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Shewasanenigma.A sexy riddle that I couldn’t get my mind off of. Alessia was hot one moment, cold the next, vibrant and full of energy, then jaded and closed-off. I couldn’t figure her out, couldn’t figure out why I wanted to. Yes, I hated mysteries, but she was wrapped in a blanket of lies and truth, intertwined into a fabric of her own making, and I couldn’t figure out if she’d created a safety net around herself or a noose that was slowly choking her to death.
I’d spent the entire time since she’d gotten into her brother’s car studying her, my senses niggling at me that something was not quite right. Keeping up my vigilance throughout the day, I had noticed twice during our trip from one plane to the other that she had noted a potential threat and positioned herself on the balls of her feet in reflex until they passed without incident. Again, just like the restaurant, she’d noted all escape routes and kept an eye on everyone around her. I couldn’t help keeping on high alert as well, too used to working within a team and trusting my teammates to alert me of danger I might have missed. I figured since Alessia was used to being alone, she must automatically keep herself sharp since she had no one to watch her back. Until me, that was. I was also positive she could drive herself from our hotel back to the airport, turn for turn, although she had buried her nose in her phone the entire drive. Why she didn’t own up to her abilities was another mystery.
Her act with the jamming device on her table was just that—an act, though a very convincing one. She hadn’t been kidding about her strict diet, though I couldn’t see where she had any weight to lose. Even with her dedication to doing what was needed for her job, she didn’t seem wrapped up in counting calories or cleansing, or whatever it was that people did when they were obsessed with their weight. The first thing she did when she entered a room was case it—noting exits and occupants, though she hid it as making a statement, striking a pose for the room to fawn over her, for pictures to be taken, before she continued on her way.
At the photo shoot the next day, she didn’t interact with anyone if she could help it, barely speaking unless they asked her a direct question or she needed something. Her eyes, which I was used to seeing filled with humor, were so icy I felt frostbite creeping up my limbs from my place behind the crew. She stood on a platform, a circled step up from the floor, while seamstresses clucked around her, tightening her into the cream dress with incredible gold threading until I wasn’t sure she could breathe. They continued to pick, motioning to her waist, breasts, pinching her arm as if evaluating her for fat. Through it all, Alessia ignored them, letting them rant and rave in Italian. I couldn’t understand a word the two workers were saying, but I didn’t have to know the language to know what they were complaining about.
She let them go for close to thirty minutes before she apparently had enough. “Tony, get your ass over here,” she demanded, her voice steady and calm, but I could see the fire banked in her eyes. The photographer had come running, a camera in his hand. Snatching a cloth measuring tape out of the hands of one of the women, she ran it along her hips, waist, and over her breasts, telling Tony to snap a picture of the measurements.
“Do not delete them,” she dictated quietly, not afraid to be overheard but more trying to contain her temper before she dismissed him with a nod.
She waited until he was on his way back to his table of equipment before turning her wrath on the two women in their native tongue. I never wished I could know Italian before, but by the time she was finished, both women were submissive and silent for the rest of the day.
After they strapped her in and put her feet into the heels that added a good several inches—and did some amazing things to her toned thighs—she managed the minor miracle of staying upright in the pencil-thin stilettos as she walked in the middle of the woods that had been requisitioned for the shoot. I thought the worst of the morning was over, but it was just beginning. Tony, the photographer, was English, though British, not American, so unfortunately, I had to listen to him demean Alessia over and over, berating her for every muscle tremble or body position that wasn’t what he demanded. She was forced to hold certain positions for long periods, my own muscles burning in sympathy, leaning back as she stood in those ridiculous heels on a dirt path in an inverted “C,” trying to look sexy while I was sure her stomach, leg, and neck muscles screamed through the torture.
They eventually stopped for lunch—only Alessia didn’t eat. Instead, she stood off to the side, sipping water carefully from a straw as the crew ate sandwiches and cookies the caterer had brought in. “All right,” Tony called after stuffing himself with two sandwiches and several cookies. “Let’s change the look.”
They’d changed out the lighting and Tony’s camera equipment, and I was relieved to hear him declare the heels had to go until I realized Alessia would be forced to walk through the woods barefoot, stones and fallen twigs left where they were to ensure the set felt “natural.”
She did it all without complaint, a trained animal performing on cue, giving the photographer what he demanded, though I saw her hide a wince more than a few times as her feet came down on the odd sharp rock or twig. The look of the whole shoot was regal, aloof, and expensive, playing right into Alessia’s haughty stare, which got more and more frigid as the day progressed.
Toward the end of the day, a car appeared, and two men got out. One was obviously hired muscle, his suit doing a poor job hiding his weapon or the tattoo creeping up his neck. The other was suave, neatly put together in an understated suit that only old money could pull off. His pale-yellow hair was thinning, but vanity had him combing it over in an attempt to hide it instead of resigning himself to age and genetics. It was apparent that this was someone important. The support staff all stopped what they were doing to kiss up to the newcomer. It was Alessia who alerted me that all was not what it seemed. She’d been largely ignoring everyone all day, barely glancing at any one person in actual recognition.
“Alessia?” Tony asked when she suddenly froze, her gaze looking at the stranger as if she was looking into his very soul. “Alessia?” he asked again when her eyes didn’t move. “Alessia? Can you do your job for once? If I have to add another day to our schedule because of your performance issues, I will make it clear to Valencia who’s to blame for it,” Tony snapped, pulling her attention back to him and breaking her spell over the older man, who had frozen when she’d locked onto him.
I took another look at the stranger, wishing I could run identities the way I had in the military. He had the look of a pampered socialite, his body thin and slightly frail, but he wasn’t old … Maybe early fifties at the latest. He wore his suit like I’d worn my uniform, completely at home with where he was and how he looked. Her gaze had clearly affected him, and he fidgeted with his tie before reaching up to pat his hair. In German, he said something to his companion, who sniggered and replied. Something about their exchange made me stand at attention.
“Excuse me.” I waved at a man who Alessia had introduced as her agent, a short, stout man who had largely ignored the work going on around him. He was one of the few besides the photographer who spoke English, and I needed some answers. He looked up, frowning as he set his phone aside, which had only just been snatched back up after greeting the newcomer.
“Who’s the gentleman who just arrived? Do you know him? I thought this location was secure?” I played up the concerned security breach, figuring that would be the most logical reason I’d be asking questions at all.
“He owns the property.” The agent, Randy, frowned, thinking. “I know it’s his security that we’re using on the photoshoot. I believe he’s a businessman of some sort. I know he’s a fan of Alessia—it was her name that Valencia used when they asked permission to use his land. Karl Albrecht, I think. He’s connected. That’s all that matters in the grand scheme of things, and he’s certainly not a security concern.”
I committed the name to memory.
“How has she,” he motioned to Alessia, “been? Any issues?” He grimaced as he asked like it was a loaded question.
“No issues at all,” I replied, but Randy continued as if I hadn’t said a word.
“I know she can be a bitch to work with, but she values herself too much to do anything stupid, so don’t worry about her bailing out on you or something.” He was earnest in his words as if trying to convince me she wasn’t as much trouble as she was being.
“I haven’t seen any … bitchy … behavior at all,” I said honestly, not that I couldn’t see where he got the impression. She had warned me yesterday that her public persona wasn’t who she was at home, and I could see that undersold it. I just hadn’t done anything that warranted her turning her ire on me.
He let out a breath. “You must not hover. That’s good, fantastic. She hates it when her guards hover. Just let her have her space, and she’ll keep you around. It’s easy money for men like you if you can toe the line.”
He was still speaking in riddles, but I distinctly got the impression he wasn’t only talking about her guards but himself as well.
“You give her free rein, then?” I asked casually, wondering if he would actually relax enough to make small talk. He was a fidgeter, constantly jumping and moving around, even so much as squirming in his seat like a three-year-old needing to pee while he sat to answer texts or emails on his phone.
“You bet I do,” he answered immediately, turning around to sneak a peek at her as if afraid she would surprise him from behind. “She’s my best model—my best moneymaker. Not only that, she’s normally my easiest … at least, from a distance. I don’t need to babysit her or entice her to do her job. She’s no drama as long as no one pisses her off. No drugs, no stints in rehab, no daddy issues. She’s as smart as a whip, too. She negotiated her own contract with Valencia and got twenty percent more than I would have been over-the-moon to get. Honestly, I’m window dressing for her, which is an appreciable change of pace for me. The only issue I have to contend with is her brothers, but for what I make from her, it’s more than worth the price.” He looked green around the gills at the last part, and I had a feeling fear was the foundation of that relationship.
“Has she always had such control over her business dealings?” I didn’t know much about the fashion industry—as in zero—but I was pretty sure agents handled most of that stuff for their clients.
“Yep.” He pulled at his expensive-looking shirt, frowning as he realized he’d gotten mustard on it. “I’m telling you, the more you leave her alone, the better she likes it. Just,” he looked around, “don’t piss her off.”
I would have laughed, but he looked almost terrified at the admission.
“What am I missing?” I murmured, unsure what she could have possibly done to put that look in his eye.
