate aside as I headed out of my apartment the next day. It was my absolute favorite day of the month—my teaching day.
Since I had founded See Yourself, I’d discovered that my passion for photography was only rivaled by my love of teaching it. It was my greatest joy to run an organization where I could help former KZM models move forward with their lives. Offering photography classes through the nonprofit was just one way I was able to do that.
Initially, when the allegations about KZ Modeling had come out, I’d been devastated. I hadn’t wanted to believe my father could do something as fucked up as trafficking women to be sex slaves under the cover of the agency, and of course I’d been shielded from his illicit activities for my entire life. But as the evidence mounted and more women came forward, it became impossible to deny what he’d done. The gravity of his betrayal. The lives he’d ruined.
Once he was locked up in jail, and my initial shock had worn off, I realized I wanted to do something to help the women my father had hurt.
That’s how See Yourself had been born. It was my humble attempt to start making amends for my father’s crimes. My nonprofit helped former KZM models leave behind the seedy side of the industry, where modeling and prostitution had gone hand in hand, and gave them a safe, supportive place to learn about different careers and gain job skills.
See Yourself fostered recovery by offering a sense of community, providing counseling and employment agency referrals, and holding workshops and seminars to help the women discover new career paths. So far I’d hosted executives from cosmetics companies, wedding photographers, staffing specialists, even the owner of a local bakery. But my photography classes were always locked in on the schedule—they formed the core curriculum of the charity.
I liked having a chance to use my extremely expensive art school education to do good. Because the truth was, these women had essentially paid for my college education. The work they had done on their backs had funded my father’s lifestyle, and therefore mine as well. Now, my charity was a chance to pay it forward to the people who had made my privileged life possible. It felt like the very least I could do.
Days like today were spent at the charity’s space, a beautiful studio in the Loop (not too far from Danica Rose Management) that we rented to hold classes. I’d started my day by teaching a basic skills class in the morning. See Yourself provided all its students with cameras and simple equipment, as well as time in a local photo developing lab, but they still needed someone to walk them through all the basic beginner-level stuff. I loved getting to see a batch of budding new photographers learn exactly how powerful an image could be, and how it was possible to create something powerful themselves.
Not all of my students ended up being as enamored with photography as I was, but the ones who did usually “graduated” from the initial classes onto the next level, which was more of a one-on-one mentoring program with me. After that, I’d use my connections to try to find them jobs, but regular employment was a challenge for anyone pursuing a career in the arts.
“Hi, Emzee!” a voice called across the studio as I sat waiting for my mentees to arrive.
“Galina!” I replied, jumping out of my seat. “Did you bring me your latest assignment?”
Though I tried my best not to play favorites amongst my students, I’d grown particularly fond of Galina, one of the models my father had trafficked from Bulgaria. She was passionate about photography and had exhibited a true talent for it, thanks to her natural eye for light and composition. I thought she could really make a place for herself in the photography world if she just had the right training and connections.
Luckily, those were two things that I could provide.
“I am not sure how they have worked,” she said, holding an envelope close to her chest.
Holding out my hand, I smiled gently. “Let’s find out then, yeah? If you’re not happy with the images, you can always give it another go.”
Honestly, I expected her photos to be great. I was always excited to see everything she brought me. This month, all my mentees had been instructed to shoot a series of self-portraits. I had been impressed with the vision and variety I’d seen so far, but I was especially interested in Galina’s work. She always had such an interesting perspective on the assignments I gave.
“Okay,” she said, tentatively handing over the envelope.
Despite telling her multiple times how blown away I was by her work, she still seemed hesitant about taking too much pride in it. I got the sense that she didn’t necessarily trust that the work was good, when in fact—in my professional opinion—it was very, very good.
“Maybe we can talk about what you think is and isn’t working, and then we’ll figure out how you can address those things on the next assignment. Cool?”
“Cool.” Galina nodded, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip.
She was one of the more striking models my father had signed. A big part of the notoriety of KZ Modeling—besides the illegal prostitution aspect of it—had been that the agency’s models were purported to be the most beautiful in the world.
