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Now I just needed the right woman to show it off.
Lacey Lockwood stepped inside, holding two cups of coffee. “Morning.”
I didn’t pull my gaze away from the sketch. “You’re up early.”
“Going for a long run with some of the girls.” She set the coffee cup directly next to my hand. “I went by the bakery around the corner…the one you like so much.”
When I raised my gaze to look at her, I watched her sneak a peek at my drawing. I suspected she’d seen it before. “Nicole can do that for me.”
“I don’t mind. It was on my way.” Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wore black leggings with a teal sports bra. A few strands of blond hair came loose and hung around her face.
I never slept with my models. It was a rule I refused to break. Lacey obviously thought she could change my mind. She wanted to be the woman on my arm, to feast on my power and riches. And she wanted to be my number one girl—the one with all the spotlight.
“I should get to work, Lacey.” I stepped away from her and ignored her coffee. “Enjoy your run.”
My back was to her so I couldn’t see her expression, but I was certain she didn’t care for the rejection. Her voice wasn’t as confident when she spoke. “Thank you. Have a good day…” She let herself out.
Once she was gone, I tossed the cup in the garbage can.
Nicole stepped in a moment later. “Good morning, Conway. I have everything you asked for.” She set the folders on the table and went through the orders with me. I needed specific fabrics from Turkey, and Nicole handled all the important things in my life.
“Thank you, Nicole.”
“And here’s your morning coffee.” She set the cup on the table. “I’ll be back with your breakfast in a little bit.”
I grabbed it and took a drink. “Thank you.”
She walked out, leaving me alone with my work again.
Exactly at six o’clock, there was a knock on the door.
I knew who it was. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Ten walked inside. She was in jeans and a t-shirt, looking more like a tourist than a model. Flat sandals were on her feet, and her hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail. She didn’t put a single ounce of effort into her appearance whatsoever. “If you want to be a model, you need to start acting like it.”
“Good morning to you too, asshole.”
My neck snapped in her direction because I couldn’t believe what I just heard. Someone just called me an asshole—to my face. No one else had the stupidity to do such a thing—or the bravery. I dropped my pencil and faced her head on. “If you think I’m an asshole now, you should see what I’ll do if you walk in tomorrow looking like that.”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
For a woman walking on the street, she was beautiful. No denying it. I would have noticed her just like every other man. But I didn’t appreciate her lack of professionalism. Models didn’t come into my studio unless they were looking their best. “Everything.”
Her blue eyes narrowed immediately, and without moving, it seemed as if she coiled like a snake. She wanted to sink her teeth into me and drain me of all my blood. “At least we have something in common, because everything is wrong with you too.”
No one ever talked to me that way, but yet, I kept letting it go on. “When you walk down these hallways, I expect you to be ready to hit the stage. That means your hair should be done, your makeup should be flawless, and you should be kissing the floor in gratitude.”
“Gratitude? I should feel grateful for being insulted?”
“Yes, when those insults come from me.”
She pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. “You’re far more arrogant than I ever anticipated.”
“Yes, and I have every reason to be.” I turned back to my sketch. “Have some coffee and then pull on a pair of heels. I’m teaching you a few things.”
“You don’t pay someone else to do it?”
I finished the mark I wanted to make against the paper. “Not when I want it done right.”
She moved behind me, walking to the silver heels sitting on the other table. “I’m sure you don’t give a damn, but I got kicked out of my hostel. There wasn’t enough room so I didn’t have a shower this morning. Otherwise, I would have looked nicer.”
My pencil froze against the paper, and I felt my heart tighten in my chest. A wave of guilt overtook me, and I felt sick to my stomach. This woman was living on the street, which meant she barely had a few euros in her pockets. She probably didn’t have dinner last night or breakfast this morning. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn.” I closed the notebook and watched her sit on the chair as she pulled on the heels. “There’s a shower down the hall. You can use it tomorrow.”
