Page 78 of The Client
“You’re too good to be a department store model,” a voice says.
The clipboard slips from my hands and clatters to the ground. I spin around, heat flushing my cheeks as my pulse jumps.
“What are you doing here, Rhys?” I ask.
He stands there in one of his perfectly tailored suits, looking cool and cocky and devastatingly hot. We take each other in for a second before he answers.
“Checking to see what kind of business my main model has gotten herself into.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes, refusing to let his flirting affect me. “I’m notyourmodel, and you don’t have any say in my business.”
“Not even for one night?” he asks, his voice dropping lower.
Jesus, my heart is beating fast. I wondered what it would feel like to see him again after all this time. Would I be happy, pissed off, a complete emotional mess? Yes, yes, and yes. And I don’t even want to acknowledge the things that his voice is doing to me below the belt.
“No,” I say coldly. “You can’t buy me for a night anymore.”
He moves closer. “I was hoping you might give it to me for free.”
I give an incredulous laugh. “Wow, that takes nerve. Why the hell would I do that? Especially after all this time? It’s been weeks since I heard from you.”
Completely unmoved by my anger, he steps into me even more. The cut of his suit, the scent of his cologne, the confident smirk on his face… God, he’s a walking orgasm and he knows it. He knows just how to get to me, and it’s working.
“You needed time to miss me, Izabela.”
“Bullshit.”
He laughs, and it’s infuriating how much I’ve missed the sound.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says.
He turns toward the crowd. Most of the chairs are still filled as people continue watching the end of the show. I follow his line of vision. And suddenly I see…Rhys’s mom. And sitting beside her is a dapper elderly gentleman who bears more than a passing resemblance to Rhys, and on her other side…it almost looks like…it can’t be.
But it is.
Dark blonde hair, pulled high into a ponytail with a braid wrapped around the band. The periwinkle blue cardigan I gave her for Christmas last year.
It’s my sister.
It can’t be.
It really is.
Rhys waves my sister over and she stands up as my jaw drops in disbelief.
“Eva? How?”
Grinning from ear to ear, she hurries through the crowd and over to me. We dive into a hug, my sister squealing softly and bouncing up and down.
“I saw the whole show, Izzy! It was amazing!”
Taking her face between my hands, I stare down at her as if she can’t possibly be real. My eyes sting with tears. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She nods excitedly. She looks happy, healthy, her eyes glowing. She’s still thin, but not quite as much as when I left home.
“Rhys, did you tell her about the clinic?” she asks.
“No,” he says. “But you can.”
