Chapter 1

Sleep that night was an effort in futility. And I carried the bags to prove. But my day was full. Made so by me, so I donned on my most professional looking suit and moved off to my little kitchen. A moment later and the microwave pinged at me, reminding me not to rudely ignore it. I sighed unhappily and set down my Nutella covered bagel and tore my eyes away from where they stared at the many scrawny models filtering through my Instagram feed as I eyed my sisters prospective competitors with not a little dose of jealousy. It was good business to keep an eye on the competitors but sure not when they roused up a bout of indigestion. I stuffed in the last of my bagel and grabbed my instant coffee pouring it into a cup-to-go and then made a mad dash for the office.

It was a strange sort of weird that had me rushing for the office this morning. It happened during all that restless tossing and turning last night, where the guilt of my actions, warred with the revulsions of it, and the weary contemplations of what would unfold, sent my hand reaching out for my phone. It was not as if I had Erin Robertson on a speed dial, but then again, how could I not have him on my phone. It must have been some sort of sleepy rambling, but when lucidity struck, only four hours earlier, all pretensions of sleep were over. I had summoned the wolf to my lair. Thankfully, he declined and suggested we meet at the Ritz instead, … for tea!

Who even drank that anymore?

That I had readily agreed only verified the state of my mind at that time. Still, I made the invite, even if he made the counter-invite, so I would be there. I would tighten my girdle and suck in my gut then face the enemy. After all, I had my big girl panties on, so anything was possible, even turning to my competitor and asking for a favor—begging more like it, going down on my knees and downright pleading! If that were what it would take?

As I already lived in the outskirts of Melbourne inner-city, it didn’t take me long to stop by the office and grab some version of a contract, and Jean, my assistant, before I barreled on downtown to the place of my would-be massacre. There was no way I would be left breathing after this. Not when I would probably be reduced to sprawling belly-up, offering my guts for his taking. Not that he was into that sort of thing. But I had heard a thing or two of his more sadist side. It was strangely fitting. All that beauty couldn’t be taken in straight. It needed a thorn—a sharp edge that would jolt the beholder’s attention back into focus, … into reality.

A failing, I had no need indulging in. I was no spell-bounding beauty. The man I was to meet was another matter altogether. I parked my small, little Mazda Two into a vacant slot about a block away, instinctively knowing I wouldn’t be finding any closer. I got out onto the curb and stood tall on my high-heel clad feet, trying desperately to ignore my shaking knees as I waited patiently for Jean to join me. Carting my files and folders, she looked a sight as she nimbly fell into step beside me. I was sure we looked like the oddest pair, but our arrival at the Ritz drew no attention. The place was busy, but that was only to be expected. The warm ambiance was all elegance and inviting. The shimmer and glint off the floor to ceiling, wall to wall mirror drew my attention.

Nerves were quick to send me to stand in front of it. My eyes were quick to settle on the shadows I wore so hauntingly beneath my tired eyes. I reached up to tuck a wayward tendril behind my ear.

Wincing at my profile in the mirror, I swept my hand down my front, smoothing down the fabric of the gray raw silk skirt I had on. The aim was to look as business-like and professional as I could. And that was really asking for something, given the bulk I had to work with.

“Maybe I should have just worn black,” I muttered ruefully, peering up into my gray gaze. I fidgeted then fluffed at my dark-blonde, waist-length hair and turned sideways to eye up my ass.

“I doubt it would have helped,” volunteered my assistant, most unhelpfully. I turned to cast baleful eyes at her petite self. She, like me, was in the wrong line of work. Jean was skinny but short, while I was fat, obese even, with a weight that seemed to fluctuate to any point that could still be squeezed into a size eighteen—a size I resolutely refused to budge from, despite my bulging torso’s cry for relief.

I held in my breath and shuffled around to eye Jean fully, her frail and petite size making me feel larger and bulkier with every breath I struggled to draw in. I should be used to this, being surrounded by size zeroes and their variations for most of my adult life.

She was right on one account; the black wouldn’t have helped. Not this day. It wasn’t just strategically located fats that nudged at my buttons almost to a bursting point; it was the man I would soon meet that had my nerves on edge. Frayed edge, … hanging in tatters.

“This is not a meeting I am looking forward to,” I told Jean, who obligingly nodded her head emphatically. The maître d’ appeared at that moment to escort us both in, no doubt to prevent my hogging the mirror in the foyer. Vanity came with the job. It sort of rubbed off on a person when dealing day in, day out with others glued to their image in front of it. I offered a meek smile and grasped Jean’s arm tightly, dragging her in with me to meet with the vulture. Although Jean wouldn’t be staying. She had no idea what I intended to discuss with Erin, and for the life of me, I would like to keep it that way.

She didn’t quite get my hardship over this. I was, after all, about to meet the hottest man on the planet. A label that was true, if not my own to quote. A phase first coined, oddly enough, by Vanity Fair. Vogue was swift to take up the clamor, and the hoo-ha and outcry of his magnificence had not lessened since, despite his retreat to the back end of his vocation. No longer a model but an agent. A modeling agent that was every bit as cut-throat, slippery, and shrewd as he was disgustingly handsome to behold.

To put it simply, I saw Erin Robertson as I lie under Colin Richards for my first fuck.

“Your table for two, darling,” murmured the maître d’ with as much sangfroid as he could muster. It didn’t ring true, even if it did jive to the opulence of my surroundings. Tea at the Ritz was a bad idea. Especially since I didn’t drink the beverage.

“Could I get you any drinks?” Handing us our menus, the tight-arse maître d’ turned his attention to me with a flourish. It wasn’t his attention I wanted. Not now when my thoughts were so filled with Erin Robertson and what was to come. I shook my head mutely and allowed my assistant to pipe in her request for a coffee to go. I sent her an absentminded frown, but despite the contrariness of my behavior, I didn’t rebuke her. The coffee was a price I was willing to pay for Jean’s company a little longer. I dug out some papers from my briefcase and shuffled through them, pretending to immerse my thoughts in its intricacies, but it was really Erin that flooded my thoughts—flooded and drowned them out altogether. Strange, but despite the gravity of my reasons for being here, I was more preoccupied with Erin himself. Erin, Erin, Erin!

And more Erin!

Erin Robertson. Even with a feminine sounding name, he was anything but. The man was a man’s man, through and through. He had beauty and brains and a string of females ready to toss their panties at him over the merest inclination of his beautiful head.

An ex-model turned agent, the embodiment of my lusty dreams and my arch enemy, though not by choice; it was simply what happened when two agents rivalled for business.

In the bling-filled arena of throat-cutting, backstabbing, and mortal threats, I represented my sister, the present top female model. Tall, platinum-blonde, blue-eyed angel, with the sultry features of a Goddess, Janice Williams was my opposite in every way. And as I was her agent, I had no place for envy over her looks. My job was to land Janice contracts that would pay big for as long as her looks lasted.

That was the sad truth of this industry; you earned only for as long as you looked beautiful. Then, you mostly just perish from drugs and alcohol abuse unless you had a constitution as ironclad as Erin’s, who not only managed to shrug off the habit, but who had taken himself out of the running at his very peak in the industry to become an agent, of all things. His advertised endorsements were still running strong, though, long after the initial contracts expired. Renewed and reworked, his face and form was still making him a fortune, even if he himself had resigned to the backend of operations.

The ass minted money from all over.

Erin was very selective over whom he represented, but he gave them his best, and now, he was after my sister. He had been so for a while—ever since he saw her parade in next to nothing on a runway in Berlin, of all places, a little under a year ago. Yet time had seemed to have stopped still for Janice since then. A veritable impossibility for someone in the modeling world, but Janice was, as always, the exceptional exception.

Flashing her wide toothed, sunny smile, an entire contrary to the windy, blizzard raging day, she drew the attention of not just everyone there present, but those viewing the live feed of the greatest fashion show on Earth. Fashionistas from all over the world had been there that cold, freezing day, and Erin Robertson had rocked up to me, casually mentioning that my sister was looking fine. Top form, he’d said. I was unsurprised then when the deep chill of the day got to me.

Somehow, hearing Erin praise Janice had raised an ugly side of me. Jealousy. Still, I was more surprised that Erin could see Janice yet not see her. But then, my sister was a pro; she could keep the frost out of her chilly baby blues and offer only sunshine and warmth to the very best of them, on any day, even if Hell itself glazed over.

Indeed, fobbing off her multitude of lusting fans and panting agents was the very equivalent of all hell breaking loose, especially after that particular show-stopping feat. Purposefully encouraging her boob to fall out of her top on a Victoria’s Secret runway simply had that effect. Janice was smart that way. She knew how to stir up a crowd. And more importantly, she knew how to revitalize a flagging career.

But being chased after the hounds of Hell aside, I had been beyond disappointed to have Erin Robertson call me, asking for a meet-up. I wasn’t stupid. I could put two and two together. I was only surprised it had taken him this long. Indeed, he had asked for her before, but that had been over the phone—a casual request. The Berlin show tipped the iceberg. It was clear Erin wanted in on the action every bit as much as all the endless others.

From the very start, they all had wanted her, offering and counter-offering for her in the hopes of having their agencies represent her instead of me. And up ‘til yesterday, I had held them all at bay, believing that they were vultures who would destroy Janice while they minted off her.

Most would, but not Erin. Never Erin.

I could admit, I more than a little openly idolised the ground he walked on. Erin could do no wrong in my eyes. It was knowing this that made what I was about to do so much easier.

Today, I would hand her over. I would meet Erin, agree to his terms, and add in a few of my own. I couldn’t quite face my sister after what I did yesterday, let alone continue to represent her. I would back off and carve out a new career for myself, doing something other than securing tough-to-get modeling contracts for Janice. I would see that I left her with the very best there was before I bowed out of this industry.

“Good to see you again, Claire,” said the deep tenor from behind me, making me leap up and scatter the stack of papers in front of me.

“Shit! Did you have to do that?” I snapped, setting a waspish tone to the proceedings from the get go.

This was not how I intended to start.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Erin said mildly, not at all looking the least bit contrite, but I played along, glad for the opportunity to start anew.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” I muttered, really only partially mollified, but I was scrambling to get back on a correct footing.

“Not a problem,” he said, taking the seat before me.

I turned to Jean and gave her a nod to leave. I had needed Jean there to bolster up my courage. But now was time for some serious discourse, and this was something I had to do in private.

“I want you to sign on Janice,” I said without preamble, almost as soon as Jean left.

The pause that ensued after that was lengthy and had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

“Let’s get some tea in first before we get into this. Shall we?” Erin offered before he signalled over a waitress, who came rushing over. Erin was simply too hot to ignore. He was more appealing than all the models out there, mouth wateringly so. It was a shame he no longer modeled.

“What would you like?”

The cerulean-blue eyes sparkled into mine momentarily, rendering me mute in awe. I simply hated this guy and this effect he had on me.

“I’ll take a skinny latte with a swirl of honey,” I finally said, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Hmm, honey,” he said, licking his lips as if in ecstasy.

“Save it,” I snapped, not willing to go through the usual horrendous teasing and posturing that made up the industry. I didn’t think I could survive it coming from him. “I’d like to talk about my sister. I would like you to take over her account, to be her agent in all future dealings,” I blurted out, not able to handle the suspense. I needed to know his answer and then make other arrangements if need be.

At the very least, I’d need to start job hunting in earnest—something calm, soothing, and non-toxic to my soul. A simple ideal that should be doable, even if it meant dropping to my knees and scouring grime-laden floors as a cleaning lady.

Anything would be better than this.

“Not interested.”

Erin’s reply shocked me speechless. I was gobsmacked, and it showed.

“I have no interest in signing up your sister Janice,” he repeated when I’d fallen dead silent, unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone voice it.

“Yes, that is what I heard that first time,” I finally muttered. “But why? Everyone wants Janice. I get calls every day from all sorts of agencies wanting to steal her away from me and sign her on themselves. Why don’t you want her?”

“She is a brat. I already have a number of those that are already minting me millions. I don’t need another, and besides, Janice’s days on the runway are numbered. Rumors have it there is a new rising starlet who will rule the runway soon. I’d rather have her sign on than your Janice,” he said a little snidely.

I ignored the rudeness. That too came part and parcel of the job. I’d seen smooth Erin in action before, so I knew all too well that he could and often would smooth talk the socks off customers. I was rather thankful he was sparing me from that expertise. He wouldn’t require much to sell me anything. A simple smile would have had me removing my panties and offering it to him on a platter. But I reminded myself that I was here to sell to him, not have him sell to me. I had to see if I had what it took to have him remove his briefs and offer them to me on a platter.

The very thought had me compressing an irrepressible grin from splitting my face.

“But that’s just rumors,” I said, playing low key, for I had heard just that same thing, only my sources were reliable. “And Janice has contracts in place that would see her comfortably through for the next few years. You would only need to manage them and maybe secure a couple more new ones in between,” I insisted adamantly. The thing with Janice was that spoiled she may have been, but there were none more determined than her in getting her way. She was the master-mind behind all the contracts I organized for her. She pulled the strings; I just sealed the deals. It was Janice who informed me of her up-and-coming rival. But I was certain she had a plan already in play toward managing that. I was in a need to know only position with her plans. That suited me just fine. The less I knew, the lesser I wanted to know.

Erin only nodded his head. “You have certainly done your sister right, but like I said, I have enough on my plate. You should take up those offers that are coming your way. Anyone of them would be happy to reap off the plum leavings of your sister,” he said, leaving me to frown unhappily at him.

“Why are you walking away? Had enough of the bitch?” Erin queried with a raised brow before waggling them at me mockingly.

I could only shake my head at his caustic response and laid-back attitude. If only he did know why I was leaving this plush package I had involuntarily arranged for myself, but then, suddenly, I found myself actually telling him. “I fucked her fiancé last night.”

Then, I casually lifted my serviette to wipe off the excess liquid that dripped off my face. I should have waited for him to swallow his mouthful before I blurted out that truth.

“I would never have guessed it of you,” he managed, finally between spurts of a coughing fit. “I thought you were the principled one. What made you do it, and with him, of all people?” he asked unabashedly. The keen interest on his face said it all.

I burst out laughing. He was as shameless as he was relentless, and that was saying something.

“It was unexpected. A mistake. One I wished never happened,” I finally got out between snorts of laughter.

“Well, that’s what you get for settling for an inferior model. You should have just come to me. I would ensure you had no complaints,” he said, locking his laughing blues with my own smirking grays.

I wish.

I could just picture it. And what an irresistible picture it made. No way was I taking him up on his offer, and it was an offer. The kind he did not make lightly. I had it on good authority. Despite his much-questionable reputation, he did not always use his dick to do the deed. He left that for only those he considered special. I personally thought that was sweet and strangely virtuous in this really fucked up industry. I would’ve loved to be the odd few he cared enough about to share a real fuck with.

“So why did you turn up to meet me anyway? Since you have no interest in my only client, Janice, what did you want?” I narrowed my eyes at him, knowing there had to be something he was after. He was here, after all, so he must want something. And he was never this nice. Erin had always made an effort to be nice to me, but again, never this nice.

“I want you,” he said, leaning back against his chair. I had to wait ‘til the annoying waitress laid out our order and left.

“For what?” I spat out finally.

“To model, of course. I want to sign you on”—he took in my gaping stare with good grace and clarified— “as a plus sized model, of course.”

“No shit!”

His self-satisfied smirk was quick to emerge, startlingly bright and abysmally unwavering.

“I am a walking, talking cliché of insecurities, and you want me to be a model? To put myself out there for the world to see?” I gaped at him before resolutely continuing, “and then emulate?” I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to emulate this. And that was the whole principle of modeling —to get the masses to follow you. Wear what you wear. Eat what you eat. Eat where you eat.

As if the masses were that mad. I stared at him then, as if he were mad—for he had to be—lost his marbles to have suggested such a foolish proposition.