Just in Time (6 page)

“Why I put up with you…”

“Well, never mind,” she said. “You can fire me when this is over. I’ll hold my breath, shall I?”

“Cheeky,” Will said.

“Isn’t she, though?” Calvin said. “Thinks she’s cute.”

“Well, she is, a bit.” Will grinned at her, and she smiled back. Her hair was in that messy almost-bun again, and she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans again, and she still didn’t have much makeup on. And she still looked good.

“This is Charlotte, our stylist,” Faith said, and Will shook hands with the older woman.

“And while we’re doing introductions…” Faith did a drumroll on the glass tabletop with her hands. “Hope Sinclair, meet Hemi Te Mana, your new employer.”

“Oh,” Gretchen said. “Hope. I like that. Hi, Hemi!”

Will didn’t answer her, just stared at Faith, and her confident smile faded. “What?” she asked. “Is it a dirty word? I thought it sounded good, and mana is power or something like that, right? Perfect.”

“No.” If he sounded a little grim, it was because he felt that way. “It means prestige. Honor, the kind you earn for the person you are. That man, that woman who walks through the world upright—that’s what it means. It’s an important word.”

“Well, then, even more perfect,” Calvin said, impatient as always. “I agree, sounds good. Let’s go.”

Faith didn’t move. “If it’s offensive, though…”

“It’s an actual name, right?” Calvin demanded of Will. “Te…Te Mana?”

“Yeh. It is.” How could he say that he didn’t want his heritage treated like some Vegas show? He was the one who’d agreed to do this. They didn’t want him for his fine rugby brain, or for the content of his character. They wanted him for his color, his size, his muscles, and his tattoo. He couldn’t very well complain that they were objectifying him. He was doing it to himself. And he’d agreed to this. “Right,” he said in resignation. “Hemi Te Mana it is.”

“Well, then, Hemi,” Calvin said, “let’s get on with it. Charlotte’s got some wardrobe for you. Get yourself into it.”

Faith moved lights and softboxes, set up cameras, checked angles. All the while watching Will being prepped by Charlotte, who handled him with the matter-of-fact briskness she brought to every shoot. The older woman rubbed oil into his chest and fussed with the waistband of his trousers with all the emotion she’d showed when she’d been braiding hair on a six-year-old for a book on Making Your Own Paper Fairies. Less, actually, because Charlotte liked kids. And if Will was uncomfortable, he didn’t show it either.

The first shots were of him alone. A white shirt unbuttoned over his broad chest, his sleeves rolled up to show bulky, sinewy forearms and the start of his tattoo. A thumb hooked into the waistband of dark dress pants, the woolen fabric stretching tight over muscular thighs, a black tie loosened around his neck. His gaze lowered, his stare dark and a little menacing.

He posed, and Calvin shot, and Faith’s mind responded in spite of herself, going off on its own volition even as she shifted equipment and crawled along the floor and tweaked.

She had the story. It was right there in front of her. She could hear Hemi’s voice in her head.

I did a lot of things differently before that day. Or rather, I did them the same way. I did them
my
way. I kept my personal life in shadow, for one thing, partly because mystique was good, but mostly because my personal life didn’t bear scrutinizing.

My physical presence was a different story. I’d seen the articles saying that I was a walking advertisement for my products, but that wasn’t the reason. Vanity is a weakness and a delusion, like love. I knew that my appearance, like my intelligence, was nothing more than a gift bequeathed by my ancestors, a gift it was my responsibility to hone. I’d built up a naturally strong body the same way I’d built up my company, and for the same reasons. If we were both powerhouses, that was because winning was the only option. Close didn’t count, and second place was for losers. You could call it my philosophy.

I didn’t get photographed for my ads, of course. I left that to the models, which was why I was there that day for the kickoff shoot for my new underwear line. I always came to the first day to make sure they did it right. I knew some people called me controlling. Arrogant. Obsessive. As if any of that were a bad thing.

Now, I stood in one corner of the spacious studio and kept an eye on the slow progress before me. They’d be shooting outdoors tomorrow, with Central Park in the background, but I wouldn’t be around for that. No need. Anyway, I could see Central Park anytime from the windows of my Manhattan penthouse.

My fingers flew, checking and responding to the messages on my phone as I waited for the crew to finish their endless fiddling. I indulged one brief flash of annoyance at Galway not being ready for the ten o’clock shooting schedule I’d specified, then let it go and concentrated instead on the task at hand. Annoyance wouldn’t help right now, and I never indulged in unnecessary or unhelpful emotion. My assistant would be reaming him out after I left. That was what he was there for. Instead, I typed out a quick answer to my VP of Finance about the upcoming bond issue, then moved on to a question from Martine in Publicity about the Paris show. She thought she was short-staffed, but everybody always thought that, when the reality was that they didn’t want to do what it took to get the work done. So I texted back,

Make it happen anyway.

and moved on.

My attention kept straying, though, and that was completely unlike me. It was the girl setting up the camera who was doing it. She seemed too small for the task of hauling those tripods and umbrellas around, and I had to restrain myself from going over to help her. She was as fragile as a flower, her pale-blonde hair falling in a soft cloud to just below her narrow shoulders, her little face a perfect heart dominated by enormous blue-green eyes.

And then there was that mouth. Surely, that mouth had been created for a man to use. I remembered the way her lips had parted when I’d touched her. The way I’d been able to feel her heart fluttering, even when I wasn’t touching her at all, and the kick of pure lust it had given me, a shot straight to the groin. When I’d licked my fingers, and she’d watched me do it—the connection had been as strong and sharp as a lightning bolt.

And when she was on her hands and knees, crawling to plug in the cords…I lost my train of thought entirely, my fingers and mind both stilling as they never did, taken over by one thought.

I want that.

“Hope!” Vincent Galway, the prima donna behind the camera, was barking again now. When I’d first met him, I’d appreciated his brusqueness, his cold insistence on perfection. I’d been accused of possessing exactly those same qualities often enough. Now, it was making the hot rage rise, and I couldn’t afford that.

“Hurry up with those lights,” Galway ordered. “Mr. Te Mana is waiting.”

She bit her lower lip, and it trembled a little as the delicate color rose in her porcelain cheeks. “Sorry,” she said. “One moment.” Her fingers were fumbling, and I somehow knew that she needed this job. That she couldn’t afford to fail.

Nobody should be treating her like that. Nobody should be doing anything to her. Nobody but me.

“Faith!”

She jerked herself back to awareness, stepped hastily forward again and pulled the memory card out of the camera, went to plug it into Calvin’s computer and load up the photos.

“Get his shirt and tie off,” Calvin told Charlotte. “We’ll get a few in just the pants. Or maybe keep the tie,” he said consideringly. “Faith? What do you think?”

“Oh, yes. Just the tie. Loose, like that.” She grinned at Will. “The better to lead you around by.”

“Really?” He gave her one of those slow, devilish smiles, more mischief than danger. “That wasn’t how I was planning on using it.”

“You’ll get your chance,” she said. “But not until Day Four. I’m sure Hope will be begging for it by then.”

“Right. Hope.” Another meaningful look, and he had her heart fluttering despite herself. “And you said it, I didn’t. A gentleman never tells.”

“Oh, and you’re a gentleman?”

“Always,” he said softly. “Except when I’m…not.”

“Ooh.” She opened her eyes wide at him. “I’m oddly intrigued. Please. Tell me more.”

“OK, enough chit-chat,” Calvin said. “Fifteen minutes,” he told Will. “Take a break.”

A break. Yeah. She needed a break. And all right, she might have interjected herself just a little into her story. Too bad. That was why they called it fiction. Because you could make up whatever you wanted, including being tiny, delicate, lovely, and fiercely, completely, utterly desired by Will. Uh, by Hemi.

Will opened the door to his ridiculous granny flat, dropped his duffel, and headed for the shower. He was a greasy mess, and that was the truth. Posing for these kinds of photos, he was finding, took heaps more effort than training. Too much standing around. His least favorite thing. And all that pretending to be broody, deep, and dark—it was exhausting. He wasn’t deep, and that was that. He liked being shallow. So much easier.

Faith had seemed to notice every time he’d been flagging, had talked to him encouragingly, and when he’d scowled at her, she’d laughed, because she’d known that he’d known what she was doing. She hadn’t seemed the least bit bothered that he’d been holding Gretchen, either. Well, neither had Gretchen, but that didn’t matter. Faith was friendly. She was cheerful. And that was all. But maybe that would change. Maybe tonight.

He got out of the shower feeling better, saw a text from Solomon, and rang the other man back.

“Lelei wondered if you wanted to come for dinner again tonight,” his mate said. “I think she’s worried that you’ll develop a cocaine habit, now that you’re a model.”

Will smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans. And tell her no worries. I don’t think the model life’s for me. I’ll stick with footy.”

“Good idea. How’s the new place working out?”

“Well…I’d invite you round, but you’d expire from estrogen overload.”

“I’ve got a wife and one-and-a-half daughters,” Solomon reminded him. “Is it that bad?”

“Not if you like flowers.”

He heard the deep chuckle. “Sounds like a much safer spot for you. Well, not necessarily to me. But Lelei also thought you’d fall into bad company at the hotel. Lelei thinks about you too much, in fact, if you ask me. Hmm. Maybe it’s good that you can’t come to dinner.”

“Bad company’s my favorite kind, though.” Will cradled the phone between shoulder and ear as he pulled on black boxer briefs, then a clean pair of jeans.

“Yeah. I just barely remember about that. That model looked like she could work out to be some bad company of the very best kind, especially if you’re getting naked with her every day.”

“I’m not getting naked, remember? I haven’t even got down to my undies yet, although she has, because life’s unfair to women in the stripping-down department, I guess. I think she’s going to be able to resist me, too. And I may even be able to resist her, undies or no.” Which was quite the surprise, wasn’t it? Gretchen
was
pretty. She was very pretty. But she wasn’t the one his eyes had kept straying to today.