Page 35 of Take Hold of Me

Since it doesn’t sound like she’s stood up for herself before, I encourage her. “Sounds reasonable.” Missing events is my specialty, blaming work commitments my fallback. Usually, that’s not the real reason I was absent, though. But for Emilie, she clearly needs to be with her family and friends.

We walk toward the elevators. “Ready?”

She stops and turns to me. “Would you want to come with me to my meeting?”

A pit turns in my stomach. This crosses the line from professional to very personal. “I have faith that you can handle yourself in there. How about I escort you inside and wait in reception? I’ll be your pretend bodyguard again.”

She giggles. I love that sound, especially given how unhappy she’s just been. “For a ‘pretend bodyguard,’ you sure do look the part.”

“Yeah, well,” I stammer, sliding my sunglasses onto my face. “I’ll need my chauffeur to drive me back.”

She bumps me with her shoulder. “I can do that.”

I open the door to a small room where the elevators are situated and motion for her to push the call button. Entering the car, we’re the only two in the relatively small space filled with typical nondescript music. The walls are covered in dark wood paneling, with a brass railing around all three sides. Emilie hits the button for the seventh floor.

The elevator whirs upward and stops on the first floor, where a group of seven people enter. Due to the size of the elevator car, Emilie moves closer to me. Our eyes meet and she smiles at me, which I can’t help but return. When we stop again at the mezzanine level, four more people squeeze in. Now, Emilie’s plastered against my side. The scent of lavender drifts upward and I inhale the intoxicating air. Damn.Keep it professional, buddy.

When the woman next to Emilie maneuvers her extra-large purse in front of her, Emilie’s pushed flat against me. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” the woman offers, waving what appears to be an ID card in Emilie’s direction. She does a double-take. “Hey, aren’t you that model? Emilie Dubois?” All of the other passengers in the car turn to gawk.

My need to protect her radiates from each of my pores. Pulling her tighter to my side, I respond before she can. “She gets that all the time.” I smile at the group. “I’m a lucky guy.” I kiss Emilie’s forehead. Only I can hear her slight giggle.

One of the men in the car says, “Sure are,” while the sound of awkward laughter overrides the elevator music. The woman with the ID card simply says, “You could be her doppelganger.”

Emilie shrugs. “I wish,” she says inperfectEnglish. My mouth falls open. I mouth “where’s your accent?”—to which she winks.Winks.

The door opens at the fifth floor and most of the passengers disembark. Of course, ID lady is still on, so I keep my arm around Emilie. For her part, Emilie’s arm snakes out and wraps around my waist, laughter in her eyes.Minx.

Finally, the door opens on the seventh floor, and we exit as one unit. As soon as the doors close, we both start to laugh. “Hey,” I repeat, “aren’t you that model?”

She flips her hair. “Oh, I do not know. Seems to be a pretty hard career choice. I prefer the role as your girlfriend.”

With that, she dons her supermodel mask and floats into the reception area. It takes me a few moments to collect myself after that gut-punch. Once I’m sure I have myself back under control, I take a seat opposite her to await her attorney. I have to nip this in the bud. But, am I already too late?

She’s scribbling into a notebook. When she catches me looking, she explains, “I want to make sure I do not forget to tell my attorney everything.”

An older man in a power suit accompanied by a younger man and woman stride down the hall toward us. “Looks like here’s your chance. I’ll wait for you out here. Good luck.”

She stands and gathers her things while I remain in the background. Where I should be. Where I belong. After greeting them, the now-quartet starts walking down another corridor when Emilie turns on her heel and rushes back to me.

She kisses both of my cheeks, whispering, “Merci. That is for my luck.” And then she’s gone.

I spend the next hour convincing myself to step away from her. Reminding myself of my inner demons waiting to be unleashed. It was so easy when we were in Rio. I was her hired muscle and she was my client. I settled into that role and didn’t deviate. On the plane ride back, however, I started to feel things I shouldn’t. Again.

Even in the elevator when I gave the phony story covering her identity, everyone believed me—because why would a supermodel like her be with a nobody like me? It’s as it should be. She should be with someone like her former boyfriend, Rinaldo—they sure looked like they went together.

Still…she’s my friend. She may have been sculpted for the cameras, but I’m not as certain as I was before that she’s passionate about her job. Hopefully this attorney will be able to renegotiate better terms for her.

That’s what I would want for any of my friends.

Yeah, right.Friends don’t kiss each other on crowded dance floors, nor reach out for their comfort after having a nightmare. I need to focus on getting my own life in check. And fast. To do just that, I call Zak.

I dive right to the meat. “So, the Summer Competition at Complete is this weekend. Are you looking forward to meeting everyone?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait. I’m so ready to start this new gig.”

“I’m ready to dive in, too. I need to get my hands around everything there.” It will keep them from wandering around a certain French supermodel.

---