Page 2 of Flare

“He’s fine.” Peter pulled me back and I stumbled against him. “You okay?” He frowned as I blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear my head.

“I think so. Just... hot. I might go grab some water.” I tripped over his foot and almost fell, but he caught me in time.

“You sure you’re okay?” He tipped my chin up and his eyes swam in and out of focus.

Was I?The music faded into a jumbled mix of words and I swallowed around a tongue that suddenly felt huge in my mouth. “Sure. I, um...” I stumbled again and grabbed his arm for support. “Maybe not. I think I should sit down,” I slurred, alarm bells firing somewhere in the back of my head.

“Good idea.” Peter put an arm around my waist and steered me through the crowd. “Let’s find a table and get you a water.”

Exactly what I needed. I opened my mouth to thank him, but the words stuck like glue to my tongue that filled my mouth like fucking sawdust. My gaze dropped to the floor, watching my feet move one by one like they belonged to someone else. But when I saw the chequerboard tiles change to wooden boards, a flash of fear gripped my chest and I looked up. It took a few seconds to realise we were in a hallway, the music fading somewhere behind us.

Fuck.

“I n-need to go.” I struggled but none of my muscles were working, and Peter kept a firm hold, laughing with a group of people as we passed, telling them how drunk I was. A few seconds later, he shoved me against a door, an accessible bathroom sign digging into my cheek.

He leaned against me. “You’re fucking irresistible, you little tart,” he hissed into my ear. “What did you think would happen coming in here dressed like that?”

I froze as his thumb dragged painfully across my mouth and tried once again to get free, but he was so much bigger, and nothing in my body was fucking working.

Even in my stupor I knew I was in a fuckton of trouble, and a hoarse cry for help fell from my lips. But it was barely intelligible and not much above a whisper.

“That’s enough of that.” He slipped a hand behind my back, and two seconds later I fell backward into the bathroom and onto the floor, cracking my head on the tiles. The door lock snipped shut as I tried to scramble away. And then Peter said something I couldn’t make out, and someone replied.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There were two of them. I grabbed uselessly at a nearby pipe, but my hands couldn’t seem to get a hold. Light swam in my eyes and the floor rolled beneath me.

“Give him another minute.” Something nudged my hip and I was rolled onto my back, the room heaving above me.

“Please... don’t...” My tongue lolled hopelessly in my mouth, the panic crushing the breath in my chest. And then suddenly it was gone and a warm calm flooded my body in its place.

“Shhh.” The voice was close to my ear, the sound moving in and out of my head like a soothing tide. “Just relax. It’ll be over soon.”

My eyelids slammed shut like concrete, my body lax and eerily content. Someone tugged at my clothes, but it barely registered before my brain slipped into a world of vague shadows.

CHAPTERONE

Seventeen Years Later

Rhys

Shayne extolledthe virtues of his lookbook in painful detail, careful to point out all the high-profile designers he’d modelled for. The message was clear. If I wanted Flare, my shiny new label, to succeed in its first appearance at Fashion Week, I neededhim,front and centre. I didn’t even have an open call going. He’d just arrived on the doorstep of Flare and assumed I’d be interested, no,gaggingto see him. I’d have choked on the sheer audacity if it wasn’t for the fact he had a point.

I did needsomething, but it certainly wasn’t his or anybody else’s bullshit.

My gaze flicked over his shoulder to where my shop assistant stood with his lips flattened against the glass, his tongue darting obscenely in and out. Kip made no bones about his gutter-dragging opinion of the excruciatingly beautiful but arrogant-as-fuck model, and I made a fair attempt at swallowing my laugh. But the resulting half snort almost blew the show.

Shayne spun in his seat, but you had to be quicker than that to catch Kip Grantham napping—his attention locked on his steamer as he pressed the new feather-collared jackets fresh in from my manufacturer. He gave Shayne a waggle of his fingers that got ten points for insolence but didn’t fool anyone.

Shayne turned back with his lip curled. Beauty never made up for a personality that verged on the nasty, which was only one of the reasons Shayne wouldn’t be gracing my runway anytime soon. The other reason being his tendency for drama with a capital D, and I prized composure as much as looks in the models I employed.

“All my slots are gone for this year, sorry,” I lied unapologetically, doing my best to ignore Kip thumbing his nose in the background.

“That’s not what I heard,” Shayne said tartly.

Bugger.

“I can wearanythingwell, and you know it.”

Which was unfortunately true, but beside the point. “I’m sure you’ll have a ton of designers clamouring to add you to their list once they know you’re back. I’ve already chosen the one pinch-hitter model I’m allowed from outside the casting call. You missed that day, right?” I couldn’t resist the dig.

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