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Sloane
“Gorgeous,Iloveit.Turn to the right,” Davis demands and, as always, I do as I’m told.
Snap. Snap. Snap. The cameras capture every unhappy moment, every pose. Whirring and clicking. I hate that sound so freaking much. My mother looks on from the sidelines, laughing and eating all the food that she refuses to let me so much as taste. I’m so fucking over this. I hate modeling, and honestly, I still have no clue how I ended up here.
“Perfection, Sloane,” he cries. “Now lose the bathing suit top. The rest will be bare.”
“Davis, I specified in my contract that I would be fully covered at all times. That was one of the conditions that was agreed upon before we started this shoot. I’m done with any nudity,” I explain, unwilling to budge.
“Caroline!” he yells for my mother. “Sloane is refusing the topless shots. I thought you said this wouldn’t be a problem when we discussed it on the phone.”
My mother appears, glaring at me with fury dancing in her eyes. Her pulse is pounding in her temples so clearly that I can count the beats. She marches up to me, grabs my arm in her steel grip and squeezes until tears form in my eyes. No more, I vow.
“Sloane, stop with the bratty behavior. Davis swears that these will be tasteful, and he’s paying a lot for you to be in them. Do as you’re told,” she hisses into my ear.
“Just like the other ones? Those were so tasteful they could have been in an old-school playboy magazine. I’m not doing it, Mom. Clothes or nothing. You two can discuss,” I snarl, yanking away from her tight grasp and storming off the set.
I stomp into my sitting room, vibrating with anger. A mirror hangs from the wall and I stare into it, finding my face unrecognizable. Thick makeup coats my eyelashes, my cheeks are painted in a way that makes me look flushed, and my hair is artfully tousled as though I just finished having sex. Let’s not even start on the Barbie pink lipstick I’m sporting. When did my modeling become so sexualized? What have I become?
The door clicks open and Davis walks in, closing it behind him as he stalks toward me.
“Did you want to continue with my clothes on? Or are we done for the day?” I ask pointedly.
“You will come back out there, and you will take off your top and do as you’re told,” he snaps, pressing against me from behind, pushing my hips into the counter before us. “I paid a lot of money for you to launch this line and your best features are these!”
He’s screaming now, eyes wild with anger as he grabs my breasts. Roughly squeezing them in his cruel hands. I should be afraid, but I’m not. I’m done, totally fucking done. With all of it. Modeling, my mother, everything.
“Go to hell Davis,” I scream.
Bucking wildly, I fight back, stomping on his toes, elbowing him in the stomach until I can whirl around. Cocking my arm back, I release it forward, ready to punch him right in his smug face when someone grips my wrist…
“Hey, hey, easy there Fireball,” a warm voice breaks through and my eyes pop open. Cole’s face is merely an inch from my own, emerald green eyes boring into mine, streaked with anger. He’s panting as though he just finished a marathon and our rapid breaths mingle together. My heart rate picks up again, but this time for a completely different reason. His gaze drops to my lips and I can’t help that my tongue flicks out, wetting them. He lets out a deep groan before pushing himself backward.
“Are you alright?” he asks, sitting back.
“Yeah, just a bad dream,” I say, not ready to tell him more, unsure if I can trust him. Breathing in deeply, I shake off the specter of my assault. It could have been so much worse.
“A bad dream or a bad memory?” he asks, more observant than I would have thought.
“A bad memory,” I admit, moving to sit up slightly.
“Who’s Davis?” Cole’s voice is hard, as if he cares, but that doesn’t make any sense.
“What?” Hearing that name from him catches me off guard; until the mortification slams into me with the realization I must have yelled it in my sleep.
“Sounds like Davis has something to answer for. I want you to tell me who he is,” Cole demands, his voice deep and forbidding.
“A jerk I modeled for right before I quit.” I keep it simple, not wanting to go into detail, but the silence between us deepens until it becomes oppressive. He’s waiting me out, and suddenly Iwantto tell him.
The sordid story spills from me, purging the experience from my soul. “He thought he could physically intimidate me into a topless shoot. But he didn’t think I would fight back, which I did. And won. The tabloids made it seem like I attacked him, because he was the only one with bruises—but he started it. I just ended it.”
“Such a Fireball,” he says simply, his tone filled with respect. “So, that’s why you quit?”
“Not completely. I already hated modeling. The starvation, the pictures, the spotlight. None of it was my thing, but my mother insisted that was my path in life. I wanted to ski like Slater, or help people, or do something worthwhile. But she said I was too pretty to waste. And then when she took Davis’ side in the whole thing, I realized I was done trying to please her. It’s time to figure out who I am. What I like.”
Cole reaches out to me, soothingly running his fingers through my hair.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he tells me, and I see the real him peek through all his walls and anger. His proximity relaxes me, pushing away the last vestiges of the dream and I finally take him in.
