Chapter 1
It was a pristine Sunday afternoon on the streets of Manhattan, NY, and Sloan Cassidy was dangerously late for the first job interview she’d had in months. She was attempting to run as quickly as one could run during peak hours on a New York City street with four inch stelletos heels on. Her bright pink toes screamed in pain every time her high heeled feet collided with the uneven street bellow her but she didn’t have the time to care. All she knew was that she needed to be at 106th and Broadway as quickly as humanely possible. So she sucked it up and prayed that she was, at the very least, running in the right direction.
Every once in a while she would slow her run to an awkward jog while attempting to ask strangers for directions. “106th and Broadway?!” She cried to her left. “106th and Broadway?!” To her right. “Am I getting warmer?” She beamed. Nothing. No response, no acknowledgement and the people who did bother to look her way were only doing so to throw her a quick scowl before continuing on. With a small curse, Sloan hesitantly slowed to a stop. She had no idea where she was. It was her first twenty minutes in the city that was supposed to be her new home and she had absolutely no idea where she was.
Panic began to soak up her bones. If she missed this interview she wouldn’t have a job. The only reason she’d landed five minutes of this photographer’s time in the first place was because one of his friends had tried to pick her up in a bar the night before. Somewhere in between her saying hello and wondering how to politely tell him to fuck off, he’d managed to pick up on the fact that she was unemployed and proceeded to offer her the job interview of a lifetime.
Now frantic, Sloan threw her body in front of the next stranger on the sidewalk, a tall blonde man. “Sir!” She yelped, throwing her hands out and sighing in relief when the man before her came to a brisk halt. He considered her with calm blue eyes and she braced herself for whatever expletive he had on the tip of his tongue. But instead, he smiled at her. Sloan could have kissed him right there. Holding up her purse, which was hanging halfway open, she lost it. “I’m so sorry to bother you. Judging by that beautiful suit you’re wearing I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than hold my hand right now but you’re the first smiling face I’ve seen all day and I desperately need to know where 106th and Broadway is.”
The man continued to smile down at her, almost adoringly, and opened his mouth to answer.
But Sloan wasn’t finished. “You see I have a job interview with a very important photographer. A very important man, actually. One of the most well respected in the business. I took a big chance coming here to NYC and if I miss this interview…” Her heart stopped at the very thought and she reached up to cover it, staring up at the nice man who was listening to her oh so patiently. “If I miss this interview I will have to go back home to Georgia and tell my parents they were right.” The words stole her breath and made her physically ill.
The stranger gave Sloan another dazzling smile and didn’t miss the way she snuck a quick peak at his ring finger, nor the slouch in her shoulders when she saw the wedding band that adorned it. “Well, you’re in luck, uh?…” He motioned to her with raised eyebrows.
“Sloan!” She gleamed. “Sloan Cassidy. I’m sorry, how rude am I? Sloan Cassidy.” She admonished herself while accepting his outstretched hand.
“Jackon Harris.” He nodded to her before releasing her hand and motioning to their right.
Sloan followed his long arm and gasped in delight when her eyes caught sight of the numbers ‘106’ etched beautifully across the front of loft building right next to them.
“Welcome to 106th and Broadway, Sloan Cassidy. And welcome to New York.” Jackson Harris winked at her and swept past so quickly that she didn’t even have time to thank him. Or ask if he and his wife were happily married.
Sloan watched him go, but only for a moment, before squealing in delight, much to the annoyance of the people walking past. She was here, she wasn’t late, and as she straightened her lucky scarf she told herself that today was going to be a very good day. Her father always said that everything happened for a reason. If her stilletos hadn’t started drawing blood in the middle of her insane run, forcing her to stop, she would have probably breezed right by the building all together. She stared up at the apartments in awe--just the outside of the building was grand so she could hardly imagine the treasures that awaited inside. Moments later, she found herself strutting past the doorman and into the gleaming swinging doors of the breathtaking loft apartments that rested on the corner 106th and Broadway.
The young man at the front desk gave her a bright smile. “Good morning, Miss. How can I help you today?”
Sloan dropped her bag happily onto the tall desk. “Hello! I have a job interview with one of the residents here in in ten minutes. What a beautiful building, I bet the lofts are breathtaking, huh?”
The man behind the desk went to make a joke about how he lived in Bed Stuy so he wouldn’t know anything about it.
But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I’m so happy I was able to find this place, I was this close,” she held her fingers less than an inch apart, “to losing it. So, yeah.” She sighed. “His name is Dean Delucia, my interviewer. Do you have to like buzz me up, like they do in the movies?”
Somewhere in the middle of her babbling, the man’s face had dropped, causing the too big sheriff-esque hat on his head to tilt into his eyes. “You have an interview with Dean Delucia?” He asked. The tone of his voice implied that there was a very inappropriate response dancing on the tip of his tongue.
Sloan’s brown eyes grew large. “Yes.” She assured. “He’s expecting me.”
--
Dean Delucia’s eyes popped open and he immediately cringed at the sun smashing through the floor to ceiling windows of his loft. Kicking the blanket off of his legs, he checked his watch. The moment he saw the time he groaned and collapsed back onto the pillow. Ten hours, he had been asleep for ten hours.
He reached up to place a hand over his eyes in an attempt to hide from the blinding sun and struggled to remember if he had anything to do today. His tenth assistant had tearfully quit on him two days ago and he hated to admit how much he still needed her, even if she was an insufferable moron who didn’t know her nose from her ass, she had still been better than nothing.
On the bedside table his ancient cellphone chimed an annoying chime that he’d never had taken the time to learn how to change. He lazily lifted it up… thirty seven missed calls. Yep, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten something.
A knock on his door solidified it. He had definitely forgotten something. People didn’t knock on his door. Not ever. He had an older brother who’d somehow gotten a copy of his key and had no qualms about letting himself right in and a mother who lived in Florida and rarely came to see him without notice. He always met his clients downstairs and brought them up himself. Did he have a client today? He stared at the door in confusion as another knock shook the walls.
Eventually, he threw his strong legs over the edge of his bed and curled his toes against the cold wood floor before pushing himself to a stand. He dragged his way to the door, dodging cameras, film, negatives and clothes scattered randomly across the floor. A white string hung low from one end of his loft to the other and held photographs hanging down by clothespins. One hit him in the face on the way to the door. Why had ten hours of sleep still not been enough? He felt like he could easily do ten more. When Dean made it to the door and swung it open he was met with a smile so bright, so cheerful, that it immediately caused the frown on his face to deepen exponentially just to even the score.
“Hi.” Sloan Cassidy willed herself to smile, even as the man before her caught her by complete surprise. Where she’d been expecting an older, more seasoned photographer, here was a man that couldn’t have been much older than she herself. He was gorgeous, she noticed, even as he gazed upon her with something that must have been confusion mixed with a little contempt. “My name is Sloan Cassidy. I have an interview here today. Are you… Dean?” She looked past him and into the expansive and messy loft, praying that he was a roommate or relative--maybe a model who was dressed as a bum for some weird photo shoot. Dissapointed to find his loft empty, she reached up and clutched the strap of her purse in both hands. It was a weak move that screamed insecurity, but she needed something to hold onto at the moment. This couldn’t be her new boss, right?
A light blub went off in Dean’s head and his gaze went to the cellphone that still blinked at the other end of his loft. Of course, his brother had set him up with a new assistant. They’d spoken about it the night before and Dean was grateful for the help, he just hadn’t expected it to be this little girl.
Sloan watched him look away and took the time to admire his long, golden body, which was clad in a pair of wrinkled jeans and nothing else. He had clearly just woken up, but that didn’t make his grey-blue eyes any less brilliant. Even behind the thick mane of tousled black hair that had fallen into them, his eyes had a life of their own, eyes that knew things. The man could have been a model himself, he had missed his calling. When he turned back to her, eyebrows raised, Sloan swallowed back a gasp. Strong defined jaw, thick black eyebrows… even his full lips, which were turned down in a sleepy frown, were perfect. She couldn’t work with this man. She couldn’t even breathe in front of him.
“Look.” Dean’s deep voice cut through the silence and he held out a hand to her. “Are you over twenty-one?” He asked, eyes travelling her body. She was a tall, skinny thing, with little dips and curves in all the right places. A long neck held a smiling, heart-shaped baby face. His eyes lingered on her neck before slowly rising back to her face, noticing her deep brown skin was completely flawless. “Are you over eighteen?” He asked, cocking his head forward dubiously. Her eyes were so full of an innocent hope and even fear, betraying the smile on her face, that he found it difficult not to be curious. She was very beautiful but he would have put her at around sixteen years old, at best.
“Yes.” Sloan answered, having heard both questions more than she’d cared for over the course of her life. “Yes and yes.” She beamed. “I’m twenty-three.”
Dean was shocked and was about to ask for ID.
But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I get that all the time. If you saw a picture of my parents you would see why. They haven’t aged a day since high school even though they’re both basically ancient. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m always going to look like a little girl but I can assure you that I’m not. I have a Bachelor’s in Business Administration with a Marketing Concentration from Spelman University. Graduated Magna Cum Laude so I can assure you I am very, very capable.” She took a deep breath, wondering if she should sell herself a little more.
She talked a lot. That would be a problem. Dean, however, was desperate. He couldn’t deny that he needed help. There was no way in the world that he could keep appointments, remember important dates or even live his life inside his wild mind without help. “Look.” He started. “You talk too much…”
Sloan’s eyes widened in offense and she opened her mouth to deny this, then slammed it shut.
Dean continued, “But my brother recommended you.”
“Your brother?! The guy I met at the bar last night said he was your friend, not your brother. Why would he lie?” She jammed her eyes shut. Stop talking, Sloan.
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re hired.”
Her entire body jolted in shock, “I am?!” When she saw him turning to walk away, she beamed, “Wait, is there—“
Dean turned on his heels and stomped back to the door, holding his hand out. “Three things, right now. If you cry on the job, you’re fired. If you talk to the press, you’re fired. If you attempt to converse with me before ten am, you’re fired. It is now,” he checked his watch, “nine fifty-five. So we’re not talking right now.”
Sloan hesitated, then shook her head no, wildly.
He held her gaze and took her silence as confirmation. Turning away from her, he began shuffling around in the only coat that hung on the coat hanger next to the door.
She watched him shuffling through the pocket and took advantage of his moment of distraction by allowing her eyes to slowly fall to his bare chest. She lingered on the tight peaks and valleys of his stomach, beautifully sculpted, all the way down to the strong v that dipped into his jeans which, by some miracle, were hanging onto his hips by a thread. Sloan stared at the jeans, entranced. How the hell were they staying on?! Did he have some very strategically placed double sided tape on those bad boys? Was he sure he wasn’t a model? She looked back up to his face. He didn’t remind her of any male models she’d seen but he was just so well put together, from head to toe, and so unprofessional that she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that this man would be her boss. This had to be a joke. The question burned in her brain, but she forced herself to keep quiet.
Dean finally fished a black credit card out of his coat and held it out to her.
A black card?! She was sure that Madonna and Jay Z were the only two people on the planet who had a black card. Apparently her new boss did, as well. Sloan took the card slowly and cradled it in her hands like a baby.
Dean shook his head. “There’s a Starbucks downstairs. I like my coffee first thing in the morning or I can’t function.”
Sloan fought not to cringe. A coffee drinker. His stock began to plummet.
“I like my coffee the way I like it. Period." Dean hoped she was listening, “Quadruple grande, half and half, extra dry toffee-nut cappuccino, no cinnamon.”
What the hell was he talking about? Sloan repeated him, robotically. “No cinnamon.”
“No cinnamon. Don’t fuck it up.” He turned away from her and began making his way back into the loft without another word.
Sloan had no idea what the man had just said, let alone what he wanted her to order. A triple dollop of nuts, something or the other, dry? She ached to ask him to repeat it, but had a feeling that he wouldn’t look too kindly on that. Plus, she still wasn’t even sure if she was allowed to talk, yet. Slowly turning on her heel she began to make her way towards to elevator. Her heart pounded in her chest with the fear of making a mistake on her very first day. You’ll figure something out, her inner cheerleader chanted.
“And one more thing.” Dean turned on his heel and stalked back to the door.
Sloan froze, turned and pitter-pattered back, her eyes big with eagerness, until she was again face to face with Dean. They were standing closer this time than they had before. She wondered if he noticed too, then held her breath when when his fingers grazed the delicate dip at the bottom of her neck, right between her collarbones. Her skin burned where he touched her, and she attempted to make eye contact with him. She gasped in disbelief when he suddenly took hold of the scarf hanging loosely at around her neck, her favorite scarf, and snatched it off of her.
Dean’s eyes met hers as he held up the purple monstrosity. “No.” He decalred.
“No?” Sloan’s heart fell.
He scrunched the scarf in his hand like a piece of trash before turning away from her and tossing it into a fireplace that wasn’t lit. “No.” He called, over his shoulder. That damn scarf had been distracting him since the moment they’d met and he couldn’t wait to set it on fire.
As he walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, he couldn’t get the sight of her neck, naked and tense when he’d pulled off the scarf, out of his mind. He had always been a neck man, and underneath that baby face of hers she had a flawless one. He now wished he didn’t know that about her. He was sure that’d he’d said more to this girl today than he had to his last three assistants combined. Something happening behind her eyes was so pure, so innocent, that he struggled to treat her with the same distain he did everyone else. And now he’d seen her gorgeous neck, touched it…
He quietly cursed her for having such horrid taste in clothing, five minutes in her presense and he was already undressing her? Hadn’t she said she’d met his brother at some bar? He had a feeling his older sibling was after Sloan and wouldn’t look too kindly on what he’d just done.
When the silence in his loft stretched on for a moment too long he stood tall and looked towards the, still open, door. She was gone. He hadn’t even heard her leave.
It was the least noise, he assumed, that girl would ever make.
--
Ten minutes later Sloan was stepping off of the elevator on Dean’s floor with a Starbucks cup in her hand. She’d spent an unprecendented amount of time haggling with every barista in the Starbucks downstairs and effectively pissing off every customer waiting in line behind her in an attempt to find out just what the hell this man wanted to drink. All of the baristas in the shop that morning said that “Dean’s guy”, the one who knew how to make his drink perfectly, was on vacation for the next two weeks. Fantastic. None of them seemed willing to even attempt to make his drink.
“He’s very picky.” A pretty blonde barista had stated in a way that gave Sloan the impression she had more of a history with Dean than just his morning coffee order.
Finally, Sloan asked them to make her something close to what he usually got, and they’d done the best they could do.
The best they could do suddenly didn’t seem good enough. She clutched the drink in her hand and stared at his closed front door. She took a deep breath before knocking, the hard steel brusing her hand. Seconds later, it slid open, and she was frozen still at the sight of Dean before her. He’d thrown on a pair of fitted black slacks and a black tshirt that seemed tailored to his body. It was such a far cry from the whole-lotta-nothing he’d been wearing earilier that Sloan was motionless until he walked away from her.
She jolted back to reality and followed him in, grabbing the handle of his front door in an attempt to slide it closed. The damn thing must have weighed more than she did because it wasn’t budging. She leaned back, pulling in with every pound she had in her and groaned in frustration when it moved just half an inch. Before she knew it Dean was behind her, pressing his chest to her back while taking the top of the handle in his hand and pulling it effortlessly shut. Sloan tripped over her feet at the unexpected help and stood tall as he latched it shut, his eyes never leaving hers. She wordlessly held up his coffee and he took it, leveling her still with his powerful stare.
She adjusted her purse on her shoulder as they faced each other, her eyes narrowing to the fireplace over his shoulder. She could see a hint of her poor purple scarf.
“Don’t even think it.” He grumbled, giving her the closest thing to a smile that he had all day.
Sloan met his eyes and stared at him when the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. Was he smiling at her? Or did he have some sort of twitch? She wasn’t sure.
Dean watched her face and wondered if she realized just how open she was. Her emotions were constantly on her sleeve, he could practically see her thoughts. As he brought the cigarette he’d lit a minute ago up to his lips and inhaled, he decided that he kind of liked her. She was amusing, like a puppy who was still learning to walk. She would do.
Sloan didn’t have time to warn him before he blew a heavy cloud of smoke into her face. She tried to turn her head away from the white wall of death but it was too late, it had already seeped into her nostrils and infiltrated her lungs. She panicked when they closed up on her, forgetting everything that her parents and her doctor had ever told her when she foolishly tried to inhale too quickly. Her lungs seized up on her and it was officially happening.
Her first asthma attack since she was ten years old. He was a smoker. Any attraction she’d previously had for him was dead and gone as she began to heave, the pain in her chest gripping her and causing her eyes to grow wide. Her hand dove into her purse, searching desperately for the inhaler that her parents had given her a week before she’d left Georgia. She’d thought that they were being paranoid, and now had a new respect for their forsight.
Dean stood with a cocked eyebrow as Sloan began to have what appeared to be some sort of psychotic break in front of him. How was she already going insane? She certainly wouldn’t be the first assistant he’d driven to madness but he hadn’t even done anything to her yet. He brought his hands up to her shoulders, one was still holding his coffee cup and the other his cigarette so he couldn’t hold onto her quite the way he suddenly wanted to. When her pants and gasps grew deeper and more frantic realization hit him and his eyes widened at the cigarette in his hand, smoke billowing up right next to her. Immediately, he threw it away and went back to her, taking the bag she was ruffling through and opening it wider so she could get a better look inside. He began to look himself for what he assumed was her inhaler. Her little body was now heaving so violently that she was forced to fall to the floor.
The cold wood felt good against Sloan’s legs and hands as her body grew increasingly hot. Her eyes watered and she gripped her tshirt where her heart was, shutting her eyes and telling herself to calm down. Calm down, Sloan.
Dean sank down next to her and snatched her bag. Enough is enough, he thought, dumping the contents of her purse all over the floor. Make-up, pens and pencils, a pink wallet and a million other foreign objects spilled all over the wooden floor. Dean was annoyed, why the hell did she have so much crap? They both clamoured around the mess, slapping their hands all over the floor in search of the magical L shaped plastic contraption that would give Sloan her air back.
She found it first, wrapping her hand hungrily around the inhaler and bringing it to her lips. The first pump was like magic, as if she were taking her very first breath. Two, three, four pumps followed and it was several minutes before her breathing was back to normal.
The two of them remained seated on the floor for a long while with Sloan on her knees and Dean kneeling down on his heels with his elbows propping him up. This wasn’t going to work. He’d known it wasn’t going to work the second he realized that his cigarette had made this girl stop breathing. She had just gotten her air back, though, so he didn’t have the heart to tell her right then. He’d fire her in a couple of days, he decided. At least then he’d have the time to look for someone else. He ran his hands through his hair and was the first to stand when he was sure she was okay.
When Sloan saw him stand and rise she began gathering her things up from the floor frantically, explaining herself as she did. “I should have told you that I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.” She laughed, softly. “I can assure you that this will never happen again. I haven’t had an asthma attack since I was ten years old. I’m so embarrassed right now.”
This isn’t going to work, Dean was unable to stop this thought in his mind as he watched the girl stumble to her feet and resume gripping her bag. “You haven’t had an asthma attack since you were ten? Well I’ve been smoking since I was ten.”
Sloan’s face curled in disgust. “Really?”
He wasn’t the type to get embarassed but the horror written so clearly across her face bothered him.
Her eyes had suddenly grown big and frantic. She knew how attached a smoker was to his cigarettes and knew that, in the grand scheme of things she didn’t stand a chance. “Am I… fired?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue.
He couldn’t very well fire a girl who had just damn near died on the floor of his apartment. Plus, the more he thought about it the more he realized that he really didn’t have the time or the energy to look for an assistant himself. “I guess…” He looked away from her. “I guess I could smoke on the patio whenever you’re here.” He hated the thought. The models wouldn’t like it, in fact they would hate it, but he wasn’t going to fire her just yet. Not when he didn’t have a back up.
“Thank you.” Sloan beamed, doing a tiny little hop. “Thank you. I promise you I will do everything I can to never subject you to that, again. I know it’s scary.”
It had been scary, but he didn’t need her apology. Dean was about to tell her that he was the one that was sorry.
But Sloan wasn’t finished. “I had a close friend in the third grade who was there when I had one of the worst asthma attacks of my life and it scared her so much that her parents had to come pick her up early from school. The next day she told me that she didn’t want to be friends anymore. That was when I went home to my parents and told them that my lungs were ruining my life.” She bit her lip when she saw the look on his face. She was talking too much.
Dean sighed deeply, wondering how the hell he’d find the heart to fire this girl as he lifted the Starbucks cup that was still in his hand. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. A second later, he spit it out once, twice and a third time until he was blowing spit and air. It was as if the taste of the coffee was stuck on his lips and when his tongue darted out to clean them, his face curled in disgust and he stared at the cup in his hand in shock. “What the fuck?”
Sloan’s entire body jolted. Oh no.
“What the fuck is this?” He turned away from her and threw the cup with all his might, watching it smash against the wall and splatter coffee all over the place, a few drops even dampened the edges of a few pictures that hung down which only infuriated him more. The empty cup hit the floor and rolled towards them, stopping inches away from Dean’s cigarette, which was still lit and had started a small fire on his wood floor.
“Shit!” He ran over the the flame and stomped it out. As smoke billowed up from the dead flames, leaving a large black scar on his flawless wood floors fury filled him. His coffee was wrong, his floor was charred to a crisp and a girl who he wasn’t even sure was legal to drink had almost croaked on his kitchen floor.
“I…” Sloan opened her mouth to apologize, but couldn’t find the words. “I…”
“This isn’t going to work.” Dean shook his head.
“No.” Sloan’s heart raced. “No. Please. I’ll go back down there and have them re-make it.”
“No.” He walked up to her and took her arm in his hand, pulling her towards the door. Amidst her protests he slid the door open and led her out into the hallway before stepping back into the apartment. “It’s not going to be a good fit, Sloan. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone, and that was when he knew he was making the right decision. He’d hardly recognized himself all day, not since the first moment he’d opened his front door to her smiling face.
Sloan was stunned and looked away from him when tears stung her eyes.
He told himself to close the door, but didn’t.
She looked back to him only when the tears in her eyes had subsided, and told herself to breathe. “So I guess my lungs are still ruining my life, huh?” She held her hands out and slapped them back down to her sides.
He faltered. “This has nothing to do with the cigarettes.”
“Okay. Sure. Like you’re going to stop smoking for some girl you’ve never met? Some girl who can’t even get your hazelnut latte made right?” She wondered why she was bothering and turned away from him. She’d just have to go back home to Georgia with her tail between her legs. “Just forget it.” She whispered, hurrying towards the elevators before he could see the tears in her eyes.
--
The man behind the desk of the loft buildings on 106th and Broadway looked up from his book when the elevator dinged. The young girl who’d had an interview earlier than morning was making her way through the lobby for the second time that day. Assuming she had gotten Dean’s morning coffee wrong as his new assistants often did, he watched as she raced out of the elevator. When she passed him she didn’t greet him with the smile that seemed to be glued to her pretty face but instead with embarassed tears in her eyes. She looked away from him in shame and hurried by. He watched her go with a shake of his head. Another casualty of Dean Delucia. It was too bad, too, she’d been a nice kid.
Chapter 2
Dean lifted his blue eyes over the camera and locked eyes with Naomi Campbell, whose naked body was slung dramatically over a chair. They were four hours into what was originally intended to be a two hour photo shoot for Harper’s Bazaar. In most cases, Naomi would have tossed her weave—making sure it strategically slapped the photographer in the face in the process, and strutted out of there an hour ago. Naomi, however, was no fool and even a powerhouse model like her knew not to step on Dean Delucia’s toes. She’d seen what happened to the models that got on his bad side… they were never heard from again.
Dean was sitting on the floor with his long legs stretched out in front of him, back arched, squinting in concentration behind the lens of his camera. “Beautiful, Naomi, absolutely stunning… but I need more innocence.” Dean looked up from the camera and made a claw with his hands. “You’re a woman externally but inside you’re just a little lost. Do you understand what I’m saying? You don’t know the way of the world just yet but that doesn’t mean you don’t fuck… and moan… and cum. Sexy innocence. Innocence!
“If you say the word innocence to me one more time…” Naomi muttered under her breath, about ready to kill him as she moved into a different pose under the bright lights. She wanted to please him but her patience was wearing very thin. When Dean looked up at her from behind his camera in exasperation she hated him a little bit. “Oh, Dean… whatever angel you’re tugging it to at night, I ain’t her."
Dean glared at her even though he knew she was right. He wasn’t even sure he knew what the hell he was looking for. “Let’s take ten, all right?” He asked, placing his camera between his legs and massaging his forehead. Naomi had just hit the nail a little too close to the head and now he needed a break. His mind was now affecting his work. Was it that obvious that he’d been completely robbed of his sanity since the moment he’d kicked Sloan out of his place? Apparently it was.
When the distinct smell of cigarette smoke filled his lungs his body almost seized up on him at the beautiful, delicious scent. Naomi, her make-up artist and her manager had all lit up and were chatting quietly.
“Can you take those outside?” Dean barked, chewing on the nicotine gum in his mouth furiously.
All three of them looked at him like he had two heads. “Seriously?” Naomi raised an eyebrow.
Dean looked up at her from where he still sat on the floor, fiddling with his camera. “Yeah, seriously.”
“Bloody hell.” She spat quietly leading the way to the open door of the balcony.
Dean waited for them all leave the room and go out onto his balcony to smoke, but the scent still lingered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros and a half empty box of Nicotine gum. Rubbing them together between his fingers he had an internal battle, cursed himself, and threw another piece of gum in his mouth while submerging the pack of cigarettes he hadn’t touched in three days back in his pocket. He chewed the gum violently. It tasted like mint-flavored death.
Leaning over on the floor he grabbed a bottle of water that had been rolling around and drank it to the bottom. He had gotten the shots he needed hours ago since Naomi was always a quick shoot, but today was different. His mind was somewhere else and his photos always were a direct reflection of his wild mind. Though Naomi was a very capable model he knew she could never be able to give him what he wanted.
He had done the right thing in kicking Sloan out of his apartment, but for the past three days he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind. The image of her standing at his front door, her long black hair tousled from the asthma attack she’d just had falling into her large eyes. As she walked away from him in defeat she’d tripped over her own feet on her way to the elevator and it was everything he could do not to call the whole thing off and tell her to come back. Five minutes later he’d gone down to the lobby. To do what, he wasn’t sure. A doorman who’d apparently been his doorman for five years said, “She’s already gone.”
She’s already gone.
Apart of him hoped that she had gone back to where ever she’d come from. He’d worked in the fashion industry for over a decade and he knew that Sloan would have crumbled under the immense pressure. He didn’t want to be responsible for her losing whatever it was she had inside of her that made her shine so bright. It would have only been a matter of time before he tried to take some of her light for himself.
He wondered if she’d ever been touched by a man. If she had any idea what it was like to fuck and moan and cum… as he’d directed Naomi earlier. For some reason, he had a feeling that she wasn’t nearly as innocent in the bedroom as she was everywhere else. He ached to touch her, again. To teach her. To see her.
“For god’s sake, Dean.” He grumbled to himself just as Naomi came strutting back with a scarf wrapped around her neck.
Dean stared at her open mouthed and unable to decide if he was amused or angry at the sight of Naomi with Sloan’s scarf, which he hadn’t yet found the heart to burn, wrapped around her neck.
Naomi was giggling as she arrived with the scarf she’d found slung over a chair. “They’re just getting younger and younger aren’t they Dean?” Naomi wrapped the horrible purple scarf around her neck dramatically and rubbed the fringed tail of it against her cheek. “How old was this one? Eighteen? Ninteen?” She brought it to her nose and sniffed softly, recognizing the scent ‘Love Spell’ from a mile away. “Victoria’s Secret? Tell me the little tart was legal.”
Dean fought the urge to get up and snatch the scarf from around her neck. Instead, he raised the camera to his face and began photographing her, eventually standing up and making his way closer. At first Naomi was confused, then she went into model mode, thrilled that Dean was finally seeing something he liked, and began posing as if her life depended on it. Her eyes jumped out and gripped the camera lens as she ran the scarf through her fingers.
“Beautiful.” Dean whispered.
Namoi threw her head back and asked in mid pose. “You like this scarf?”
Dean adjusted the camera and continued shooting. “Of course not.”
Naomi laughed her agreement, then tilted her head forward and gave him a flirty look. “So why are you holding onto it, then?”
Dean wished he had an answer for her, maybe then he would have an answer for himself. He watched her closely as he chewed on the gum in his mouth which had now lost all flavor. “I don’t know.”
--
“I will never be a supermodel.”
“Sloan… your negativity is seeping through the phone and ruining my day all the way over here in Georgia. Perk up!” Sloan’s little sister, Ashley, had been on the phone with her for the past four hours in an attempt to cheer her up.
Sloan sat cross legged in the middle of the softest, largest bed she’d ever sat in and pondered just how heartbroken she was going to be when the hotel she’d been staying in all week kicked her out on her ass in exactly 72 hours. Her father had said he would foot the hotel bill for a week and not a second longer. She didn’t have the heart to ask him for an extension since the unfortunate incident with Dean Delucia.
At the very thought of his name anger froze her to her bones so thoroughly that she had to close her eyes, willing herself to be patient. Do not let an angry man ruin everything you’ve ever dreamed of, she said to herself. Somewhere in Georgia, her sister was rambling on as Sloan covered the mouthpiece on the phone and spoke to the room service attendant who had been quietly setting up her breakfast on the table across the room.
“How seriously do you take your coffee?” Sloan asked the young man curiously.
The cute African-American waiter seemed surprised that she’d spoken to him, and stood tall when she did. He thought about her question, then made a confused face. “My coffee?” He asked.
“Yeah.” Sloan said, curtly. “Like on a scale of one to ten if you didn’t have your daily cup of coffee… how serious would that be to you?”
His eyes widened as if she’d just told him the world was going to end. “Very serious.”
Sloan’s face fell. Wrong answer. “Scale of one to ten.” She demanded.
His eyes narrowed and a small smile crossed his face. “Like a fifteen.”
He suddenly wasn’t so cute. He suddenly reminded her of a certain asshole photographer who had squashed her dreams just three days earlier. “Get out.” She spoke.
The waiter was stunned. “Ex… Excuse me?”
“Get out.” She said, again, with an eerie calmness to her voice.
The waiter hesitated, walked to the door, hesitated again, then hurried out.
Sloan waited until he was gone to take her hand off of the mouthpiece. Her sister was still rambling on, oblivious to the fact that Sloan had been carrying on an entire conversation with someone else.
“What did Dean look like?” Ashley asked.
Sloan rolled her eyes. “He had the nerve to be fine. Breathtakingly fine.”
“Damn, like that, sis? Breathtaking?”
“Like he stepped right out of a magazine. Black hair, blue eyes, that perma-frown that most cute guys have on their faces. You know what I’m talking about. Like they know they’re hot shit so they don’t even bother trying to look happy because they know they don’t have to.” Sloan cringed. “I bet he’s been just worshiped for his entire life. Worshiped.”
“Okay, I think I’m going to need proof of this supposed hotness. Evidence please?”
“Google him and report back. His name is Dean Delucia. I’m hanging up now, though, I have that casting call at Next Modeling Agency in two hours.”
“Okay will do, sis. Don’t give up hope, yet. You still have three days to figure something out.”
“Thanks.” Sloan smiled softly.
The two of them hung up and Sloan felt ten times better as she often did after talking to Ashley. Conversations with her sister were always relaxing, revitalizing, and inspiring. So much so that ten minutes later she was showered and shuffling through her suitcase for something cute to wear to the casting call. She didn’t need Dean, not at all.
She could make it in the city all on her own.
--
Josh Delucia was five minutes into his weekly visit to his brother’s loft and he was already regretting it. “So you’re telling me you just threw her out on the street? In New York City? All alone?”
Dean was in the process of scouring his freezer for anything he could throw together for one of his brothers many unexpected and unwelcome visits. It was another sunny afternoon on 106th and Broadway, a perfect contradiction to the way Dean felt. The word lousy didn’t even begin to describe it and his brother rubbing it in wasn’t helping. He turned to the breakfast bar where his brother sat and gave him a look that he hoped conveyed how little he wanted to talk about this before going back to the freezer. “I didn’t throw her out onto the street. I’m sure she has a plan. She’s a smart girl.”
“She did have a plan. Stay in a hotel for a week and find a job before they threw her out. Enter Dean.”
Dean turned away from the freezer and gave his brother a look of disbelief. Josh was leaning against the bar, his big arms a perfect testament to the many hours he spent at football practice and the gym. At 6’4, 270 he was a force to be reckoned with. With a head of close cut blonde hair the only remaining similarity between the two siblings were their sharp blue eyes. The kind of eyes that could grab a woman from across the room and hold her like a vise.
Josh shook his head. “I think she said she has to be out on the 6th.”
That was three days away. Dean’s turned back to the freezer and took out a box of frozen macaroni that they would have to share. It was all he had. He threw it in the microwave, squinting in dismay the entire time. His mind was racing. “That doesn’t make sense.” He said to the microwave door. As he continued, he turned back to Josh. “Just to get an apartment in Manhattan she would have to make forty times the rent and have proof of income that goes back 12 months.” His heart had begun to race. He didn’t know what he planned to do about it but he suddenly needed to know if she was okay. He leaned against the counter and stared down at it in deep thought before locking eyes with Josh. “Have you called her?” Is she okay? He wanted to ask, but bit his tongue.
Josh looked away.
Fuck. Dean couldn’t believe it. “You didn’t get her number?” The incredulity in his voice put Josh on the defense.
“I thought I would be seeing her all the time since, you know, she was supposed to be working for my brother! Now she’s gone forever. Nice one, Dean. Thanks for that.”
Dean wasn’t listening. “What the hell is she thinking?” He spat. “What the hell is she thinking? Where is she going to live? How is she going to eat?”
“Who knows what goes through these model’s minds. Having said that I doubt that eating is high on her priority list. And even if she does eat the modeling agencies will beat that out of her real quick.”
“Model.” Dean said softly.
“Yeah.” Josh tilted his head down. “She came here from Georgia to be a model. She was excited about working for you because she wanted you to take her pictures?” He shook his head at the stupid stare on Dean’s face. “Not ringing any bells? Did you talk to the girl, at all?”
The microwave beeped and Dean went to check if it was hot enough, grateful for the excuse to walk away from his brother’s critical glare. As he poked at the macaroni he suddenly realized that he hadn’t really talked to Sloan, not really, but for whatever reason he still felt like he knew her better than a good fifty percent of the people in his life.
Josh was still in judgment mode. “I can’t believe you fired her. I can’t fucking believe you.”
Dean slammed the microwave shut and turned back to the bar, zeroing in on Josh. “The girl got a whiff of my cigarette one second and was a convulsing mess on my floor the next. She left me no choice. And who are you to talk? You’re smooth enough to offer the girl a job in my studio but not smooth enough to ask for her number at the end of the night? I can’t fucking believe you.” Dean didn’t know when he’d started to raise his voice and told himself to relax. “I did what I had to do.”
“She was a nice girl, though. A real nice girl.”
“Exactly. You’re forgetting what I do. There’s no room for a girl like Sloan in this industry. She's too wide open. They would have eaten her alive.”
“What would you have cared if they had? I’ve seen plenty of your assistants get eaten alive while you sat and had a cappucino. In fact I’m pretty sure I told Sloan it was one of the job requirements. Yeah. Must be willing to get eaten alive.” Josh said mechanically.
Dean turned away from him, pretending to be preoccupied with the settings on the oven. “It’s my job to take pictures. I don’t have time to dry her tears.” He said, halfheartedly.
“So, what? You just throw her out on the street?”
Dean chewed frantically on the nicotine gum in his mouth, his frustration mounting. “She’s a pretty, young girl. She’ll be fine.”
“And you’d rather have a pretty, young black girl find her way alone in one of the roughest cities in the world doing god knows what? Living god knows where? If she ends up in the Bronx forget about it, might as well pick out a street corner right now.”
“All right, enough.” Dean turned back to Josh and slammed the finished TV dinner macaroni down in between them.
“I’m not one of your models, bro. You don’t tell me when it’s enough.” Josh countered, holding his brother’s challenging gaze. They both looked away at the same time. Quietly, they took their forks and began eating out of the steaming macaroni plate. Several minutes rolled by and Dean was the first to speak, “So you really liked that girl, didn’t you?”
“That’s funny.” Josh chewed quietly, then pointed his fork at his brother, talking out of the side of his mouth. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”