Page 102 of Immoral

I harden my voice. "Because I'm through with you. After this week, I'll no longer represent you. The phone call I'm making as soon as we finish this conversation is going to be to my attorney. He's going to sever our contract. And you're going to learn just how much bullshit of yours I've put up with that all the other agencies won't."

A nervous laugh flies out of her mouth. "You wouldn't. I make you too much money."

I stand straighter. "Is that what you think?"

She huffs. "Of course it is."

I pat her shoulder. "Thanks for letting me know your thoughts." All the rationale I normally have to keep things professional disappears. The crap I'm tired of putting up with takes its toll. I pledge to no longer be any model's doormat. Maybe it's career suicide, but if it is, so be it. I step back and shout, "Can everyone give me your attention?"

The room turns silent. I glance around it, making eye contact with all the models. I pause a few seconds longer on those who have grown an ego lately and become prima donnas.

"Well, go on and get on with it," Veronica snarls.

I ignore her. "A lot of you have been with me for a long time. At one point, you were over there." I point to the side of the room where my newer models are getting ready then continue, "At every point of your career, I've been there for you. I've taken care of scandals so they don't hurt your career. I've convinced companies to hire you when they weren't entirely sure if you were the right fit. And I've bent over backward to fulfill your silly whims."

Some of my veteran models shift on their feet. Others' eyes dart around the room.

I continue, "I want to be very clear. I'll continue to fight for you to get the work you do, but I'll no longer put up with your abuse. It includes any nasty behavior toward your colleagues." I point between the veterans and newbies. "Starting next week, I'll be evaluating who I want to work with and who doesn't fit into my agency's culture. What you do during our Fashion Week time together will go into my decision. But I should mention I've already made one decision. The first person I'm parting ways with is Veronica Galanis."

Loud gasps fill the room. Thick tension fills the air as different reactions fill my clients' expressions. Some seem horrified. Others' lips twitch. These are the ones who Veronica has made a point to make uncomfortable over the years.

Her voice shakes as she claims, "I was going to fire you anyway."

I smile at her. "Good to know." I turn back to the others. "If my agency represents you, then you represent me. I expect you to act with decency toward everyone. That includes the professionals who make you look amazing, other models, and me. If you can't do that, let me know right now."

If a pin dropped, you'd hear it. No one moves.

Studying the room again, I state, "Since you'll all eventually find out, I recently got married to Gianni Marino." I pause, assessing expressions to give me an idea about who's dated him.

Shakira Knightly, another veteran model, has guilt in her eyes.

I focus on her. In as friendly of a voice as I can muster, I declare, "I'm not naive. I realize many of you in this room have dated him. Hell, let's be honest. You've slept with him. Let me be very clear. The past is the past. I hold no bad feelings toward any of you, but as I stated, the past is the past. If you try to disrespect my marriage, I will drop you."

"Right on," shouts Katrina Cabrera, the first client I ever signed. Unlike many of my clients, she's never gotten the ego and always remained down to Earth. No one knows, but this is her last show. She wants to retire and told me she prefers to go out with a bang. She claimed there's no better place to do it than Fashion Week. I couldn't argue her rationale.

I take a deep breath, smiling as big as I can. "With that said, I want you all to know how proud of you I am. You've worked hard to get here. Going forward, I want us to continue the amazing work we do. This is your moment. Let's have a great week together."

I spin to walk out of the room and get some fresh air. One of the hairstylists, who is the only one who seems to be able to deal with Veronica, steps in front of me. "Hold on."

I arch my eyebrows.

She puts her arm on my shoulder and spins me. "I think Cara deserves some appreciation. I've worked with her from the start. All I can say is many of you have never thanked her. And the truth is, most of you wouldn't be where you are without her."

Someone begins to applaud. Soon, the entire room is clapping. It all overwhelms me. A tear escapes, and I wipe it away, nodding. "Thank you." Several people hug me, which only makes me more emotional. When I can finally leave the room, I scurry out.

"Ma'am." The security guard nods. His eyes are black and blue. One is swelling so much his eye is a mere slit.

I don't remember it from earlier, and I wonder what happened, but I don't ask about it, attempting to not focus on it. I smile at him, spin away, and reach for my phone. My gut drops when I realize it's in my purse.

I walk around the area searching for Gianni. Arianna has a point. I don't know what happened with Veronica. And he has changed. I truly believe that in my heart. So, I need to find out. I'm not going to wait all day and let this stew.

The sound of men's shoes clicking on the floor follows me. My chest tightens. The air in my lungs turns stale. I glance behind me. All four of the guards Gianni assigned to me are in the vicinity, and one is directly behind me.

I sigh in relief and keep looking for Gianni. I run into several people I know. We exchange quick conversations before I excuse myself to keep trying to find him.

I finally return to the entrance of the room the models are occupying. I ask the guard, "Do you know where my husband went?"

He sniffs hard. His nostrils flare wider than any man's I've seen before. If I were in a dark alley by myself, I'd be scared. He scowls deeper, questioning, "The dark-haired man who Veronica Galanis kissed?"

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