“I’ve never been reasonable where you’re concerned, Dayton, and I’m not about to start now. Understand that. And the next time you say ‘fuck you’ to me, that’s exactly what you’ll be doing.”
He steps into the elevator and the doors close with a swish. I grab a clean mug from the side and throw it across the room. It collides with the door and smashes, white china falling over the carpet.
Fucking self-entitled, controlling, demanding f**king bastard.
Chapter Fourteen
I think I might move.
My love of water has always kept me in Seattle. The Bay has kept me grounded close to a place full of happy memories from years gone by, but I’ve never really loved the weather.
I’m thinking Sydney has everything. It has water, a harbor, hot weather, and beaches. It’s like California and Seattle all rolled into one beautiful little package. Even if it does feel like I’m standing on the surface of the sun again.
A drop of sweat rolls down my back. Okay—maybe it’s a little too hot.
I pull out my cell, now armed with international messaging and calls, and send a picture of the harbor to Liv. She replies immediately with a picture of her raindrop-covered window and a great big Fuck you. I laugh, and when the device buzzes in my hand, I smile at the sight of her name.
“Let me call you back.” I hang up before she can argue and redial.
“What the hell?”
“International calls. I’m not paying your damn bill again.”
“Screw the bill. I’m wondering why you’re sending me a photo of f**king boats and not hot shirtless dudes surrounded by sand and sea.”
No one can say Liv’s priorities are skewed.
“Because I’m at the harbor and not the beach,” I reply. “How’s my house?”
“Your house is fine, but your plant died.”
“I don’t have a plant.”
“Yeah, you do. I think your aunt bought it when you moved in.”
“That was three years ago.”
“Well, no wonder it’s dead. I chucked it in the trash.”
I shrug. Me and plants don’t go well. Evidently. “Are you working today?”
“I’m always working. My agent is MIA again. I need to fire his fat ass.”
I nod in agreement although she can’t see and walk along the harbor, keeping my eyes on the softly bobbing boats. “Did you go on that shoot I organized?”
“Yes! I haven’t seen the finished pictures yet, but the originals looked good.”
“Of course they did. You’re gorgeous.” An idea flits through my mind. “Hey, is Darren really not getting you any work?”
“None. The last job was six weeks ago.”
I flinch. Ouch. She might work at a bar full time, but her wages only cover her bills—and that’s barely. The cash she gets from modeling is what keeps her going.
“Why don’t I speak to Aaron?”
“About me?”
“Why not? Stone Advertising is modeling too. I bet he could find you a job or two.”
“Great. And Darren will get his cut for doing jack shit.”
“No he won’t. You’ve been around long enough to negotiate a deal. I bet Monique would even do it. I know it’s a different kind of thing, but she knows her stuff, Liv.”
“So fire Darren and then what? Be agentless? No one would touch me.”
“No, do one job for Stone and you’ll be able to get an agent. A decent one.”
“That’s a big risk, Dayton. A big-fucking-ass risk.”
I sigh. “Think about it, okay?”
“Mmph. Okay. I have to go to work now. Talk soon?”
“Yeah. Bye.”
That conversation didn’t last nearly as long as I’d hoped. I leave the harbor and walk into the city. My glasses cover my downcast eyes, and I yearn for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with pockets I could shove my hands in.
What am I doing?
If I had any sense, even an ounce of it, I’d run to the hotel. I’d run and I’d pack and I’d jump on the next plane back to the US. I’d run from the situation that’s gradually building around me. The one I knew could happen. The one I promised myself wouldn’t. The one that changes everything.
The building that houses Stone Advertising comes into my peripheral, and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. People mill around me, sidestepping to avoid me and running across the road. Flagging cabs. Laughing with friends. Normal things.
I stare at the tall building. Aaron’s in there somewhere, probably in a meeting or sitting at stupid long table and watching as hair-flicking, eyelash-batting, chest-pushing, gorgeous girls parade in front of him and present him with a fat portfolio of them wearing barely anything.
Something that feels an awful lot like jealously curls in my stomach, and I walk down the street. I wrap my arms around my waist and walk until I find a tiny, tucked-away restaurant.
The low lighting is counteracted by the rich laughter of the staff when I walk in. Three guys and two girls—too many for this empty place—are all laughing like they’ll never laugh again. One of the girls is bent at the waist, holding her stomach as her giggles peal out of her.
The eldest guy shushes them and looks at me. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“You can.” I smile. “I’m looking for a place to hide that has good food. Know anywhere?”
“As it happens, I do!” He steps forward and bows exaggeratedly. “Follow me.”
He leads me to a table in the back corner. The bench is covered in bright cushions, the table adorned with an equally bright cloth. He hands me a menu, and I open it.
“What do you recommend?”
“I own the place. I recommend everything.” He winks. “Would you like a drink?”
“Do you have white wine?”
“Do I have white wine? Of course I have white wine.” He rolls his eyes in a decidedly campy way.
“Well, could I have a glass, please?”
“You can have a bottle, darling. Hold it right there.” He scuttles away and returns moments later, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. “Here. Try this.”
I take the glass from him and smell it. Fruity. Sweet. Not my usual taste, but okay… “Oh my god!” I stare at him. “That’s incredible. How can something that smells so sweet be a medium dry?”
He leans forward and crooks his finger. “Don’t ask me, honey. I just sell it. But it goes wonderful with our mussels. The fish mussels, not the babies you see hiding beneath my shirt.”