Page 21 of Bad Love

But telling my mother or grandmother I haven’t been doing what they think I have isn’t anoption.

Not because they’d chew me out. No. Their nuanced disapproval would be far worse than anything they’d say. What they wouldn’t understand is it’s in their best interests. This company needs the right kind ofleadership.

My entire family has built castles out of sand, but mine never stick. I can make a video or a campaign, but I’m not built for the kind of day-in-day-out responsibility that it takes to run a company or even adepartment.

That’s why after college, modeling was a beautiful escape. A chance to see the world and find my place in it. It was hard fucking work, long days and demanding brands and arrogantphotographers.

But the jobs have a start and an end, and you get to fly to incredible locations and experience things most people only dreamof.

You can’t do that forever though, and as the gigs slowed down, I returned to New York. Which was when I agreed to take on the role with Hunter’sCross.

Where I’m currently kicking ass at selling beer, I remind myself as I see the entire cast and crew of the ad packing up ahead ofschedule.

An exotic-looking dark-haired woman dashes down the hall after me. "That was inspired,Hunter."

"Thanks." I hold the elevator door for her—it shut on my hand on the way to the basement for poker last week and doesn't seem to have been fixed since—and try to remember her name from the call sheet. "Maria,right?"

She nods, smiling. "I've done a lot of commercials, and things are so scripted. I love how you roll withit.”

"It's the only way tobe."

The doors open at the plush lobby, and as we go to step out, I feel her warm hand on myarm.

"Hey. What're you doing right now? We could grab a drink. Hunter’s Cross or something else." She laughs. The glint in her dark eyes tells me she's interested in more than adrink.

It wasn't in my plans for the day, but it's way better than calling Monty to talk aboutDeacon.

Before I can answer, a woman's voice at the concierge desk has me lookingover.

Red hair. Black pencil skirt fitted to a curvyass.

My gaze drags down her shapely legs,and…

Yup. Flatshoes.

I can’t decide whether to groan orcurse.

Never knew I was an ankle guy. But as the concierge points her toward the elevator and she starts this way, I’m forced to admit my supposed salvation comes in an attractive, if unorthodox,package.

Kendall flicks a cursory glance my way before doing a double take. She pulls up so fast her computer bag hits her in the ass. "Hunter."

"Kendall.” A hit of satisfaction works through me that she’s dropped the “Mister.” “You’re the last person I expected to seetoday."

“Likewise.”

I look between the women. "This isMaria."

The women check each other out. Kendall offers a simple, “Hi,” while Maria's hello iscooler.

I turn to Maria. "Give me a few minutes? You can start withoutme."

She shoots Kendall a pointed look before heading to thebar.

Kendall’s tongue darts out to wet her lips as she follows the other woman’s departure, and my gaze lingers on the curve of thatmouth.

"What are you doing here?" I ask when she turnsback.

Kendall adjusts the computer bag over her shoulder with a fleeting grimace. "I'm setting up for a client eventtonight."

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