Page 16 of Wild Blades

Eyes glazed in daydream, I can only assume he’s thinking of the many ways he would like to escape from this room. Or kill me. Perhaps both.

With a heavy sigh, he plonks himself back down in his chair.

I sit on the edge of the desk and fold my arms around myself.

“I would like you to listen to me. You don’t have to talk, Wade.”

“I wasn’t going to anyway.” He huffs, still not looking at me.

“Great.”

“Great.” He mimics my tone and lets out a loaded sigh.

“Looks like we’re going to get on like a house on fire.”

He pushes his chair back in frustration and stands, as if not knowing where to put himself.

My eyes follow him as he paces the floor between the table and the boardroom wall. “I didn’t ask for this,” he blurts.

“Nope, but you got it.” I tilt my head to the side and keep assessing him. I’m a good judge of character. I know a lost soul when I see one. I've seen many in my line of work. He needs help and I know we can all support him in the best way possible.

He runs his hands through his short dark hair, tugging on the ends as if trying to pull the strands out of their roots.

“I walked my first catwalk for Givenchy at the age of sixteen,” I tell him, hoping if I open up, it will show him that I’m here to help. “I started modeling when I was sixteen—expected to make adult, responsible decisions when I felt less than equipped. My parents were too busy digging up artifacts in Egypt and my grandmother, who raised me, trusted the modeling agency to take care of me, but ultimately, I was alone and terrified. What I’m trying to say is, that I understand how it feels to be alone despite being surrounded by people and too scared to open up about how you’re feeling. I want you to trust me, Wade, to believe that I’m on your side and will be with you every step of the way. I’m not going to leave you to do this alone.”

Wade’s hands drop down to his sides, then he slowly turns his body to face me.

Finally.

I stare at his profile. He has good bone structure, with a little bump on the top of his nose that gives it character. Crystal blueeyes the color of a tropical lagoon, brown hair shaved close on either side with a little length on the top accentuating his high cheekbone and strong jaw. The word handsome doesn’t cut it to describe him.

Gorgeous does, though.Devilishly-pantie-soaking-gorgeous.

He could be a model if his team were to cut him. I’d find him work in a heartbeat and anyone would buy anything he advertised. I’m sure of it.

Shut up, Kali, you’re not scouting for talent.

Confidently rising to my feet, I focus on the job I came here to do. “The modeling world is a lonely place to be, especially when you’re only sixteen.”

A large bump forms between his brows, and I know he’s listening. “Sixteen?”

I may win him over after all.

“The world of fashion likes them fresh out of the womb.” I sigh. “Whether you like it or not you’re sort of stuck with me, and although you may not think it, I come from a similar world as yours.”

He eyes me suspiciously, stands wide, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dress pants that don’t fit him as well as I would like them to.

That’s all about to change once Emmanuel, my stylist, gets his hands on him.

“Explain.” His short word is clipped and to the point.

I move from the desk onto the chair he was sitting on and park my backside on it, then cross my best asset, my legs. He thinks I don’t notice, but I watch as his gaze flicks down, then back up again.

I’m not flirting, it’s just human nature to want to check out the ex-model’s long legs and most talked about thing on the internet. Like JLo’s ass, they have a life of their own.

“I worked in an industry where looks and being a size zero were all that mattered. The weight of expectation can push you to your limits. Long hours, people prodding and preening you, paparazzi, stylists, hair, makeup, no sleep, predatory photographers pretending to be a friend to take advantage of younger models. I’ve seen it all.”

“My job…” He air quotes his fingers around the words. “Isn’t like that.”

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