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Maybe I’ll apologize. Maybe I won’t have to. Then, once we’re together again, I’ll lay on the charm so thick he’ll forget I ever told him to leave.
I nod at my reflection and reaffirm my confidence. This is going to work. How could it not? Look at me! My fire red hair is tamed, framing my golden hazel eyes. Both stand out brilliantly against my emerald green and flawless skin.
I’m ready.
Or so I thought. As I make my way into the gig, I quickly realize how much I’m out of my element. These don’t flock to me like I’m used to. Hell, they barely acknowledge me as I enter fashionably late. They’re lingering around the stage. Most likely waiting for the performance to begin.
I attempt to begin the networking myself, passing out my business card and shaking hands, but am met with a lukewarm response. At best. Clearly, business is conducted differently out here in Green Haven.
I’m almost ready to name drop Gorlag in an attempt to ingratiate myself with this crowd, when the lights dim. There’s a palpable hush of quiet. Everyone gravitates towards the center of attention: an empty and well lit stage. Then, the curtains peel back. An MC emerges, announcing the purpose of tonight's gathering, and asks if we’re ready to start the fashion show.The crowd cheers in agreement.
And then, there he is.
Bradford isgorgeous. Of course he is. I can’t think of a single moment when he wasn’t. Even at the crack of dawn without a wink of sleep, he still looked ready for a magazine cover photoshoot.
Now, he looks like he could turn that magazine to cinders by just looking at it. His long black hair is teased and fluffed, looking like it’s defying gravity itself. A splash of golden silver eyeshadow makes his already smoldering brown eyes pop.
Bradford walks down the stage with a cocky grin on his face. He knows what he’s doing to this crowd, and he’s eating it up. He does a little spin at the end of the catwalk and, midway, effortlessly removes his pre-torn denim jacket to reveal rippling muscles that reflect the light perfectly. Everything about him is finely tailored to get the exact reaction he’s receiving.
This is like breathing oxygen to him, it’s obvious.
How the hell can I ever hope to get back into his good graces when he’s so very far above me? I’m an idiot. Men and women are equally dazzled by his charisma. His body is a work of art, and we’re all enraptured by the exhibition.
My breath starts to pick up. This room feels like it’s getting smaller, crowding into me.
I watch forlornly as a young woman in a very low cut dress rushes the stage and holds out a magazine to Bradford. It's a centerfold, and he’s lounging on a haystack very much topless in it. Unphased by the interruption, Bradford takes the magazine and marker from the woman and autographs it. Carefully making sure not to cover his face in the process. He then returns it to her and winks.
Bradford leaves the catwalk, seemingly without missing his cue at all. But before he does, he gives another smoldering look to the audience. And as he sweeps his gaze across the crowd, his eyes land right on me.
No, not on me. Through me. He can’t possibly even notice I’m here. Surely if he had, he’d burst out laughing at my sad attempt to insert myself back into his life.
What could he possibly need with someone like me? I turn and leave, cursing my foolish optimism.
6
BRADFORD
“You nailed it out there!” Alan, the model who walked just before me whispers, as I come off stage. “I thought that girl with the magazine was gonna throw you off your groove, but you even got back in time for the music cue.”
“Thank you,” I say. I’m not trying to hide that I’m distracted, and Alan looks immediately worried.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look like something really upset you out there.”
“I… need to change costume,” I tell him. I’ve got a good five minutes before I have to go on again, but I’m not ready to have this discussion. Not right now.
Alan’s obviously worried, but he sees that I need space. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
As I pull off my shirt, I think about Ragnar. The way he looked at me. The way he hesitated for just a second by the door and then left anyway.
What did I do wrong?
The stylist walks up to check my outfit and make any last minute adjustments. My mind is a million miles away, which probably makes me a lot easier to work with than normal.
The moment I saw Ragnar out there, I completely forgot about everyone else. I didn’t mind them being in the room. I never mind people looking at me. But they didn’t matter. Only he mattered. I was putting on a show just for him, trying to do everything perfectly just so he’d be impressed by it.
And he walked away.
I don’t know why that hurts so much. I don’t know why it was so important to me to put on a good show for Ragnar specifically.
