Mandy Makes Her Mark (3 page)

“Oh? What sort of work do you do?”

“I run a modeling agency. We're doing a shoot for a bridal wear collection.”

“You don't say?” Zeke seemed genuinely impressed. “That explains the, uh, distinctive appearance of that last crew. They all yours?”

“All mine,” Mandy said, thinking
, for better or worse
.

“And you're what, like their boss?”

“Well, in a sense, I suppose. I mean, you'd probably have a hard time convincing any of them that they report to me. They tend to be…headstrong.”

“Ah. So you're more like their babysitter. Making sure they make good choices and so forth.”

Mandy couldn't help laughing. “You're not so far off the mark.”

Zeke introduced her to the concierge, an elegant woman named Amelia Drake with a silver bob and large, stylish glasses. Amelia gave her a key and directions to her bungalow. As Mandy was walking through the manor she took a quick look into the restaurant and lounge.

Sitting at the bar, to her surprise, was Tad. He was hunched over a drink, looking like he could use a double. Mandy slunk by, hoping Tad hadn't noticed her. The last thing she needed when she was so exhausted was the emotional turmoil caused by spending time with Tad. Making conversation with him was like pulling teeth; he avoided looking at her, barely spoke, and left her wondering if he hated her or merely found her incredibly dull. Her ego didn't need the hit today.

Still, once she was safely past, she stopped. Guilt surged through her. Tad was probably devastated over his breakup with Luna, especially given her penchant for cruelty. Why, even now he might be trying to drown his sorrows in drink. Which could be disastrous for tomorrow's shoot. Hangovers were notorious for causing problems that couldn't easily be edited out—slumping posture, hollow eyes and cheeks, insincere smiles.

Mandy gritted her teeth. She shouldn't even be here. Her employees were professionals—she ought to be able to expect them to figure out how to behave accordingly. And yet, if any of her models tanked, they would take the agency down with them.

She backtracked, dragging her suitcase. When she sat down on the barstool next to Tad's, he barely looked up.

“Tad.”

“Amanda.”

That was another thing. He was the only person on earth who called her that. She had spent her childhood begging her family not to call her Mandy, but they were unmoved, as were every teacher, classmate, friend, and coworker she had ever had. “You're just a ‘Mandy,'” one well-meaning friend had tried to explain. “You might as well get used to it.” And she had, finally, which made it all the more unsettling that Tad used her real name.

“So…what are you drinking?” she asked.

He swung his head around and drilled her with a heavy-lidded glare.

“Really, Mandy? I've been dating your sister for eight months, not to mention the fact that you and I have worked together for almost a year. We've spent how many dinners together? Events? Business meetings? Endless holiday meals?”

“Wow,” Mandy said, trying not to feel stung. “I wasn't aware that you consider Thanksgiving—“ which she had hosted in her apartment, inviting Luna and Tad and a few friends—“to be
endless
.”

“I hate the holidays. No offense.”

Of course he hated the holidays. Tad could out-scrooge Scrooge himself. “None taken,” she said stiffly.

“And in all that time, what have you seen me drink?”

“Dr. Pepper,” Mandy sighed. “Fine. Point taken. Did you at least have him add some rum? Because you look like you need it.”

“I'm an alcoholic, Amanda,” Tad said in a withering voice. “Almost eleven years sober.”

“Oh!” Mandy felt her face flame. How did she not know this? “Should you even be here, then? I mean, in a bar? Is it…allowed?”

“It's fine,” Tad said. “Some alcoholics prefer not to be around people who are drinking. I don't especially mind.”

“But you're under a lot of stress. You know, because of the breakup and all.”

Tad looked at her unblinkingly, his frown seeming to deepen. “Ah. So now you're a psychotherapist, as well. Thank you, Dr. Leif, I'll take that under advisement.”

“No! I mean, I didn't mean it that way. Just…look, Tad, I was trying to be sympathetic.” She considered. “I mean, I've certainly been the target of my sister's moods often enough. I know it's not especially pleasant.”

Tad shrugged. “To tell the truth, I think we both knew the breakup had to happen. I give her credit for pulling the plug.”

“You do?” Wow, Mandy was further out of the loop than she even imagined. She hadn't picked up on any discord between the two.

Of course…their relationship had largely consisted of the two of them appearing together in restaurants and at parties and movie openings, glowering seductively into the camera. Tad was a perfect gentleman, holding doors and taking her coat, but the two of them never seemed to actually speak to each other.

She took a breath and prepared to do the right thing, no matter how much she would prefer not to.

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

He laughed shortly. “Seriously?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Only that if I were in the market for relationship advice—which, don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not—I would probably look for someone who's actually
in
one.”

“I—I can't believe you,” Mandy sputtered, drawing back as if slapped. Here she'd been ready to lend a sympathetic ear to Tad Eckholm, of all people, a man who'd been nothing but sneering and caustic to her since the day they met. She'd only taken him on because she needed another male model on her roster. And now, when she was trying to be nice, he'd insulted her. “What is
wrong
with you, Tad?”

He turned to look at her for the first time, one perfect eyebrow arched. He looked mildly interested, an expression Mandy was pretty sure she'd never seen on his face before. In fact, she'd come to think of his trademark look, the one that had landed him more shoots than any of the other men she employed, as “bored contempt.” To potential accounts she used words like
provocative
and
intense
and
soulful
, but the truth was that she'd sometimes wondered if a series of electrodes would detect any brain activity at all.

“What is wrong with me, Amanda? Is that the question?”

“Well—yes.”

The silver-haired bartender chose just that moment to finish with his other customers down the bar and came up to her. “Good evening, Miss. What may I get for you?”

“I'll have a—a—whiskey. A double.” Mandy had never had a whiskey in her life—she was more of a pinot grigio kind of gal, with an occasional daiquiri in the summer—but this moment called for something strong.

“Of course. What sort of whiskey were you thinking?”

“Scotch.” It was the only kind she could think of.

“Single malt or blended?”

“The first,” Mandy said impatiently. Seriously, was it this complicated to order a damn drink?

“And do you prefer something peaty…smoky…or something smooth?”

Definitely not smooth. Mandy was in the mood for a drink as rough as her temper. “Peaty
and
smoky. And if you can set it on fire, so much the better.”

The bartender laughed politely. “And another Dr. Pepper, sir?”

Tad nodded morosely, fixing Mandy with his unblinking gaze while the bartender moved away to get the drinks. She tried to look away, but the undeniable fact was that Tad was impossible to ignore. Part of it was his sheer physical perfection, sure—sculpted features, jaw like steel, a physique straight off the Sistine Chapel ceiling, eyes the color of a sapphire—but Tad had an air about him that was nothing short of compelling.

Liam, her assistant, called it his fuck-off-I'm-flawless look, the one that scored Tad steady work in catalogs and print ads for products like sports cars and luxury watches. But Liam had also pointed out that Tad's flawlessness was also his limitation, because he was rarely chosen for editorial work or the best runway shows. “They're looking for character,” Liam had said, “like Luna's nose.”

Luna's nose was the one feature which Mandy had always felt grateful not to have inherited from their mother. Luna's nose was straight and narrow, but it was long, long enough that in profile you couldn't help but notice how it jutted from her face and overshadowed her high cheekbones and lovely full lips.

At least, that's what Mandy had thought, as she took over booking for their fledgling agency. So she'd had to cover her surprise when she took calls from clients anxious to hire “the one with the nose.” That was before Luna became known around the globe, before she dropped her last name and started going simply by “Luna”—like Cher or Madonna—and a whole new crop of long-nosed models tried to cash in on the look.

Tad had no such distinguishing characteristic, unless you counted his sheer perfection; Mandy had had to find other ways to promote him to her clients. For the snowboard spread she'd promised a “consistent, superbly textured two-day growth” (because, naturally, Tad's beard came in with no patchiness or discoloring); for the swimsuit manufacturer she'd emphasized that Tad's skin held a faux tan perfectly. Of course, these things could be faked with photo editing software, but it was amazing how susceptible her clients were to a carefully worded sell job.

“You were going to tell me what's wrong with me,” Tad said, taking a peanut from the dish on the bar and tossing it in a lazy arc, catching it between his gleaming white teeth. “I'm all ears.”

The bartender had brought their drinks and set them on the bar without comment. Mandy took a sip of the amber liquid and immediately started coughing. It was just so…
caustic
. That people were willing to pay good money for the stuff was astonishing. “You're smug. You're arrogant. You're full of yourself.”

Tad raised one groomed eyebrow and quirked a small smile. “All of which, I believe, is my
brand
, as you explained in that memorable staff meeting last month.”

Mandy reddened, dropping her gaze to the drink in front of her. She knew exactly which meeting he was referring to. She'd been trying to apply some of the principles she'd learned in one of her night school classes, explaining to her best models how they could capitalize on personal branding in their social media. Naturally Tad had undermined the whole meeting with his clever but subtly undermining comments.

“Do you have any idea how hard I've worked to get you placed, Tad? The Air Monaco ad—are you aware they almost went with a model from Trident? How about the Copper Creek spread—I had to promise to re-shoot if they weren't pleased with the results.”

“They didn't re-shoot.”

“No, they didn't, but that's not the point. You put people off with the very qualities you're so proud of. I have to intervene every time you meet a client. You give off…pure
contempt
,” Mandy said. “I'm constantly having to smooth ruffled feathers and promise you'll behave.”

Rather than look wounded, Tad appeared faintly amused. “Wow, Amanda, I didn't know you cared so much about me. I guess I should be thanking you for getting me all that work.”

“You
should
.” Mandy tried to slug back more of the liquor but it was simply too horrid. Instead she reached for Tad's soda and took a long, satisfying sip, erasing all traces of the whiskey.

“It makes me wonder, though,” Tad said, signaling the bartender, who quickly poured him a fresh Dr. Pepper and slid it in front of him. There was certainly nothing wrong with the service in this place. “Why? Why would you put all this effort into my career? You've got Tim, Jalal—they'd both kill to go on those shoots. And there's no need to pretend you actually ever
liked
me. So why make the effort?”

“Are you serious?” Mandy couldn't believe the question—just one more bit of evidence that Tad's world view was completely disconnected from reality. “Because of Luna! Why do you think? When I keep Luna happy, everyone's happy.”

Except that wasn't entirely true, was it? Luna liked to be the center of attention. She was perfectly happy as long as no one else was receiving as much admiration as she was. Money wasn't an issue–Luna was extraordinarily well-paid, even if the agency was still struggling—and she would have been fine with Tad working less, because it would mean more time he could spend squiring her around. So why
had
she worked so hard on Tad's behalf? There was that uncomfortable wave of emotion again, the giddy state that being with him always caused. She couldn't bear to admit that she'd cared so much about his feelings when he clearly didn't give a rat's ass about hers. “If I didn't keep you booked, I'd hear about it from Luna,” she lied. “And you know how she can be…”

Oops. There went that insensitivity again. Rubbing his face in the breakup. “What I mean is,” she said, taking a breath and trying to make her tone more conciliatory, “it made good business sense. You and Luna were together, and I felt it was my responsibility to keep you both booked.”

“You could book Luna with your eyes shut,” Tad observed, without a trace of envy or bitterness. “You never needed me.”

“It was my responsibility to the agency to keep my best model happy,” Mandy repeated.

“And where did that get you?” Tad lifted his glass in a toast. “You worked your ass off for her, and she left anyway. Here's to loyalty.”

“You—you can't—” Mandy gripped her glass harder. “You want me to toast to loyalty on the day after my sister ditched us both and I had to fly down to this inferno to make Marc Lark happy?”

“Not
her
loyalty,” Tad said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Yours. Mine.” He waited until she picked up her glass, and added “Ours.”