Page 30 of Wicked Duty
His jaw clenched…his eyes tracking me with an intensity that soared past professional courtesy…
Take that, Kavanagh.
Chapter 11
Callum
Beneath the moving spotlights and steady inflow and outflow of eager contestants, I maintain vigilance from the window in the back wall. A show banner with lipstick-stylized print flutters above the stage as the last of the modeling hopefuls—walking hangers in high heels—eat up the runway with long, graceful strides.
All these women are beautiful or striking, but Lucy’s the only one who held my attention. She was breathtaking in that little silver dress and those fuck-me heels as she caressed me in front of the judges. A repeat of this morning, only fully clothed and in public.
Residual lust stirs while irritation tightens my chest.
I could wring her neck for her little stunt. What the hell possessed her? From the way the judges’ eyes lit up afterward, I knew she impressed them. But Lucy’s supposed to be lying low, not standing out. And definitely not dry-humping her bodyguard in front of a crowd.
After the last contestant finishes, we get a short recess of about ten minutes. I head toward the backstage area to monitor any movements. I’ve got eyes on Lucy through a thick blackcurtain. She’s pacing back and forth, just like the rest of the supermodel flock.
Half of me wants to storm in there, grab her, and drag her reckless ass homeimmediately,before the event’s even over with. But after that crap she pulled earlier, there’s no telling what she’s capable of.
I wouldn’t put it past her to cause a scene that gets me booted. Anything to finish her precious audition.
The irritation starts to boil over.
Deep in my pocket, my phone vibrates. I retrieve it and answer without even checking the caller ID.
“Callum?” A warm, familiar voice greets my ear.
Unease takes root, dampening some of the irritation. “Maya? Everything all right on your end?”
“Everything’s fine. I was just calling to check on the audition. How’s Lucy doing?”Oh, wait ’til I tell her big sister what she did.“I tried calling her, but it went straight to voicemail. Lucy always has her phone on and charged these days.”
I stifle a groan. “She needs a new phone for security purposes.”
True, even if the way I went about confiscating her old one wasn’t entirely by the book. Lucy’s attitude and failure to keep me apprised of her schedule pissed me off…enough that I acted impulsively.
Yet another reason she irks me.
“I see.” Maya’s doubtful tone reveals that I’m not hiding my animosity as well as I think I am. Not if she’s sensing something odd from an entire continent away. “I know she’s a handful, but give her a pair of heels and a runway, and she’s right at home. Has she walked yet?”
The pride in Maya’s voice cuts through some of my lingering anger. Just because Lucy is a huge pain in the ass doesn’t mean I need to ruin today for Maya.
I scowl at the floor. “She went about a half hour ago. I think she did…well.”
Lucy struts through my memory. It’s almost comical, how confident she was up there compared to her hesitance when we arrived this morning.
“That’s great.” Maya exhales sharply. “I know she puts up a tough front, but it’s a mask. She’s not as strong as she acts.”
She threw a pot of boiling water across the kitchen and sliced my throat open with her bare hands.
“The people who follow her on social media think she’s cool and mysterious. They call itedginessor whatever, but it can come off as snotty and bitchy sometimes. I promise she doesn’t mean anything by it.” Maya’s apologies are too damn late. “Lucy’s also great at appearing calm when she’s falling apart inside. I call that her model face.”
My eyes return to the subject of our conversation. I listen to Maya rattle on, but I seriously doubt Ms. Runway Barbie over there possessesthatmuch depth.
From where I’m standing, all evidence points to Lucy Marlow being nothing but a vapid, shallow, self-absorbed exhibitionist in waiting.
After a small eternity of pleasantries—by which I mean three minutes of chitchat that feels like several hours—I terminate the call with a gruff, “I need to go.” I slip the phone into my pocket and do another perimeter sweep.
Immediately, I notice that Maya and I weren’t the only ones discussing Lucy Marlow. I pass a pair of photographers commenting on her promise, her “sassy attitude,” her face’s “photogenic angles,” and how her eyes “catch the light beautifully.”
