He hands my license back. “Okay, I was wrong. This is a terrible photo of you.”
Just then, the waitress appears with our meals. By the time she leaves, I’ve composed that part of myself that wants to just run away with the superficial lust between us. Setting my napkin on my lap, I press my palms into my thighs.
“Tell me what the point of this whole marriage thing is,” I say, cutting to the chase.
He gives a slight nod. “Sure. Got a little distracted there.”
My stomach tightens in expectation of what he might say. The pasta smells amazing, but I’m not sure I can take a bite right now. Luka, on the other hand, digs right in. He notices that I haven’t touched my food, sets his fork aside, and clears his throat.
“So basically, the reason for all of this is that my reputation needs work in light of my father’s recent arrest. The disgrace he brought down on the business and our family name is no secret, and with him in jail, I’ve been the media’s scapegoat.”
I nod. “Makes sense. People are angry. They need someone to take it out on. Not that it’s fair to you.” I finally start on my spaghetti as he leans back, seeming to gather his words.
“Even with every other member of our family being cleared of any wrongdoing, and the fact that my older brother pretty much handed my father over to the feds on a silver platter, we’re still struggling to regain the public’s confidence in us. As a business and as humans.”
“Sure,” I say, pausing to blot my mouth with my napkin before continuing. “I mean, I was floored when I heard about it. It made me think twice about going to the audition today, and whether I wanted to be associated with the Zorics at all.”
It comes out sounding harsher than I meant, but Luka takes it in stride.
“I’m sure you’re not the only one who feels that way,” he says. “All the KZ models were released from their contracts after the scandal broke, and not all of them signed back on with Danica Rose. We lost some great talent. Not that I pity us. A lot of people got hurt, taken advantage of. Lives were ruined. Something like that rips people’s trust away pretty deeply.”
He looks off, thinking hard, and I finish chewing and set my fork down.
“So things are royally fucked right now,” I say matter-of-factly. “Not to salt the wound. And it’s your job to sway public opinion back into a positive light.”
“Yes. My brother and I agreed to use our collective influences to make over the Zoric empire’s image. But since I’m the resident bad boy and he’s happily married and settled down, I’m the one who needs to change my lifestyle in a big and very public way. And fast.”
I pause for him to go into detail of said lifestyle, but he resumes eating. I feel a little smug, though, because I know exactly what he’s talking about. His online presence is flooded with images of him clearly intoxicated, out with a different woman every night, sometimes more than one. He parties hard. He fucks hard. He spends money hard.
Luka Zoric has always been a diehard playboy.
It hits me just then, what’s different about him. He’s shed some of that old skin. And now he seems contemplative, and a little bit lost, like he’s not sure what to do next.
I might have a few ideas.
He takes a long drink and then gives me a pointed look. All signs of flirting are suddenly gone. “Here’s the deal. It’ll be a two-year commitment, maybe three, depending on public response. After that, a very amicable and quiet divorce and you’ll be free to live your life.”
My mind is already racing with the “what do I get out of it” portion of this conversation. The part where I use him in return for using me. I’ve never been that kind of a person. But here? Now? With Luka Zoric? I just might be.
“You’re the ideal candidate,” he adds. “You’re well spoken, accomplished, and you have a good background. And not to be a dick, but you’ll look amazing on my arm—which in this business really matters. Plus, your philanthropy work is great PR for both of us.”
“And what do I get out of it?” I reply without missing a beat.
He starts talking more animatedly, really getting into it. “You want a contract with us, right? I’ll sign you right away and send you out on the most prestigious calls, get you in all the major campaigns and runway shows. You act as my wife, and we’ll do everything in our power to make you a supermodel.” He pushes his plate to the side and leans toward me. “Plus, if my image is cleaned up and the rep of the agency bounces back as planned, that will help you out as well. It’s a win-win all around.”
I let out a long breath.
“I really just want to be a model,” I tell him. “Taking part in a marriage—even a fake one—is a huge thing to ask of someone. My life won’t be my own.”
“Come on, Brooklyn. Do you know the kind of press and attention you’ll get just from being married to me? You’ll have professional power like no one else. Every photographer and designer that matters will be bombarding you with opportunities.”
I shift in my chair, my jaw going tense. These pie-in-the-sky promises are sounding eerily familiar. And after the shit he pulled three years ago, there’s no way I can trust him.
“Thank you for dinner, Luka, but I’m leaving.”
I stand and grab my purse. It’s satisfying, looking down at him and seeing how intently he’s watching me.
“The answer is no. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
I spin on my heel and leave. That’s right—I’m the one leaving him this time. And it feels almost as good as it would have if we’d gone to his penthouse.
On second thought, nope.
This feels much better.
Brooklyn
Chapter 6
“Obviously I can’t take the offer.”
I scoot back onto the overstuffed chaise and hug my knees. Mateo is lounging on the plush ivory rug on the floor, a wine glass in one hand as he lies on his side and studies me.
I’m so glad he decided to come to Chicago with me, and extra grateful that I didn’t have to move back in with my parents while I chase this next phase of my career. Mateo is making bank, thanks to the way his modeling career has soared—and extra props to him for being one of the first openly bisexual male models to get this big—so he’s got the money to live wherever he wants now. And while I do enjoy the perks of being his bestie, like this posh little apartment in Wicker Park, what I love even more is that we’ve got each other’s backs.
No matter what happens in our lives, I hope our friendship never changes.
“Why the hell not? I mean, how can you not even consider it?” He sips and grins and sips some more. “Normally, I’d frown on this sort of thing, but think about it, Brookie. You’ll be Luka Zoric’s wife. You get to bang him. Repeatedly. As often as you want. Hell, I’d even go monogamous for that man.”
I chuckle. Mateo monogamous? That will be a cold day in hell. When he’s not dating two or three at a time, which is never, he’s on the prowl for replacements.
In the very scarce in-between of those moments, he’s tried to convince me we should be friends with benefits. I’ve always shut that kind of talk down, not really knowing if he was serious—and honestly, I don’t want to know. He’s my absolute favorite person in the world and I never want our relationship to change. Plus, I’m too jealous to get involved with someone who only has open relationships, and as his platonic friend I’m free to cheer on his flavor of the week.