Page 48 of The Client
Claiming her mouth again, I slip a finger inside her, and she moans as I pump slowly back and forth. God, she’s wet. I could easily take her right here, fuck her on the balcony. Listen to the sounds of her trying to keep silent as I force her to come for me. But her body is tense and rigid. That’s not like her.
I break the kiss, take her chin, and look into her eyes. Defiance and uncertainty flicker back at me. Maybe this is too public for her. Maybe she’s not an exhibitionist. Too bad.
“Izabela, now isn’t the time to challenge me. Take off your panties.”
She lets out a huff of air, pulls herself to her full height, and pushes against my chest. Lightly grabbing her wrist, I’m about to demand that she tell me what’s going on when she raises a hand and slaps me. The sound reverberates in the warm air.
I release her wrist, not hurt by the slap but shocked by her outburst nonetheless.
“We’re not fucking again until you wear a condom,” she hisses.
And then she storms off, leaving me standing there. I’m not even angry. Just confused.
I can’t remember the last time a woman spoke to me like that—but whenever it was, I know this is the first time I’ve actually cared.
18
IZABELA
I’m tryingto focus on this shoot, but I can’t stop thinking about what Celine said to me at the party last night.
What kind of screwed-up love triangle is Rhys involved in? Celine made it clear that they used to be a couple, and that he never got over her…but now she’s married to his father and carrying Rhys’s half-sibling. And she very plainly implied that she and Rhys are still being intimate. Not only does the possibility exist that the baby is his, but who knows what kind of diseases he might be exposing himself to?
It’s even more infuriating that he mademeget tested when he himself might be carrying something. What a hypocrite. When it comes to my health, I’m not taking any chances. I’m already fighting the battle of my sister’s autoimmune disease.
Still, he was clearly taken aback by the way I spoke to him. I’m not sorry for standing up for myself, but I shouldn’t have snapped at him like I did. Will there be consequences? Will Zoric find out I behaved badly? The thought that I might have jeopardized my position or even put my family in danger turns my stomach. I need to talk to Rhys in person when I get home tonight.
I need to make him see that I know better, that I’ll be better.
“Better cheer up,” one of the other models teases me. “You’ve had that sour look on your face since we got here.”
We’re sitting next to each other in front of a long, well-lit mirror, the makeup artist working on my face while the hairdresser works on the other model. It’s 8 AM and we aren’t allowed to have coffee, though we can smell the crew’s. I’ll use that as my excuse. I can’t let my mood get me down. The last thing I need is to be known as the model with the bad attitude.
“I’d smile if they gave us cappuccinos.”
“You don’t need tosmile,” she says. “Perfume advertisements are all about sultry glares and pouty faces.”
I laugh along with her, but I’m forcing it.
“I’m Talia, by the way.”
“Izabela.”
Talia occupies herself with something in her bag and I take the opportunity to grab a bottle of water from the snack table in the back. The snacks, of course, we’re not allowed to eat. Just water. Always, only just water. I couldn’t eat anyway. My insides are too knotted.
It’s our first day on the set of a national campaign to launch a pop star’s brand-new perfume, called Idlewild. Every single one of her albums has hit the top of the music charts, so being one of the faces of her perfume is going to propel me to instant recognition. These images will be distributed all over the United States. I’m going to be everywhere.
It’s an incredible gig, one I never would have been offered if Rhys hadn’t called Zoric to demand higher profile modeling work for me. Thanks to his intervention, I’ll be appearing in several short commercialsandprint ads for Idlewild as the brand gears up for its holiday marketing push. This is also the longest shoot I’ve ever been on—five whole days—and I’m incredibly nervous. The photo part should be fine, but what if I’m no good on video?
I know I should just try to soak everything in and enjoy myself, but I can’t. Not just because I’m anxious about the job, but because of what’s going on with Rhys. He hasn’t spoken to me since we left the party and drove home in silence. I’d foolishly hoped that Rhys might explain his relationship to Celine and what was going on between the two of them and Rhys’s father. He didn’t, of course. No explanation, no apology, nothing. He probably thinks I don’t need to know, since I’m just his Rent-A-Lay.
The cold, calculated way that woman spoke to me in the restroom said it all anyway.
I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s still in love with Rhys even though she wears another man’s ring. Oh, do I ever get farther and farther from the fairytale I told my sister. I laid in my bed last night waiting for him to come to me. He didn’t. He moved around the house so silently that I suspected he’d left, but then I heard him walking downstairs and I was relieved to know he was still home. This morning, he poured himself coffee and was out the door slightly before me.
I can’t imagine what he’d need to do at the office at four in the morning, but who am I to ask?
The hairdresser finishes with Talia and bustles off to rub texturizing cream on another girl. In the mirror, I take in my partially finished makeup. The eyeliner is dark and heavy, the shadow is a metallic silver, tapering to a point at the outside corners of my eyes. I look a little wild, which I guess is the idea. Meanwhile, Talia’s black hair is teased into a messy cloud, strewn with sparkling rhinestones and clip-in beetles and butterflies.
