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My jaw drops. “Are you kicking me out?”
“No. But I am reminding you the door is to your left if you need to use it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t worry. There’s no need to flick your dickhead switch to ‘on.’ I’m totally aware of where the door is.”
A terse moment passes between us until it’s broken by Dayton’s voice. A high-pitched giggle follows it, and Tyler straightens.
“We’re ready,” Day says, her eyes flicking to me.
I shrug my shoulder the tiniest bit and she seems to get it, because she turns her attention back to her job.
The model stares at me with an affected look before she turns to Tyler. A flirtatious smile stretches across her face and she flicks her hair.
Oh, please. Is this fucking high school?
“Let’s get started,” Ty says casually.
You wouldn’t believe that, just seconds ago, he was leaning over me, half threatening me.
He casually picks up his camera and directs the model where to stand. I hook one of my ankles over the other. Resolve is building inside me. I will stick this shoot out.
I’ll sit here, jealousy and anger and possibly a little hatred building inside me, and I’ll watch the whole damn thing.
Just to make a point.
I rest my elbow on the desk and put my chin in my palm. I’m not sure who this model is or what she’s doing, but she has a really annoying laugh. All high pitched and almost squeaky. The ones you cringe at.
I tap my nails against my leg, watching the shoot play out before me. I know how this works. I know how shoots go.
And this model wants Tyler to shoot more than just his camera.
But it’s cool. I mean, this happens all the time. He’s hot. She’s crushing on him. I can cope with that.
Model Girl looks seductively at Tyler. Not the camera. Him. And laughs.
Jesus, it’s like nails on a chalkboard.
My foot takes up a steady rhythm tapping against the floor. Onetwothree. Onetwothree. Onetwothree. Like a motherfucking waltz. Tap, tap, tap. Over and over, silent against the carpet.
What isn’t silent is the way both Ty’s and Day’s cameras click. Tyler’s quiet orders. Model Girl’s breathing. Hell, I can hear the fluttering of her fucking fake eyelashes. I can hear the swishing of her hair.
Shit, she’s flirting so hard that I can practically hear her gushing into those designer panties.
It goes on and on. Her eyelash-fluttering, her smiling, her giggling, her hair-flicking… Every fucking thing she does makes me wonder if she’s here for the job or for Tyler. And it pisses me off.
It twists my stomach and tightens my chest with an intricate knot of jealously. I hate sitting here, watching him watch her, when she’s so obvious.
And I can’t.
My resolve wavers until it shatters. With my stomach coiling with nausea and hot tears stinging the backs of my eyes, I grab my purse. I slip my hand inside, set my phone vibrating, and answer my fake call quietly.
I slip out of the room with it attached to my ear. I can’t stay. I was dumb to think I could.
It’s been days and I’m already done.
This is bad. So, so fucking bad.
I push open the door and step outside. Rain is falling lightly as I make my way to my car, and I hear the door open quietly behind me.
