Page 96 of Strut

Crap.

“What did he want?” Alec demanded. “Tell me, Hunter.”

I shook my head, scrolling for the link Kip had sent. “He just gave me a Facebook account to check and then told me to call after. And also to tell you he was sorry.”

“Sorry?” Alec frowned, then grabbed my arm to stop me sitting forward to shield my phone from his eyes. “Don’t you dare.” But his hand snaked around my waist as if seeking comfort.

I found Statler’s profile quickly enough, but when the first image rolled up, I would’ve given anything to have saved Alec from what filled the screen.

“Holy fucking shit!” Alec snatched my phone and frantically scrolled through the others.

Three photos.

Three photos ofAlec.

Three nude and provocative photos of Alec.

I’m going to kill that bastard.

In each photo, Alec’s face had been slightly blurred but easily recognisable if you knew him even remotely. He’d been photographed lounging back on a blue couch, his legs relaxed, one knee slightly bent, his hand resting suggestively on his thigh, his cock discreetly blurred, and with a coy fuck-me look in his eyes that positively smouldered.

Jesus Christ.

The lighting was mediocre, the background indistinct except for the corner of a bed, a chest of drawers, and a slice of New York skyline through the window. The image was completely candid and looked a lot like the daring come-on that Darcy had accused Alec of. And a single phrase accompanied the posting.

#whoyougonnabelieve

My mouth ran dry. Apart from the blatant privacy issues, the photos on their own wouldn’t necessarily mean anything to the average non-fashion person who might not even recognise Alec. But reposted on Statler’s account, they had a fashion audience of tens of thousands, many of whom would know Alec and would make the connection between Statler, Darcy, and Alec’s post within seconds and share it.

Darcy was fighting back and Statler was backing him.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Alec’s hand shot to his mouth, and he threw the phone on the table and ran for the bathroom.

I ran after him, holding his hair as he hung over the toilet and emptied his stomach time and time again before sinking to the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees.

I put a facecloth under the tap and then cleaned his face before dropping down in front of him. “Alec?”

He wouldn’t look at me, just shook his head.

“Alec, come on, baby.” I took his face in my hands and he finally looked up, blue eyes dark with misery.

“Hunter, I didn’t...” He shook his head. “That wasn’t what that was. I didn’t lie to you. How did he... oh shit. Everyone’s going to think it was true.”

“I know you didn’t lie. I know that.” I pulled his shaking body into my arms and kissed his head. “Whatever that image was, it wasn’t of you trying to seduce Darcy. So, tell me what I’m really looking at?”

He gulped a shaky breath and sat back, his eyes shining with tears. “I don’t know how he did it. A hidden camera or something. That’s the partitioned-off dressing area inside the studio. We were taking a break and I went in there to get away from him, to be honest. He wanted to redo the swimsuit shot...” He paused with a look of sudden realisation and palmed his forehead. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What?”

Alec’s wide eyes landed on mine. “He set that whole thing up. I’d stubbed my toe in the middle of changing and was sitting naked on the couch cleaning up the blood around the nail. Darcy put his head around the curtain, supposedly to see if I was okay, and it creeped me the fuck out. He told me to take a minute and use the time to work on selling the swimsuit better when I came out. He wanted more heat.” He waved a hand in the direction of the lounge. “And that’s exactly what I was doing. I was experimenting with the mirror and thinking I was alone, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I pulled him onto my lap and wrapped my arms around him.

“But that’s not what anyone’s going to think, is it? The campaign is gonna mean nothing next to those fucking photos.” Alec scrambled to his feet. “That’s me, looking like I’m begging for it. And because they were taken in the studio, my standard model release form means he has the rights to all the images he took that day even if I decide to challenge him, you know that.”

“But those photos weren’t part of the official shoot,” I protested, trying to make him listen. “He’s notallowed to take shots you’re unaware of, Alec. I knowthatas well. That’s a breach of privacy.”

Alec threw his hands in the air, shouting, “And exactly how do I prove that? It was just him and me that day. How do I prove that I didn’t know those photos were being taken, because it sure as hell looks like I’m staring straight at the camera?”

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