Page 25 of Take Hold of Me

“She sounds like she was a strong woman. I can see the family resemblance.”

My father expected me to follow in his footsteps into the Marines. I turn my head and look out the window. We’re at cruising altitude, high above the clouds. My stomach churns at the memories. No. No more. I can’t.

Schooling my features, I face my client and redirect our conversation to the professional. “Tell me about this shoot.”

Her eyes widen and she searches my face. As ever, I don’t change my expression. This is the mask I wore when David called to tell me what happened. And when I was at Three’s funeral. And Jared’s and Roberto’s. The mask instilled in me from birth—A real man never shows weakness, my father decreed. And I never have.

When she realizes I’m finished talking about my sister, Emilie’s eyes return to the magazine on her lap. She flips a few pages, stopping on a photo of a beautiful woman. The ad refers to her as the “Nairobi Goddess.”

“Val is going to be on this shoot, so it will be fun. Do you know her?” She taps the page.

I shake my head. Emilie rambles on about her friend, whom I will be meeting tomorrow. I zone out on her and remind myself that she’s way too good for me. Plus, everything I touch withers and dies, so she’s much better off with someone else. Even alone would be better.No matter how right she feels in my arms.

I shift in my seat and refocus on my client’s musings. She’s now talking about the shoot tomorrow, and the photographer, Wade something-or-other. Seems like a good time to review the ground rules.

“When you’re on the shoot, know that I’ll be in the background. My eyes will be on you, even if you don’t see me. I don’t want to get in your way. Or Wade’s way.”

“Wade.” She flips a few pages in her magazine, nearly ripping one of them. “Yeah. Wade.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prick. “What’s up? Something I should know about?”

She closes the magazine on a sigh. Her toes raise and her foot swivels back and forth on its heel as if she’s wearing stilettos instead of sandals. I’m sure she has a fancy term for them, but they look like flip flops to me.

I wait for her to collect her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she begins, “I knew I wanted to be a model from when I was very young. All the photos in the magazines, the life was so glamourous to me. When I turned fifteen and grew taller, I knew I could meet the height requirement.”

Her eyes look out the window for a few seconds, then she continues, “A few of us in school wanted to be models. One girl found an ad posted by a photographer, Wade Block, and brought it in. He promised to take all the initial photos for studio consideration for a certain amount of money. None of the other girls had the funds, so they kept on looking for other ways into the industry. However, I had saved my birthday money and contacted him. I did not tell my friends—or my family.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and falls silent. Even as a teenager, she was so independent. “Go on.”

She uncrosses and recrosses her legs. “I was very excited when the day finally came. I packed three different outfits and went to Wade’s studio in Paris.” She shakes her head. “No. Not studio. It was his flat.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, hating the direction this story is taking.

“Suffice it to say, he was not interested in the clothes I brought.” She averts her gaze and continues in a near-whisper. “I did what he said and took off my top. And bra. He took photos. When I refused to take off my panties, he got belligerent. Told me I would never be a real model and that he would blackball me in the industry.”

I force my body to remain seated, even though all I want to do is jump up and beat the crap out of something.

She sniffles. “When I got back home,Mamansaw how upset I was. I confessed everything to her. The next day, she andPapamade an appointment for me with a real photographer, who had connections to the Agency. And the rest is history.”

Unclenching my fists, I ask, “What happened to the photos?”

“Years later, I found out the Agency had paid Wade off and got the photos. And the negatives, of course.”

“Good.” My hands itch to teach this asshole a lesson. “Why is this Wade Block still working?”

Her foot bounces. “Turns out, he is very talented. His photographs are beyond amazing. The industry protects those who make it money and who are well-connected.” She shrugs.

Every part of my body readies for battle. How can she be so blasé? “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

She puts her hand on my forearm. “No. You cannot. As my rep at the Agency explained, it is all in the past now, and I need this gig. I have done a few shoots with him over the years and he has respected by boundaries. But, if you see Wade getting me alone, can you please come and not make yourself unscarce?”

My blood boils. Ignoring her incorrect phrasing, I sit up straighter. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure you’re never in danger.” Wade Block is now in my crosshairs.

“Merci.” She drops her magazine into the side pouch and settles in with a blanket and pillow. Despite my anger on her behalf, I can’t stop myself from smiling as she yawns.

“I am going to take a catnap. Planes always make me sleepy.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

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