Page 2 of Stick to the Deal
“Oh no, while I would happily take you back to my hotel for dinner and breakfast,” his black eyes twinkle, “I can take a hint. I had more professional pursuits in mind. My new album is coming out and I haven’t liked a single photo the label has provided. I want something grittier. More passionate.” He points to the monitor beside me. “I think you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for. Come to my show Saturday night. Take some photos. If one works for the cover, you get credit and royalties. If it doesn’t, I’ll still post them on my socials and tag you. Either way, it’s a free rock concert with VIP access.”
My teeth gnaw at my inner cheek as I debate his offer. It is an amazing opportunity for more exposure. Not that I’m hurting for work, I’ve had multiple shoots a day since I flew in almost a month ago. I have been working too hard though, and a night out would be a nice break. It’s not like I have other plans. Most nights, I’ve been grabbing a quick bite on my way back to the apartment. Usually sitting at the bar with some smutty novel on my Kindle.
“Sure. You have a deal.” I hold my hand out for a shake.
His warm fingers surround mine, the calloused pads caress the sensitive skin of my wrist. Guess fuckboy just can’t turn it off. It really is a shame about his paparazzi infestation. I’m certain he’d be good for a night, or three. Lord knows I haven’t had time for such distractions since I got to town, and back home is too small a pool for meaningless dalliances. Sorry lady bits, but even this dry spell isn’t worth the unnecessary attention he draws.
I’d slip back into his dressing room with him for a quickie, but a chemist is arriving in an hour and I still don’t know how I’m going to hide her tits behind a microscope and test tubes.
More’s the pity.
After promising to courier over the passes and details, Kenzo heads off to change, closely trailed by his assistant. No rest for the wicked, I dive right back into setting up for the next shoot.
Chapter 2
Meet Reginald
As the car inches along the busy streets of New York City, I gaze out the windows at the noisy life around me. Maybe I should have walked. It’d certainly be faster. After a day of pounding the pavement from Chelsea to Brooklyn and back, my Armani loafers couldn’t take another step.
My heart quickens at the colors and sounds outside. Vendors shouting, taxis beeping, storefronts, and billboards. In many ways, it’s similar to my native London. We do share common ancestors after all. In others, so very different. Especially from the upper echelons of society I grew up in. Here, I can disappear. Both cities may sport over eight million people, but here I’m one of the throng. Back home, I’m Reginald Bancroft, Viscount Ravenscourt, favored son and all around golden boy.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, revealing a text from my best mate Daniel.
Daniel
So what do you think? You in?
The morning had started off well, meetings with lawyers and accountants, reviewing contracts and business proposals. Everything looks good, but looks can be deceiving. My gut is screaming yes, jump in with both feet on this venture with Daniel, but something is holding meback.
Me
I want to, not sure how I can make it work though.
Getting away this week was tough enough, but I don’t want to admit that to him.
Daniel
How many charity events is one man expected to attend?
Me
More than you can possibly imagine.
Daniel
You deserve this, Bancroft. Do something for you for once. Most parents would be happy their son is starting a business!
Me
I guess you’re right.
Daniel
Of course I am. When are you going to stand up to him?
One block down and twenty or so to go, I collapse back against the seat with a tired sigh.
When am I going to stand up to him? That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ve never raised my voice, pushed back, or said a cross word. I’ve simply gone along with my father.
