Page 60 of Jagger
"I do, but not in that suit. I hate it."
He clucks his tongue and sighs, like he's disappointed in me. You wouldn't guess his true age from the numerous surgeries he's had, but he is at least twenty years older than me. He's a great-looking guy, and he's also a famous photographer.
How did I end up dating him again?
"Molly, it's not about comfort. You know this. It's about the final product. The art."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead lace my arms around his neck. "Can we get a drink?"
Antonio sighs, but squeezes my ass. "Of course."
He leads us back into the party, and all eyes fall on me. Antonio loves the attention, showing me off left, right, and center. I throw back the champagne like it's free—well, it is—and soon I stop caring.
"You must love having curves," one woman says, her thin finger pointing at my waist.
I inhale deeply, knowing full well what that means—she thinks I'm fat. I work hard at keeping my weight down—drugs and alcohol three times a day tend to keep it steady.
She's about to say something more when she stops, her eyes locking onto someone behind me.
"Jagger Knox, it's been a while," she breathes, fluttering her eyelashes desperately.
"Alora," Jagger says, his breath on my shoulder. Damn, why is he so close to me? "I just came to see Molly."
Antonio narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on my wrist, telling me silently not to engage with Jagger. Not that he has anything to worry about.
"I have nothing to say to you," I throw over my shoulder as Antonio relaxes his grip. "I'll leave you to it."
Alora beams at me before launching herself at Jagger, and I have to bite my tongue to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks.
What the hell is wrong with me?
30
JAGGER
“You’re serious,” my agent groans, lighting another cigarette. “You’ll only work with Molly?”
I grin, no longer caring how far I have to go to talk to Molly. She’s avoided my calls, my messages, and I can’t get close to her without her bodyguard or boyfriend telling me to back off.
Fucking boyfriend.
He’s twice her age and batting so far out of his league. I want to rip his orange skin from his body and tie him up with it.
Boyfriend. Dead friend, more like.
Anyway, I digress.
I made a promise to myself last year, and damn, I’m keeping it. I’m going to explain to Molly why I did what I did—why I raped her, and then I’ll leave her life for good.
Well, that was my plan, anyway. Until I saw her.
I lift the whiskey to my lips and admit to myself that I care about Molly. More than I should—more than I ever should—but I can’t help it. I just do. So seeing her as thin as a rake and hooked on drugs is too much for me. I knew she wouldn’t fare well in this industry—most don’t—but I didn’t think it would happen to her so quickly.
I wonder when she last saw Aphrodite. I know my cousin wouldn’t let her get into this state—so she must be avoiding her, too.
So desperate times call for desperate measures—I’m demanding to work with Molly.
“She doesn’t want to—she’s refusing,” my agent looks like he’s going to cry, “I don’t know what else I can do, Jagger.”
