I lean back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I was the agency’s poster boy. How nice to suddenly realize thatI aloneam the entire face of our family business.”
“You’re the Executive VP of Talent, and aZoricwho’s unfortunately grown up in the public eye. Of course you’re a face of this business,” Stefan says. “Take this seriously. Please.”
Suddenly, it hits me like a physical blow: he’s disappointed in me. Until our father’s criminal activity blew up, no one in the family had taken much time to be disappointed, or anything else, in me. Their approval never really mattered.
Until now.
My mother died when I was only four, and my father was such a textbook workaholic that my siblings and I were raised by a series of nannies. Even as a kid Stefan was defiant and ill-behaved, and our little sister Emzee was the baby, but our nannies always said I was a perfect angel—I learned pretty early on how to get what I wanted from a woman. They spoiled me rotten. As a result, I grew up doing whatever the hell I wanted, with few consequences.
By the time I hit my teenage years, I had realized that there wasn’t a screw-up horrible enough to make my father notice me. Didn’t matter if I slept with Emzee’s babysitters, crashed one of Dad’s Porsches into a hedge, or drained the entire contents of the liquor cabinet. I was invisible. So the way things are now—going from being mostly ignored, to suddenly being weighed down by expectations and responsibilities—has been an uncomfortable transition. I’m not opposed to doing what’s right for my family, but they could cut me a fucking break.
My shoulders sag a little, and I rest my forearms on my knees. “I’m barely drinking, but if you want, I’ll quit dating so much. Won’t be seen with as many random women.”
I’ve cut back on my one-night stands, and certainly none of the women I’ve been out with recently have been connected to our modeling agency in any way. Even I had the sense to realize I couldn’t keep fucking the models after what my father did.
Tori takes a sip of her coffee and catches my eye. “We need to seem family-oriented. A clean, stable corporation.”
Relief washes over me. That’s easy. “Fine, then you two have a baby. The public loves babies. See if you can shoot for twins or triplets, yeah? Problem solved. We done here?”
I start to rise, but my brother’s voice stops me cold. “Sit down.”
Stefan looks to the ceiling, his jaw tensing, and Tori frowns and says, “We’re not going to have a kid just to fix the agency’s PR status. Besides, we still have our hands full adjusting to Max and Anya’s role in our lives.”
Finding out she had a seven-year-old half sibling was a shock for Tori, and she’s been slowly integrating Max and his mother (Stefan’s ex-girlfriend, if you can believe that) into her life. She puts up a hand to give me pause as if she knows what I might say next. “Andwe’ve already exploited as much positive PR as we can from that. We don’t want overkill.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” I say. “But you’re both looking at me like you want me to do something. You’re crazy if you think I’m having a baby. And don’t even suggest I get a dog, or I’ll know you’ve both gone off the deep end.”
Tori and Stefan look at each other and I get the sudden feeling like I’d better hang on tight to something.
“We had something a little more demonstrative in mind,” Tori says sweetly.
“Like what?”
Tori clears her throat, then shoots my brother a pointed look.
Stefan looks me square in the eye. “You need to get married.”
Brooklyn
Chapter 1
Inever thought I’d get this chance again.
My black stilettos clip loudly on the floor as I stride into Danica Rose Management, formerly known as KZ Modeling. It feels surreal that I made it to these offices. I had a chance to audition with them three years ago, but that opportunity quickly turned into a disaster and I never went through with it. So when a friend told me about this latest call, I booked an immediate flight from LA to Chicago. No way am I missing another stab at making my dreams come true.
Despite all the bad PR lately, this agency didn’t get to the top without knowing all the ins and outs of the business, how to launch huge careers, how to stay relevant. Maybe the bad press will even work in my favor, if it means fewer models are coming to these auditions.
I briefly wonder ifhe’sgoing to be here. My stomach does a little flip at the thought, even though I remember him telling me that menial tasks like auditions were beneath him. He only worked with already-established supermodels, he’d said. Looking back, I should have recognized right away that that kind of arrogance wasn’t going to end well for me. Still, a little chill goes down my spine as I imagine him here. This is his domain, after all.
“Are you here for the audition?” The pleasant voice of a woman behind the gleaming black reception desk grabs my attention.
I head toward her and glance at the clipboard lying there. Guess I was wrong about the bad PR. The page is covered top to bottom with names.
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice confident despite my anxiety at being here. “Brooklyn Moss, signing in.”
I sign my name, then head toward the waiting area she indicates. The office is exactly how I imagined it: gorgeous, modern, and spacious, with lots of chrome and glass and black leather. There are also huge framed photos on the walls—not of models, but of breathtaking landscapes and architecture, like something out ofNational Geographic. I can see the city of Chicago spreading for miles out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The open seating area where the rest of the models are waiting is packed. All I see are glossy lips and perfect, shining hair, long legs, and arched brows. I expected no less. I might stand out in most crowds, but at a casting call for models, I’m just another pretty face.