Одри Карлан - February (Calendar Girl #2)

“Alec, I need to speak to you,” I tried again as one of his attendants tugged at my feet trying to get me to remove my jeans. I did what they wanted, preferring to get this part over with. When I was left standing in a standard white t-shirt bra and matching simple bikini briefs, the attendant helped get me settled. The hair chick Alec hired to be on hand started fussing with my hair, making it sweep out as if I’d lain down, yet my hair was perfectly sprawled out.

Then one of them came forward with the red paint. “No!” I pushed a hand out. “I told you, Alec. I needed to speak to you. About the money that appeared in my account yesterday?” I gritted my teeth and waited for him to look at me. He didn’t. Instead, he fussed with his camera, the lighting, yelled out commands until finally he answered me.

“ Oui , I had it done yesterday,” he said absently while looking through the lens of his camera.

“Why?”

“Place your hand into your panties, close your eyes and pretend you’re having fun with yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

Alec sighed and his jaw clenched tight, the muscle at the corner beating a rapid tempo. “Pay attention, Mia. We have…”

“We have much to do, yeah I know,” I growled in response. “I’ve heard that a time or two before.”

His gaze flicked to mine like a bullet from a rifle, his eyes narrowing. “Then you know I am on a short deadline. The exhibit is in one week, there are two more paintings to be done. This one and one more I have yet to visualize. Now what is your problem? I sent the money, you received it, oui ?”

“Yes, Alec, but…” I looked around. There were at least ten people hanging around, which was unusual for a racy photo day. He usually did those in private. “I want to talk to you alone.”

“And we will, once these photos are done.”

With a sigh of resignation I nodded and did what he said. Only the pictures weren’t working, which made him a bear to deal with. Eventually, he kicked the staff out.

“Today has been a waste,” he said, anger dripping from his lips. His long artist’s fingers went into his hair and he tugged at the tie that held the massive mane of hair back, allowing it to fall forward. Alec paced and mumbled in French.

“Well what did you expect? You want me to finger myself in front of a room full of people, not to mention while I’m pissed at you?”

He stopped pacing, his head jutting back, his hands going to his hips. Almost reminded me of a chick. A hot, manly chick, but the hands-on-hips thing was a total girl move.

“And what have you got to be mad about?” His tone was laced with piss and vinegar. It ruffled my feathers just enough to rekindle the fire that I’d kept banked for the last couple hours.

I leaned up and crossed my legs. “You paid me for sex, that’s the problem!”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And you’re upset with this? Why?”

“I’m not you’re whore! That’s twice today a man has treated me like I was their fucking whore. I didn’t have sex with you because of the money! Jesus Christ, why are men so dense?!” I screamed into the open room. The sound echoed off the walls louder than I intended. He cringed.

“We had sex. Your contract states you are to receive twenty percent more for taking off your clothes, and/or having sex.”

Groaning, I stood up and walked right up to him. “I thought you were making love to me?” I spat.

“I did. We were. Unfortunately, the eyes of the law might not see it that way.”

“The eyes of the law see that as prostitution! The rule was one of those unwritten things you just do to skate the law with. Jeez.”

“Then unwrite it from your contract. Ms. Milan has the item as an add-on note. No, it isn’t written in the fine print, but your enforcer ensures you receive it. Plus, you did get naked many times for the art. The fee is owed to you for that alone. Now, you tell me how I should take that, chèrie ? Hmm?

My shoulders slumped and my head fell down. Shit. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; he was following what he thought were the rules. It was official; I was an idiot.

At that point, he could have berated me, made me feel worse than I did, but he put his long, strong arms around me and held me while I wallowed in my own self-pity. It wasn’t the men that had me believing I was a whore. It was me. My own insecurities had crept up and wreaked havoc on my psyche.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I can imagine this is hard on you.”

Within the warmth of his arms I reasoned with myself. Told myself I knew what I was and what I wasn’t. No dollar bill, or misunderstanding, or even Millie would change that about me. I was a lot of things, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an actress of sorts, I was this man’s muse but I wasn’t a streetwalker, call girl, or a whore. A slut maybe, but not whore.

Comfortable with how I’d worked it out in my head, I kissed Alec with everything I had left in me. Once done, I leaned back, walked over to my spot on the floor and sprawled out. With a wicked gleam in my eyes I stuffed one of my hands into the space between my bra and breast. His tawny eyes twinkled against the bright lights as he watched me. I slid my other hand ever so slowly down my body. Alec scrambled up the ladder and grabbed his camera.

“Show me how selfish you can be with your sexy body, ma jolie .”

And I did. Closing my eyes I played my body as if he was touching me. Every move was made by his hands. Every sigh was for him, every moan swallowed by his lips.

My imagination did not fail to secure him the perfect picture.

Chapter 9

Hand-in-hand, Alec and I exited the warehouse. The sun shone bright, the wind blew against my hair, and the world opened up and greeted me. Hello world, I missed you.

“You realize this is the first time we’ve left the warehouse since I arrived, and I’m leaving in three days.”

Alec lifted my hand and placed a kiss on the top. “I didn’t, no, ma jolie . I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible host.”

I laughed and swung his arm while we walked. “You had…”

“Much work to do,” we said in unison and then both chuckled.

“I am sorry chèrie . When I am focused, there is nothing but the work, food, sexual gratification and sleep.”

“The last of which you don’t get enough of,” I chastised. He didn’t. The man slept less than most insomniacs.

Holding his hand tighter, I turned to him. “So, where to?”

Alec had his hair back in his ever-present man bun. The sun made it look more red than brown and gold. Still incredible. He wore a thin, white, scooped necked thermal, and a pair of dark-wash jeans. A camera hung loosely around one shoulder. Alec Dubois was yummy. Manly, sexy, all that and a bag of the cheesiest potato chips. And I was the lucky girl that had his attention…for three more days.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

I looked out over the Seattle streets and said the one thing any tourist would say. “Go to the Space Needle of course.”

He grinned. “Well that’s good. We have reservations there for dinner. For now, how about a surprise?”

“Sure.”

Alec hailed a cab and we were off. He gave a set of directions that meant nothing to me and I people-watched until our ride stopped. Alec paid the driver, got out and held the door for me. I stepped out and came to a standstill.

About twenty feet in front of me was a wooden sign with giant letters in a startling white that said “Zoo.” More specifically, “Woodland Park Zoo.”

“You’re taking me to the zoo?” I smiled wide.

“Why not? I haven’t been, and I’ve lived here for years.”