Page 50 of The Client
“KZ Modeling.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding? There’s a lot of shady shit that goes on over there, isn’t there?”
My smile is unintentionally tight. She has no idea, nor am I at liberty to talk about it. But I am curious what she’s heard. I don’t know how to ask her without insinuating I’m open to talking about it.
“I couldn’t say.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “No horror stories to share? That’s surprising.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Talia tilts her head, and I can tell she’s not buying it.
“Come on,” she says. “You belong to someone. I’ve been through it, I know how it works. The big dogs get a nice kickback for handing out beautiful women like candy. I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I get it.”
I just shrug.
“What about you?” I ask, hoping she’ll let it go. “Who do you work for?”
“The same as you. I was just poking to see if you’ve heard any recent gossip. So, what are you going to do about that man of yours?” Talia says.
It typically takes me a while to warm up to people and I never discuss personal issues unless I know someone well and feel comfortable with them. But something about Talia gives me the impression it’s okay to talk. Maybe because she’s clearly in a similar situation to me, but she’s kept her humor, her spark. I could see us being friends if that opportunity ever arose.
“Nothing. I’m not the one with any power in our relationship.”
“True, but if you don’t do something, you’ll be replaced. You don’t want that. Jobs like this one don’t grow on trees. Did you know we’re shooting withMariotomorrow? All of this opportunity could go away.” She points to the set behind us. “If it were me, I’d do whatever I could to make him happy again.”
She’s right. But I don’t have the first clue about what would make Rhys truly happy. I don’t know if it’s even possible. He’s the perpetually brooding type.
“How would you do that?” I ask.
“Well, what exactly did you do to upset him?”
I relay the shortened version of how I copped an attitude with Rhys last night after my unpleasant run-in with his ex-girlfriend. I don’t mention any names, of course, or give up any details that might hint at the people I’m talking about. When I get to the part about how I rejected his advances on the balcony, Talia shakes her head.
“No wonder he’s not talking to you. No man who has paid an exorbitant amount of money for on-call sex wants to be given an ultimatum about using condoms.”
“Am I wrong for wanting to protect my health?”
“Of course not. But your man doesn’t want his ego bruised, either. So you need to turn things around in your favor. Make the condoms sexy. I don’t know, maybe seduce him and roll it on with your mouth or something.”
We giggle about it, but I take her advice to heart when I finally get home later. Rhys isn’t there when I arrive, so I take a quick shower to wash off the remnants of the day. Then I tiptoe to his room in my towel and duck inside before any of the staff can see me, hanging up the towel in his bathroom and then making my way to his bed.
I slip the condoms I bought under the pillow and pull the covers down, arranging myself face-up in the sheets with my naked body on full display. I tousle my hair and spread it over my shoulders, pulling my arms up over my head. When he walks through that door, he’s going to find me ready and waiting for him.
I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his luxurious sheets on my skin and the scent of his cologne. Before I know it, I’m lulled to sleep.
The next thing I know, sunlight is streaming into the room and Mrs. Dunham is pulling the covers off me and barking at me to wake up. Sitting up with a jolt, I realize that I’m alone, and that somebody covered me up last night, complete with a throw blanket over the end of the bed. Was it Rhys? It obviously wasn’t Mrs. Dunham. She wouldn’t have pulled the comforter over me just to turn around and yell at me to get out of here.
“Up, up, up,” she’s saying, flapping the blankets at me. “It’s morning.”
I reach for the throw blanket, attempting to cover my bare chest as I slide off the bed, but Mrs. Dunham isn’t having any of it. Shaking her head, she goes into Rhys’s closet and returns with a thick Turkish bathrobe, tossing it unceremoniously at me.
“Put that on. You’ll bring it down to the laundry once you’re dressed,” she tells me.
“Yes ma’am,” I say, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
She herds me out the door and into the hallway, waving a finger at me.
