Page 106 of Close Contact
“You don’t just look sexy—you lookravaged. And that?” She pointed toward the studio. “That’s exactly what this brand wants. The unspoken story. The fantasy you can’t buy in a bottle or stage with a wind machine. You walked out there looking like you’d just beenworshipped, andeveryperson in that room wanted to be you—or wanted to be the reason you looked like that. They want to show a woman who was desired so badlysomeone craved her, took her, and marked her. That’s what this is.”
She paused, letting that sink in, then added with a smirk, “Sexsells. Always has. Always will. And you, darling, just sold the fuck out of it.”
I swallowed hard. She wasn’t wrong, but my entire body felt like a wire about to snap.
“And you know what else?” Her voice dipped even lower. “It’s proof that we can chase our own pleasure. That we can feel beautiful, and wrecked, and wanted, and beproudof it. You look like you had an incredible fucking night, and if anyone has a problem with that, let me handle it.”
Then, before I could even respond, she stepped away from me and turned to the entire studio.
“Let’s make one thing clear,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “This shoot just became iconic. She doesn’t need to hide anything. You all just captured real sexual energy, the kind you can’t fake. This is fantasy, yes, but it’s also authentic. It’s everything this brand claims to represent.”
A hush fell over the room. Even the makeup artist approaching me froze.
“If you’re smart, you’ll lean into this. She’s not a scandal; she’s the model. You’re looking atFrance’s Thirty Under Thirty, and you’re worried about a few handprints? Please. You just witnessed the exact moment a rising icon took full ownership of her story. And if anyone here has even the slightest issue with that, then I suggest you speak now, because you’ll be signing an NDA before you walk out of this building.”
Someone behind me muttered “Holy shit” under her breath. Another stylist grabbed a makeup brush with trembling fingers and busied themselves with fixing the shine on my cheekbones.
Ivy clapped once. “Great. Let’s reset the lighting and shoot from the front. Someone get her a glass of water. She stays in hair and makeup as-is. We’re capturing the aftermath.”
I stared at her, completely undone. My heart beat wildly against my ribs, my pulse too loud in my ears. My body still ached from what Callum had done to me. And now this? Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrelenting. Because for the first time in what felt like forever… someone was in my corner. She was a complete stranger, and even though she owed menothing, she stood there and refused to let me spiral.
This was someone who could protect me at all costs without risking a scandal.
And that? That nearly ruined me more than anything else.
After the chaosof the shoot—all the rapid flashes, the whispered reactions, the frantic styling adjustments—I was back in the calm of my hotel suite, barefoot, silk robe tied loosely around my waist. The adrenaline slowly ebbed from my limbs as I rubbed a makeup wipe across my face, desperate to cleanse myself of the day.
Ivy sat across from me in one of the armchairs, long legs crossed, seemingly so nonchalant. She nursed a glass of Rioja I’d poured for her, swirling it absentmindedly as the silence settled between us.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” I said softly, curling my legs beneath me on the couch. “But thank you. For everything. You handled tonight like a fucking superhero.”
Ivy smirked, sipping from her glass. “Superheroes wear capes. I prefer thigh-high boots and a good lipstick.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Seriously though. The fake press pass? That was impressive.”
Her grin widened. “Seduced my way through.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You’re joking.”
“Am I?” she asked, deadpan, taking another sip. “I smiled at the guy with the clipboard, complimented his arms, leaned just close enough for him to lose focus, and bam—past security. Works like a charm.”
I blinked. “That’s either wildly impressive or borderline terrifying.”
“Little of both,” she said with a shrug. “But effective.”
I studied her over the rim of my glass, still not entirely sure what to make of her. She was confident, stylish, assertive. Yet her intentions were still unclear.
“How did you manage to crash my hookup?”
She snorted. “Please. That building is far from soundproof. I was coming down the stairs when I heard something on the other side of the door. Sure enough, there you were.”
I nodded slowly. “And what do you get out of this?” I asked, setting my wine down on the coffee table. “I mean, you saved my entire night… why?”
Ivy leaned back in the chair, resting her glass on the armrest as she looked at me. The teasing edge in her expression softened just a little. “Being a woman in this industry means working twice as hard for half the credit. Until now, no one gave a shit what I had to say,” she said. “All because you’re giving women a space to speak out. You’re already a symbol, whether that’s intentional or not. And aligning myself with that? That’s smart business.”
“And if it hadn’t been?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Then it would’ve just been the right thing to do.”
