There was no way I’d give in to my desires.
I was in control.
Chapter 3
Alix
Two weeks after breaking up with Sydney, life was still miserable. I was sleeping badly, and I knew it was because I’d never been cheated on before. I’d had boyfriends, and even though I’d fallen in love once or twice, in every instance we broke up amicably, or at least before any cheating happened. Sydney’s cheating shook me to my core. Things were compounded when I got a phone call from my agent.
“Hey Alix,” she said, her normal bitchy perky self. The fashion industry has a lot of people like that. “I’ve got a job for you. High profile too.”
“What is it?” I asked, thinking that perhaps doing some work would help. The weather was great, and an outdoor shoot by the ocean or up in the mountains would be just the sort of thing to clear my head.
“Men’s Health,” my agent said. “Uh, there’s one catch though. Karla’s in the shoot as well. Think you two can get along?”
“Sure, why not?” I said. Karla McDonald and I were rivals, and perhaps could be called frenemies. An Australian girl who used to play volleyball down under, she and I were similar in body size and type. She was a bit bigger in the butt, I was a bit bigger up top, but both of us could wear the same clothes by the same designer and do a good shoot. Because of that, we were often in competition for the same contracts.
Sometimes we ended up doing the same shoots when the client wanted to do the whole “angel and the devil” sort of vibe. I’m a blonde while Karla is a very dark brunette. Despite the tenseness of competition, we had great on-camera chemistry, and quite a few clients insisted we did themed shoots together, which was definitely profitable. It was certainly a strange relationship in my life.
“Great,” my agent told me, “the shoot’s on Friday. Think you can be in tip-top bikini shape by then?”
“I didn’t think Men’s Health did bikini shoots,” I replied, curious. “What’s the shoot about?”
“Sex and exercise, what else? I said bikini because according to what they’re looking for, there’s two sets that will be shot with the same male model. In one you’re in the gym with him, wearing skimpy exercise clothes, and in the other you’ll be in lingerie doing foreplay. Think you can handle it?”
“I guess,” I replied. I’d done lingerie and sexy shoots before; they weren’t all that different from a normal shoot once you got past the fact that I was mostly naked. While I might have a man’s hand on my waist or hip, sometimes on my arm or shoulder, that was usually it. If a guy got aroused, I was supposed to just deal with it, and he was normally wearing shorts under the ever-present sheet around his waist. It was easier with the gay models—it was kind of like playing pretend. “I mean, of course. I’ll be ready. Thanks for the heads-up.”
* * *
The next day, I was working through my daily yoga and exercise routine when my cellphone rang. I was on the recumbent bike, just cooling down, so I picked up. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweetie.”
I inwardly grimaced. I was twenty-one, for God’s sake, and yet my mother insisted on calling me sweetie like she did when I was in preschool. “Hello, Mom.”
I knew my mom didn’t like calling me, and I really wasn’t trying to be a bitch. But ever since she married Derek Prescott, I had a hard time keeping my temper around either of them. It wasn’t like Derek was a bad guy, but he wasn’t my Daddy. “Did I call at a bad time? I was kind of hoping I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
I glanced at the timer on the bike and realized I’d only be giving up a minute of cool-down, so I let it slide. “No, Mom, you didn’t interrupt me. What can I do for you?”
Like I ever could, even if I wanted. Since marrying Derek, my mother didn’t want for anything. The man had more money than he could count, and I had to give him credit, he was a loyal, almost doting husband. My mom had hit the gold digger lottery, that was for sure.
“Well, honey, this upcoming weekend Derek wants to have a family gathering before our five-year anniversary. I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been by the house, and I know you’re busy, but it would really mean a lot to Derek and me if you could come.”
“Oh, Mom, you know how my work is,” I started, before I heard something in my mother’s voice I hadn’t heard before. She was sincerely asking me; this meant a lot to her.
“Please, Alix? I . . . I miss you.”
What about missing Daddy? You never missed him, now did you? I wanted to ask, but somewhere inside, I clamped down on it. It was perhaps the most infuriating thing about my relationship with my mother. I’d be ready to go off on her, to yell or to ask her about why she had done what she did to my Daddy, but then something inside would just shut up, not letting me vent my anger. I knew I was wrong for it, but I just had this deep resentment that was hard to shake. It was the same this time. I wanted to tell her to kiss off, but instead, with a voice I could barely recognize as my own, I agreed to go over to their house on Friday after my photo shoot.