Page 3 of Take Hold of Me

2

Emilie

Isuckon my bottom lip and look anywhere but at my rep, Stacy. It is as if the ultra-sleek conference room of Price Modeling Agency has expanded five times over, making me feel like a bit player in my own life.

“It’s their loss,” Stacy says while flipping through some papers on the stainless-steel table. “The lingerie made byOh-Snap!is geared toward the younger set anyway.”

What I believed to be long-buried feelings of rejection bubble to the surface. I have been a “supermodel” for the better part of the decade, but now I remember how it feels to be knocking on doors that no one answers. Every muscle in my body tenses. This is the fifth contract in a month that went to Geonna Broz. The teenage model from Croatia has leapfrogged from unknown to in-demand with her win on a star-making reality television show.

What was Stacy trying to imply with her remark thatOh Snap!is geared toward a younger set? I raise my chin. My body is lingerie ready. I refuse to be washed up at twenty-five. Maybe I can….

Memories surface of the one and only time I tried to direct my career. Before I was discovered, I selected a photographer to do my portfolio without telling anyone. What an unmitigated disaster. The belt around my dress constricts, causing my breath to bottom out.Never again. I sag into my white leather chair. Better let the Agency handle this. They know best.

After taking a deep yoga breath, I stop worrying my bottom lip and ask, “Any response back from the new fashion house?” The house has made a big splash with investors, and landing the coveted spokesmodel position would be the biggestgetof the year.I want that role. Especially since buzz on the street is that Geonna also is in contention.

Stacy’s short bob bounces when she shakes her head. Touching her pregnant belly, she responds, “Not yet, but I’ve been in touch with them and they seem very interested. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”

I lean forward and nod. “Merci.”

Her cell phone rings and she raises a finger in my direction as she stands. I overhear the wordRatatatbefore she waddles out of the conference room. My heart rate picks up its pace. The magazine has decided to have a model instead of a musician on its cover for the first time in history, and I am on the short list. Then again, so is Geonna.

Alone in the conference room, frame after frame of magazine covers featuring the Agency’s clients look back at me from their hallowed placement on the walls. Covers with “Emilie Dubois” in all capital letters, collected over the past decade, take up a fair amount of wall space. I skim over mine in favor of several showing my friend Val Balewa, the “Nairobi Goddess.” She smiles with her signature “come hither” look, meaning she was thinking about her teacup puppies. We all have our tricks to channel the right mood for the cameras. I usually think about Paris after a spring rain.

Shaking my head at memories of Val with those dogs that go with her everywhere, my body relaxes. Modeling is my life. I am still in-demand. I search the room and finally find the only remaining cover featuring my mentor, Lizzie Chase. Growing up in the industry, she was the model I—and every up-and-comer—strived to be. While I still value Lizzie as both a model and astute businesswoman, many others see her as a has-been whose time it is to get out of their way. Is this how Geonna sees me now? My breath stutters. The Agency grew its name because of Lizzie, and now she only has a single spot on its wall.

My eyes stray to the sleeve of crackers Stacy abandoned to take the call. What would it be like to be so in love with someone that you want to start a family together? I try to banish the thought from my head. Even though plenty of models have families, now is not the time for me to panic out of fear of rejection and disappear on maternity leave. Motherhood isn’t a likely option anyway, considering my total lack of a personal life. No time for that.

I reach for my water bottle.Who am I kidding? Time is an excuse. The man I am interested in has ignored my texts that let him know I have permanently moved to LA—his town.

Before my brain wanders down the rabbit hole named Wills, Stacy comes back into the room accompanied by Lloyd Price, the owner of the Agency. He reminds me of Chewbacca—tall and hairy. Unlike Chewbacca, though, his demeanor sets my teeth on edge. Throughout the years, I have dealt with Monsieur Price a few times, though I have managed to avoid too much interaction with him. My blood races. What does his appearance mean?

I push my chair back to stand, but he motions for me to remain seated and offers his hand. After shaking it, I readjust my body in my chair while Stacy takes her seat behind the pile of papers she left behind when the call came in fromRatatat. She drops her yellow notepad on top of the documents, her face unreadable. Monsieur Price sits between us, equally poker-faced.

I tamp down the zings of electricity racing through my bloodstream. I hope I landed this gig. However, having worked my way up in this industry, I am no stranger to its whims. “DidRatatatmake a decision?” I ask, my mouth as dry as a day-old baguette.

Stacy focuses on the notes in her pad. She taps her pen on it, causing my free leg to bounce in time. A satisfied smile breaks across both of their faces and I collapse back into my seat with relief.

“They very wisely agreed with me and selected the model who is guaranteed to sell copies. You’ll be in Miami in a few weeks for the shoot.”

“Well done, Stacy,” Monsieur Price says. She smiles at him in shared success.

I play with a lock of hair as I expel all the breath in my lungs, my body lightening. I knew the Agency would come through. “Merci. I will do a good job for them.” Until now, jobs came in faster than Stacy could accept them.Thisis familiar territory.

Monsieur Price winks at me and, without turning his head, extends his overly-large hand to Stacy, who places her small one in his. He squeezes her hand while addressing me. “Emilie, Beautiful, Stacy here is going out on maternity leave next week. Since I somehow haven’t had the pleasure of spending time with you, I’m going to personally oversee your career while she’s out.”

Without letting go of Stacy’s hand, he reaches out to me. My stomach clenches but I raise my chin, offering my practiced smile. I respond to his unspoken command and place my hand in his but do not meet his eyes. His thumb rakes over mine. It takes all my reserves not to yank my hand away. Something about him is unsettling.

Stacy is the first to break the line, resting her freed hand on her belly. When he releases mine, I take another sip of water to cool the figurative ants racing through my veins.

Stacy restarts the meeting. “We’re going to begin executing what we’ve dubbed ‘Emilie’s High-Profile Plan’ in two days.”

“High-Profile” is Stacy-speak for more paparazzi. Great. After Wills was shot in front of me by Cole’s crazy stalker, unexpectedly meeting cameras became nearly paralyzing. My therapist helped me through the worst of it. Employing her strategy will test how well I succeeded.

She turns to me. “On Thursday, you’ll go to the grand opening event for that club on Mulholland, with your new bodyguard in tow.”

“Have you lined up anyone yet?” MonsieurPrice asks, eliciting a shake of Stacy’s head.

Bodyguard. Heat tingles at my neck and ears, and I am right back down the rabbit hole. I know who I want protecting my body. Exploring it, too. With piercing blue eyes that see way more than my model exterior. Even though he has not returned any of my texts, this may be my way back in.

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