And those are thoughts that I really shouldn’t be having.
“My models have to be exceptional. To not just display passion, but to feel it. And this final woman that I’m casting has to be honest with her emotions. With her desire. She’s the centerpiece. The strongest and the most vulnerable.”
“I can handle whatever I need to,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.
“So you say, but I’m not convinced.”
He’s still behind me, and I whip around to face him, surprised and angered by his casual indictment.
“Is this how you auditioned those women?” I demand. “Did you touch them? Did you stroke their skin and whisper to them? Because I’m thinking no.”
“You’d be right,” he says, surprising me.
“So you’re punishing me.”
His gaze never wavers as he says, “Maybe I am.”
My chest tightens, and I immediately regret poking the beast. I’d never expected him to admit it, and now I’m staring straight into a past that I don’t want to think about, much less discuss.
I draw a deep breath. “Then you’re being an idiot. I need a job. You need a model. You’re only hurting your show by turning me away.”
His left eyebrow arches up, a trick I used to find bone-meltingly sexy. Now, all I feel is panic. And not just because I need this job and fear that he’s going to send me away. No, the real source of my panic is something much deeper. Much more unexpected. And much, much scarier.
It’s Wyatt. It’s the girls on the wall. And it’s this whirlwind of emotion swirling inside me that I don’t understand and refuse to examine.
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the prize. The job. The paycheck. “Fine. Punish me all you want. Just give me a chance. I can do this.”
He drags his fingers through his hair, and he no longer looks angry. Instead he looks wounded. Defeated. And I know that’s all on me. Because he put his heart on the line once for me, and I know I ripped it to shreds.
“I can do this,” I say again, as if repetition will persuade him. “I just need—”
“Can you? Sweet Kelsey Draper? You practically sank into the floor when you let out a curse a few minutes ago. I don’t believe there’s any way you can put yourself out there the way I need.”
“I can. You just have to believe me.”
“I don’t.”
“Then let me prove it to you.”
“How?”
That is a really good question, and one I don’t have an answer to. Then I remember a bachelorette party I got dragged to last year. “Do you know X-tasy?”
“The strip club in Van Nuys?” Something like amusement sparks on his face. “It’s crossed my radar.”
“Tonight. 9 o’clock.”
“Why—”
“Just be there. And bring a pen. Because you’re going to want me to sign your contract right then.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” he says as he takes a single step toward me, and a pleasant but unwelcome warmth floods my body.
I take a step back in a vain effort to keep my wits about me, but he matches my movement. “I’m under the gun here, Kelsey,” he says, leaning in even closer. “I need someone I can depend on.”
I force my expression to remain bland. He’s right in front of me, and if I take another step back, he’ll have me caged in against the wall.
“I’m dependable,” I say, but instead of sounding firm and determined, I sound breathy and overwhelmed.
“History would suggest otherwise.”
His harsh word lands on me like a punch in the gut, and I fight the urge to cringe. Or, worse, to escape through that door again.
Except I did that already, didn’t I? I left. I ran. And I never looked back.
“It’s been twelve years,” I snap, not sure if I’m more angry with him or with me. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Fair enough,” he replies coolly. “I don’t owe you a job.”
“No, you don’t. But you need a model. And I can do the job. You’re an idiot if you don’t let me prove that to you.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
I draw a calming breath. “Please,” I beg. “Tonight. Nine. I won’t let you down.”
He cocks his head, silently studying me. “You already did that, Kelsey. A long time ago.”
4
Twelve years ago
“That’s him,” Grace whispered. “The tall guy in the dark green swim trunks. Isn’t he the finest thing you ever saw?”
“Oh my God! He’s so hot. Did you really talk to him?”
“He let me cut in line when I went inside to get a Diet Coke,” Grace said, her tone suggesting she’d just been anointed by the Pope.
“No way!” Marsha squealed.
“Way!”
Two tables over, Kelsey Draper kept her head down, hoping that Grace Farmer and Marsha Greene wouldn’t look over and notice that she was eavesdropping when she was supposed to be wiping down the poolside tables.
Normally, she ignored the members’ kids. After all, she was staff, and in the world of the Pacific View Country Club, staff and members simply didn’t mix. But Grace was talking about the new guy—the one Kelsey had noticed when she’d worked the coffee bar that morning. For that matter, everybody was talking about the new guy and his family, but Kelsey hadn’t managed to learn any of the details yet.
There was something about him, though. She’d met his eyes when she was filling a Thermos for one of the golfers, and he was standing against the window, probably waiting for his father. The moment lasted barely a second, but she’d felt a zing shoot all the way through her.
It had filled her up, and the sensation had lasted for hours. Warm and comforting, like a freshly baked loaf of bread. But also biting and exotic, like the Indian food her stepmother adored, the kind that tasted so good, but had such a kick.
All in all, he’d ignited a storm of sensations inside her. Nice, yes, but unsettling, too.
And definitely not the kind of thing that she was used to experiencing. Not by a long shot.
So she wanted to know. And since Grace and Marsha made it their business to know everything about everybody, Kelsey couldn’t simply walk away. Not and miss the chance to learn whatever she could about whoever he was.
She lifted her head just long enough to take another look at him. He’d recently emerged from the deep end of the pool, and he was standing in line for the high diving board, his tan body glistening in the Santa Barbara sun. As she watched, he reached up and ran his fingers through hair that looked dark now, but that she knew would glisten golden-brown in the sun once it dried.
She guessed he was a year or so older than her—sixteen, maybe seventeen—and she’d never in her life experienced the kind of jolt she’d felt after that one shared look with him.
For just a moment, she closed her eyes and let the memory sweep over her once more, sweet and tantalizing and scary and awesome. She wanted to savor it, because she knew with one hundred percent certainty that as far as she and this boy went, one look across the coffee bar was all they would ever share.