“Yup.”
I listened while Emmy filled me in on the details of their charity. Things were going quite well and Ben was taking on fewer modeling jobs to devote more time to their very worthy cause of helping children in need. It was quite admirable.
Soon we were rolling to a stop by an old, run-down building. It didn’t look like much, but I quickly saw its potential. The photographer was using the rough brick façade as a rugged backdrop to capture his subjects. Ben and Braydon were stationed against the wall, each striking brilliant poses as the photographer clicked away. They were dressed casually—each in jeans, Braydon in a simple black T-shirt, and Ben in a white button-down.
Emmy and I approached from the far side, staying out of their line of vision, not wanting to distract them. This world was entirely new to me, but Emmy seemed a bit more comfortable, waving to the makeup artist and moving with authority to the sidelines.
We chatted with a set designer, the editor for the magazine, and nibbled on snacks from the catering table. While Emmy went to talk with the makeup artist she seemed to know from another shoot, I sat down on a brick ledge near the edge of the building to watch the shoot. I didn’t realize a photo shoot could last so long, and just when I’d grown bored with waiting around for Braydon to finish, a bubbly blonde with bouncy curls plopped down beside me.
“He’s stunning, isn’t he?” I assumed she meant Ben because he was the more well known of the two, but a quick glance up told me her gaze was pinned on Braydon.
“Yes, he is.” No denying that fact. The man was frickin’ sex on a stick. Lickable in every way. And I would know. Just the memory of our naughty hotel room encounter made my skin heat up.
Her smile faltered ever so slightly as she sized me up. Pushing her thick blond curls over one shoulder, she offered me her hand. “I’m Katrina.”
“Hi, I’m Ellie.” I returned her handshake. “Are you one of the . . . set workers?” I didn’t know the right terms. My newbie status was obvious.
She laughed a light musical sound. “No. Just . . . an admirer.”
Oh. “Of Ben Shaw or Braydon Kincaid?” I wondered out loud.
“Braydon.” The familiar way his name rolled from her lips set off a warning bell in my head. “What about you?” she asked.
I flushed pink. How did I explain our arrangement to a perfect stranger? “Oh, I’ve been, um, sort of seeing him,” I said softly.
“Really?” This seemed to surprise her, her eyebrows lifting high up her forehead.
I couldn’t get over the unmistakable feeling that something wasn’t quite right. “Do you know him?” She’d said she was just an admirer, but I sensed they had a past.
“Yes. He and I . . .” she stopped herself. “Doesn’t matter. But I know how he can be, and commitment is tough for him.”
I nodded, spellbound. I wondered if she’d been one of his past arrangements. My heart pumped wildly in my chest.
She pulled a scrap of paper from her purse and scribbled something down on it before thrusting it at me. “My phone number and email. If you ever want to talk.”
“Thanks.” I tucked the note inside my wallet.
Emmy approached and offered me her hand. “Ready? The boys are done.”
I accepted her hand and allowed her to pull me to standing. I hadn’t realized they were already through. Something about meeting Katrina, and the way her eyes had followed Braydon’s every movement, made my scalp tingle. A quick glance back told me my new friend was already gone—without a trace, by the looks of it. Strange. Shaking away the eerie feeling, I followed Emmy. The guys emerged a few minutes later and Braydon’s brows crinkled when he spotted me. He looked agitated.
“Everything okay?” he asked as he approached.
“Yes, we came to see you guys. Nice work.”
The tension in his face fell away just slightly. “Oh. Cool. Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “There was just a little issue. Security had to remove someone from the set.” Emmy’s concerned eyes met Ben’s. “Everything’s fine now,” Braydon explained.
Weird.
I suddenly felt strange being here. Not only was this the first time I’d been around the three of them since learning about their steamy night in Paris, but Braydon hadn’t invited me here today—Emmy had. And I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t exactly welcome. My plan to push him to talk died when I saw his serious expression. Now was not the time. I shifted my weight, hitching my purse up higher on my shoulder. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do today. I should probably hit it.”
Emmy shot me a confused glare. “I thought you were free all day?”
“I’ve got errands to run, I need to go to the store, do laundry, get groceries, return an overdue book to the library. . . .” I stopped myself from spewing any further lies.
Braydon’s posture relaxed a bit and he leaned down to give me a hug. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Sure,” I murmured, my agitation growing. Braydon wasn’t happy to see me. He didn’t appreciate my effort. He was so confusing, it made my stomach hurt. Coming here had been a bad idea. I turned and fled, heading for the nearest cab or subway station I could find. I just wanted out of there.
That evening when Braydon texted me, asking to come over, I immediately said yes. I’d let him know what was on my mind when he arrived. I had to, for my sanity’s sake. I couldn’t keep walking around day after day, not knowing. When he arrived at my apartment, bottle of wine in hand, I ushered him inside, my resolve weakening at the sight of this handsome man. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans, a vintage tee, and his beat-up Converse, as he usually was. He looked frickin’ adorable.
He kissed me briefly then set about opening the wine and pouring us each a glass. I bit my cheek to avoid asking him about the gala or his strange behavior on the set of the photo shoot. Let it go, Ellie. Move on, I begged myself silently. There are more important things to discuss.
“Here you go, gorgeous.” He handed me a glass of ruby-colored wine. “Shall we sit?” He motioned to the living room and I led the way, nestling into my couch, which was worn in all the right places. Braydon sat down next to me but left enough room between us so that we could carry on a conversation naturally.
“Listen, I think we need to talk,” I began.
“Yes, we do,” he agreed, watching me thoughtfully over the rim of his wineglass.