Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Autumn is standing stock still, her mouth dropped open even more now. She looks hungry . . . for me. I want to tell everyone to get out of here, take her in my arms, and lay her back on that desk. But she makes a squeak of recognition and then starts moving rapidly, her hands flitting about as she hangs the shirt I took off.
Grabbing the lavender one, she holds it out to me. Instead, I turn, holding my arms out, and she takes the cue, slipping the cotton up my arms. She smooths the fabric over my shoulders firmly before coming around to button me up. Her hands drift closer to my waist with every button, and I want desperately for her deft fingers to go even lower.
With a deep breath, I resist temptation.
As though aware I’m walking a fine edge, Autumn hands me the gray slacks. “Think you can manage yourself? I know zippers can be hard.”
This minx! Is she calling me out for my body’s continued response?
I put on the pants, telling her quietly, “Admittedly, I’m better at pulling zippers down.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile but losing the battle. Looping the tie around my neck tightly, she takes charge, carefully tying a knot and pushing it up to my throat, just a bit tightly, but not too tight.
I like sassy Autumn.
“This is a Merovingian knot, something creative and slightly . . . sexual.” She swallows carefully. “In fashion school, I learned about a dozen different ways to tie a tie other than your standard Windsor.”
I chuckle darkly. “I know a thing or two about knots and tying too.”
Autumn shivers as her eyes jump to mine. Her breathing speeds up, and I’m on the verge of kissing her again when the photographer interrupts.
“Simon?” I’ve worked with Melia before. She’s in her early forties and looks at me as though I’m a piece of meat. Not that she wants to eat me, exactly, but to her, I’m merely a product she’s trying to sell. “Es-tu pret?”
“Yes, I’m ready.” I smile at Autumn as I move into the set for another round of photos.
Melia and I make quick work of what amounts to a headshot, and then I’m back next to Autumn for another wardrobe change.
“How do you get so many good shots so quickly?” she asks.
I shrug, taking off the jacket and shirt. “Experience. I’ve done hundreds of these, maybe more. It seems like thousands. It was exciting at first, but now? It’s mundane.”
She laughs brightly. “I’m not sure anything about your life is ‘mundane’.”
“I’m not that unusual. Still put on my pants one leg at a time.”
She dramatically gestures to herself and the rack of clothes. “That doesn’t count if someone is literally dressing and undressing you.”
“Touché.” I laugh at her sauciness. “Well, my aunt insisted I focus on my studies, at least through high school level, like other boys. After that, she helped me follow in her footsteps into the family business, which isn’t all that uncommon. First, with modeling, which was fun and seemed exotic. And then, here at House Corbin. I’ve had to work for that. Still do. Most people only see my face, outright dismissing my brain.”
“Aww, poor, pitiful you,” she whines, but the tease is accompanied by a soft smile.
“I’m not complaining,” I assure her. “I’ve put in plenty of twelve- or fourteen- hour days, interning and learning in every department I could, finding a place where I can be useful to the company beyond my face. But I have to balance both, concentrating on my work mentally while watching my nutrition and fitness closely. Add to that, faking emotions with models I detest, playing lapdog to Jacqueline, and pulling the company, fighting and screaming, into relevance.”
I realize a moment later that I’ve revealed too much. It’s just so easy to talk to Autumn.
“Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” she promises me.
“Yes, there is. Friday, you were jealous and I didn’t handle it properly. I should’ve—”
“I wasn’t jealous!”
“When those meuf came into the lounge, you wanted to . . . snatch a bitch?” I think I’m using her American slang properly, or at least I hope so.
Autumn’s eyes spark fire, and I’m not sure whether she’s going to eviscerate me or storm off.
“You didn’t like Melia touching me, either,” I add.
“She was spreading your thighs like she wanted to make room for her and her assistant. I’m not down to watch you live out some menage a trois fantasy,” she snarls, flipping her hair over her shoulder and refusing to meet my eyes.
“Ah, you do know some French, then?” Her head snaps back around, and she glares at me. I answer with a flirty smile. “I am not interested in any of those women at the club, nor Melia, nor anyone else. In fact, until a few days ago, I would’ve said I wasn’t interested in anyone.”