Soren and I were roommates. We had to live together. How was confessing feelings for one another and letting those feelings physically manifest going to make this arrangement any easier? Being in a relationship was hard enough at our age. Sharing an apartment was just as hard. But combining those two challenges and expecting everything to come out okay? Yeah, right. World peace had a better chance of making it.
As I rushed through showering and getting ready, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad. I hardly ever thought of him anymore, but there he was now, ready to take up as much of my head-space as he had when he’d first left us.
Soren wasn’t my dad. The rational part of my brain knew that. The irrational part linked the two, comparing and contrasting until I felt half-mad. Soren was a man, just like my dad. He wore jeans, just like my dad. He had blue eyes like my dad.
It was endless. Ridiculous, but endless.
I had the day off, but I needed to leave the apartment. I had to avoid him for as long as possible because while he was expecting one thing from tonight, I had to give him the total opposite.
I cared for Soren. Now I knew he cared for me. But this, us . . . we wouldn’t survive if we let our friendship take a back seat to our other feelings. I’d rather have him in my life in some capacity forever than in no capacity one day soon.
Besides, what did I know about relationships? Other than what I’d watched my parents go through and the superficial ones I’d seen back in high school? I’d come to New York to model, to work hard, and to go far in this business. To make a name for myself in the fashion industry and turn that into a long-term career. What was I doing getting tangled up with a boy with just as lofty of a dream?
He was right. Last night, the champagne, or the tux, or the jealousy, or something had clouded my judgment. I might have harbored feelings for him, but confessing them and wanting to act on them . . . that was something I should have kept to myself.
There was a note taped to the door, my name penned on the outside in Soren’s handwriting. I didn’t take it down, unfold it, and read whatever he’d written. I left it where it was, needing to clear my head and figure out some way to explain away everything I’d confessed last night.
Even though I’d showered, I could still feel where his hands had touched me. The taste of his lips seemed to cling to mine no matter how much lip balm I applied.
Today was warmer than it had been, which meant the park was busier than usual. All of the noise and action made for a welcome distraction though, so I spent a few hours meandering around. I took a break to relax on a bench so I could call home and catch up with everyone, and just as I was about to hang up with them, another call came in.
After saying bye to my mom, who had not stopped reminding me to send less money back home, I answered the call. I’d been avoiding Soren’s, but this one I couldn’t ignore.
“Hi, Ellis,” I said.
He gave one of his typical greetings. “Where are you?”
“At Central Park. Why?”
“I just caught wind that one of the giants is looking for a fresh, new face for their line.”
“What company?”
“The giant of the giants.”
The skin on my arms raised. I’d been landing good gigs for weeks, but this—something like this was big. Booking a campaign like this took a model from the masses and set her on a platform. I needed a platform. I needed people to not just recognize my face but to know my name. Fashion was a business of names, and that was my long game. Model, gain experience, get recognized, make connections, then launch my own fashion line one day.
“Can you meet me at the agency in thirty minutes?”
The time on my phone showed two. On a Sunday. “Yeah, I guess. What are we meeting for?”
The sound of movement in the background came through the phone. “I want to add a few new shots to your portfolio. Ones that will appeal to this client.”
That made sense, and it wasn’t like I had a whole lot else planned for the day. Other than having to eventually confront my roommate and deliver an, “oops, I lied” speech and make it convincing.
Impromptu photo shoot sounded like a much better option.
“I’ll see you there in thirty.”
The line was already dead by the time I rose from the bench.
A moment later, a text from Soren came in. “I got Trish to close for me tonight, so I’ll be home by nine. Can’t wait to see you.”
My throat burned from reading his words. I couldn’t wait to see him either, and that was the problem. We couldn’t both feel the same way about each other.
I’d mess things up. Or he would. Or we both would.
We’d totally ruin everything because we’d been foolish to think that of all the doomed relationships out there, ours would be the one to make it.
Right after that text, he sent another one that read, “You left your phone at the apartment again, didn’t you?”
He was going to go through the whole day looking forward to tonight, thinking we’d . . . pick up where we’d left off. He was probably going to stop and get flowers or bring me home one of my favorite truffles from the chocolate store down the road or something sweet like only Soren was capable of.
The thought of having to look him in the face and tell him I didn’t have feelings for him made me physically ill. I couldn’t go home tonight. I couldn’t lie to him about not having feelings for him, probably crushing him, when he’d been expecting the night to go totally differently.
I couldn’t go back.
A hotel or a friend’s or something. I felt like I’d sleep on a park bench before going back to our apartment tonight.
Once I made it to the agency, I turned off my phone. I felt like such a coward doing it, but there was no way I’d be able to focus on the photo shoot if the sound of Soren’s texts coming in kept breaking me in half.
Ellis had beaten me there, and he already had the lights on. It was quiet throughout the office as he led me to one of the big rooms used for shoots. “Thanks for coming in on a Sunday. Especially after a late night at my place.”
He wasn’t wearing his standard suit and tie today, instead in a pair of dark slacks and a light, button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows. The sinews of his forearms were hard to miss, as was the rest of his body. Ellis played to his every advantage, from the way he did business to the way he dressed.
It was what had made him so successful. It was also what had earned him such a womanizer reputation.
“What photographer did you manage to bribe to come in today?” I slid my purse over my head and dropped it on one of the chairs stationed around the room before I moved toward the dressing area.
Ellis moved around the lighting equipment, turning things on and adjusting them. “Me.”
I paused outside of the curtains. “You?”
“It’s what I did between modeling and this. Taking photographs of beautiful women. Exotic locations.” He fired a smile at me as he pulled a camera from a bag. “It wasn’t a bad gig.”