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“Um, sure,” she murmurs. “Here you go.”
She reaches into the top drawer of her desk. Pride whelms in me when I see how much care she takes to keep her workstation tidy, everything neat, and in order.
The pride turns to nasty darkness when I wonder if she learned that from Lola.
She hands me the folder. Our fingers don’t touch, not like in Lola’s apartment when she handed me her phone. It’s probably for the best.
We’re alone here. I don’t think I’d be able to tame my burning lust, my rock-solid manhood, if we touched.
I open the folder, and my gaze moves quickly over the woman. She looks like dozens of other models I’ve seen, with long legs and a thinner build. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with her, but I don’t feel anything.
Not a stir. Nothing.
All I can think is, I’d rather photograph Faye instead.
The model’s name is Jeneva, and her phone number is listed.
“Excuse me,” I say, turning back to the staircase.
Back in my office, I dial Jeneva’s number. I feel my temples pulsing, hammering heavily, but I’m getting used to that now.
It’s the same way I’m getting used to falling asleep – when I finally do – with tempting images of Faye in my mind.
Or love-filled flickers, Faye, holding our child, walking toward me, radiant and beautiful on our wedding day, laughing at some family function as Lola stands at her side. And in the fantasy, there’s no hate between them, no drama, no resentment.
In this make-believe world, everything works out okay.
“Hello?” Jeneva says.
“Hi, it’s Felix Fallon.”
“Oh, wow. Hello. How can I help? I’m so excited for later.”
I bite down, feeling like a jackass for letting this get so far. Being photographed by me is a big deal for an up-and-coming model.
“That’s why I called.” I sigh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve decided to cancel this project, so I won’t be needing your services.”
“Oh,” she mutters. “Have you found somebody else?”
Yes, Faye.
“No,” I tell her. “The project’s on hold. I realize you’ve booked to work with me today, so you’ll receive your full payment.”
“That’s too kind,” she says, then pauses. Her voice gets low and weird. “You know, Mr. Fallon, I was really interested in meeting you. Maybe I could come by anyway?”
I shake my head, gritting my teeth. I almost snapped at her, telling her I’d die before I did anything with another woman.
But it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know I’m already taken.
Nobody does.
Fucking hell.
Not even the woman I’m taken by.
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell her. “I’ve got your bank details. I’ll send the payment by the end of the day.”
“Uh, okay,” she says. “Are you sure?”
