Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

“And if they stalk you all the way to Costa Rica to get you to pose?”

Dallas shrugs. “If they pay me and it doesn’t get in the way of my research, why the hell not?”

I roll my eyes and turn toward the window. There’s nothing in that answer I can be mad about. In fact, maybe I should have the same attitude about the situation that Dallas has. But I know that if I let Amora Acquisitions or A.J. Harrison get to me, they won’t ever let me go. It’ll be another request two months later, and I can’t afford that, not with Harvard.

“I have to put my foot down now.”

“I know you do,” Dallas says.

I turn back to him, keeping my arms crossed. “But you don’t.”

Dallas sighs and rubs his eyes. I’m picking a fight. I don’t usually do this, but I have been more often lately. By his gesture I know that he realizes it too.

“No. I mean, other than being out of the country, not really.” I narrow my eyes at him and he widens his own. “What? I juggled grad school and modeling last year. Why would it be different this semester?”

Oh, I don’t know, Dallas, because your girlfriend won’t be modeling, which means you’ll be grinding up on someone else.

And I know what happened last time. He fell out of love with his girlfriend and into love with his coworker. I just happened to be on the lucky end of that trade off.

I should tell him how I’m feeling. That would be the adult way to handle my worries with the guy that I love. But I’m feeling less of a grad student right now and more like a sophomore in high school, so instead, I shoot him a plastic grin and say, “Oh, no reason.”

He sits up. “You pissed at me?”

I don’t feel like explaining it to him. I feel like he should already have a clue as to why I wouldn’t want him modeling without me. “I’m just tired, Dallas.”

“Seriously? It’s eight.”

“And I’ve had a long day.”

“And I leave in forty-eight hours. I thought we were spending time together tonight.”

“What were you planning?”

“Well, nothing. I thought you were planning something.”

I fall onto the bed. Maybe my bitchiness is justified. “Nope.”

We both sink into an awkward silence. The kind when both of you are pissed because the other is pissed, and there’s a bunch of unanswered whys floating through the air but no one actually wants to voice them because you’re both pussies.

Finally, he mutters, “Goodnight, Evan,” and turns off the lamp.

I sleep pretty restlessly. For one, I don’t know how to fix my silent emotional argument with Dallas. I’m pissed, and technically, he did nothing wrong. And two, I know I’m going to have to put my foot down with Amora Acquisitions tomorrow and stop making Britain perform all of my dirty work for me. She doesn’t deserve that.

I never thought that erotic modeling would become so dramatic. I was never ashamed of showing off my body, and the separation of my work life and school life with the help of an alias kept everything nice and sweet and completely unemotional. But the past couple of months have revealed an entirely different beast. Bringing a boy into the mix, Britain giving up the reigns... posing for EPE has become a complicated ballgame.

That’s why I wanted out.

And I’ll get out. I just need to put my foot down, for both me and Dallas. Even if he says he would still model if he weren’t in the field, the fact is that he is in the field.

We were destined for a life of biology, not a life of porn, for crying out loud.

When I feel Dallas get up in the morning to go shower, I pretend to be sleeping. He leaves the house before I’m up, and when I ask Britain where he went, she looks at me like I’ve grown a horn for a nose.

“Why the hell would I know these things over you?”

I shrug defensively. “You were down here when he left. Just thought I’d ask.” I pull out my phone to text him, but then I put it away. If he really wanted me to know where he was, he’d text me first.

Instead of calling Dallas, I walk outside to the pool and call the Amora Acquisitions headquarters. It takes me about two hours of transfers and holds before I’m finally where I need to be—speaking with one of A.J. Harrison’s assistants.

“Hi… err… my name is Evan Cosette… I’m a model for East Park Exposed .”

I receive silence for a response.

“Ummm… anyways, I’m on the list for the fall launch issue, but I can’t model because I’ll be in the middle of grad school at Harvard.”

“ Ooooohh!” she practically hollers. I pull the phone away from my ear. “Rylan Willow! One moment, let me transfer you over.”

“But…” I begin, but it’s too late. I’m already listening to shitty elevator music again.

To my surprise, the shitty elevator music ends abruptly. “This is A.J.”

Oh, damn . Sent straight to the big man on campus. “Hi, A.J. This is Rylan Willow.”

“Rylan.” His voice is silkier than I remember. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

I’m about to respond before my mouth snaps shut. He’s been waiting? As in, someone was supposed to relay a message to me and never did, or he’s been waiting because he’s cocky enough to think he has me figured out?

I assume the latter.

I clear my throat and throw on my big-girl voice. “I wanted to fact-check some information with you. My manager informed me that you’re insisting on having both myself and Dallas Whitley participate in the fall shoot.”

He chuckles deeply. “By your manager, I’m assuming you mean Britain.”

I hate the tone of his voice and the way he wields it. It’s like he’s trying to stick me in the dumb little girl box.

“Correct. Britain, my manager, who has been my manager for the past two years.”

“Go on.”

“I’m aware that she specifically relayed the message to your staff that I would no longer be performing for EPE due to grad school at Harvard.”

“I see.”

“Her message was challenged, and I just want to make it crystal clear that Dallas and I will not be a part of the launch issue, nor any issue thereafter.”

Damn, I have a good big-girl voice.

A.J. releases that chuckle again. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard. “Trust me, it isn’t necessary to reassure me.”

I give silent sigh of relief. “So this was all a misunderstanding, then?” Britain must have blown the whole situation out of proportion. Maybe she just imagined A.J.’s assistant being forceful.

“You will model for me.”

…. Well, fuck.

“ Excuse me?” I counter.

“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Willow. I understand your dilemma. I went to grad school too, you know. For a successful individual, a graduate degree is almost necessary, and I very much admire your drive.”

“Thank you,” I murmur awkwardly.

“On the other hand,” he continues. “Grad school bills can be expensive. If you don’t mind me asking, how much have you paid off already?”

I did mind him asking, but I wasn’t about to keep my mouth shut at this point. “I have a semester paid off,” I reply. A semester plus living expenses. And that was from the incredibly successful issue of EPE that I shot with Dallas.

“Do you know what an advance is, Miss Willow?”

Yes, I know what an advance is. I’m not an idiot. “I believe so.”

“And would an advance of fifty grand change your mind?”

I nearly stop breathing. Okay, I do stop breathing until I realize I’m getting dizzy. “Uhh… what ?”

“An advance of fifty grand if you sign a contract stating that you’ll be the cover model for the launch issue. You’ll receive the money directly after the Boston photo shoot.”