Page 8 of The Red Zone
“Fine… don’t tell me. All I’m saying is that a lot can be resolved with a hate fuck.” Scarlett raised her brows while nudging me on the side with an elbow.
She’d said that a few times over the last few weeks, and every time I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It was my natural instinct. Not my fault, I couldn’t help it.
“I would rather never cum again than have him give me an orgasm,” I deadpanned.
Scarlett and I both drew our gaze across the backyard, giving October a once-over as he flaunted his newest forearm tattoo to Abel—who by the looks of it didn’t give half a shit.
“On second thought… it might just be another thing for him to brag about.” Scar concluded after a beat.
“My point exactly.”
The two of us ambled over to the table, taking seats next to each other, while the boys settled in across from us.
In the few weeks since Scarlett had started our new Friday night dinner tradition, there hadn’t been a moment of awkwardness the entire night.
Which was especially surprising, considering Abel was still a bit skeptical of me. I might have iced him out shortly after he and my sister got together, but it had all been in good fun. I promise. Yet, as the four of us settled into our seats, filling our plates to the brim, silence hung heavy in the air.
“So, Abel…” After fifteen minutes of excruciating silence, I had to put a stop to it. I’d pushed my food around the plate with my fork long enough while trying to mustered up the courage to ask for his help. “I, uh, heard your sister is going to be participating in that charity fashion show downtown later this month.”
He hummed while shoveling an enormous bite of chicken into his mouth.
“Well… if she happens to mention that she’s looking for models—like in passing or something—would you mind putting in a good word for me?”
I wasn’t normally one to ask for favors, but seeing as Abel’s half-sister, Aera Chase, was one of the biggest up-and-coming names in fashion, I had to put my foot in the door.
“Sure, I’ll call her right after this.”
My shoulders relaxed as a small sigh of ease washed over me.
“Struggling to keep the business afloat, March baby?”
“Stop talking before I make you regret it.” Scarlett came to my aid, pointing at October with a butter knife. She dragged her gaze over to me and I shot her a sheepish smile and mouthed my thanks while silently hoping he didn’t catch on.
Many moons ago, I had been one of—if not the most—successful high fashion models on the planet. And no, I wasn’t saying that to be cocky. It was simply a fact.
That was until I called out my former employer on a scandal involving some of the nefarious antics he got up to while on the job, thus ending my career and shunning me from the industry entirely. It was only when I started my modeling agency—where models could work without having to worry about their employer taking advantage of them—that I began to reclaim my power.
Yet, two years later, Gordon Sandoval still had a way of making me feel defenseless when I least expected it. Hell, earlier this week he was sending me anonymous emails threatening to blackmail me.
With what? No idea.
Aside from being one of the few people on earth who had the power to unnerve me, there wasn’t anything he had on me that could end my career. Trust me, I made sure of it.
While life might not have been going according to plan lately, with the business on the edge of failure and all, I was determined to forge ahead. I’d told Scarlett some of it—enough for her to know it was a sore subject—but she had no idea how much worse it had gotten.
The silence around the table had grown so tense it was palpable, yet none of us dared to speak a word as Scarlett broke out the dessert plates.
“So… how does everyone feel about the key lime pie?” She broke the painful silence after everyone had taken a bite, and I peeked over to see Abel’s shoulders visibly relax. “I tweaked a recipe from a friend.”
Moments later, the three of us chimed in with our praises as we shoved back-to-back, heaping spoonfuls into our mouths.
When I finally peered up to sneak a glance at October, I was surprised when I found his attention was already locked in on my face. There was the faintest drop of sorrow in his eyes, almost like he knew his earlier comment had upset me.
That alone made me swallow back the tears that pricked the back of my throat. Not because I was grateful for his remorse, but because there was nothing I hated more than people taking pity on me.
Least of all, October Calhoun.
FOUR
