Not Just A Pretty Face

14. Gideon

I was usually cool as ice in the audience of a show. I didn’t do much backstage -- just left it to Raymond and the rest of the team. They knew their jobs, and I wasn’t so much of a micromanager that I couldn’t let them.

I was the only executive at this show. A few of my guys were flying in later this week, for the biggest shows, but they had three more fashion weeks to prepare for all at once. We couldn’t spare everyone at once.

This time, though, my fingers were locked tightly together. I refused to think any less of my models than the conviction that they’d steal the show, but other things still went wrong.

“This seat taken?”

A chill flashed through me like a bucket of water tossed in the air that flash-froze.

Oh, fuck. That’s why I haven’t seen him on the runway.

I gritted my teeth to answer, but Alex was already sinking into the chair, crossing one slender ankle over his knee as he turned his gaze to the runway.

“I hear you have quite a lineup. All fresh faces. Couldn’t scare up anyone else?”

“You should stick to not opening your mouth,” I retorted. “You’re prettier that way.”

Alex pressed his thin lips together. “You preferred me opening my mouth.”

“We both remember who started us.” It was a strange word rolling out of my mouth. Us. Like I could put a label on our fiery, undefinable, whirlwind romance.

Not romance. Fling, generously. Alex clearly never gave a crap about me if he was here to wave his dick around.

Thank god the next designer was announced then.

It was my guys’ turn.

I leaned forward, pressing my steepled hands between my knees and ignoring Alex beside me.

“Rumor has it you’ve invited a very fresh face along. Let’s see if I can pick him out.”

My jaw twitched but I ignored him, watching Luca stride out in the perfect, measured Prestige gait. Nobody could walk like my guys.

Close on his heels was Hunter, then Joaquín. They both did just fine -- just as I’d expect. Attitude for miles, a perfect pout, a twirl or stomp at the end, then back.

But my eyes were on Leonel.

He was stunning. He wore the flowing trousers I had guessed they would put him in, what with that ass. And Christ, he made them look less 1970s than I had feared.

Mostly, it wasn’t the perfectly gelled blond hair or the blush of extra red on his lips, though. It was the look in his eye, like he knew he was the hottest man in the room and he just dared anyone else to think otherwise.

I shifted slightly.

“Gotcha,” Alex breathed into my ear.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. For a brief second, I’d forgotten the asshole I’d stupidly trusted was still there, lurking at my elbow to see who I was watching the closest.

“He’s our newest and he’s a thousand times better than you ever were. You start an agency ’cause you couldn’t find anyone to hire you?” I breathed out under the pulsing music.

Leonel lifted his chin and twirled like he didn’t give a single fuck who liked his walk, and I smirked.

“Please,” Alex snorted. “If he doesn’t sign with me by the end of the summer, I’ll suck your dick.”

“Keep your mouth and your legs closed and you’ll go a lot further in this business, sweetheart,” I drawled. “Nobody wants a petty thief.”

It was a cheap shot and a dangerous one.

“I knew it was you who started that rumor,” Alex hissed. “I could go after you for libel.”

“Mm-hmm. You and whose lawyer? Hearsay, darling. Nobody knows who started those rumors.”

I wasn’t proud of it, but fucking hell, I’d earned the right to be a bit nasty. Alex had built a career under the pretense of a life together, then trimmed the fat. Including me, Prestige, and our plans for the future.

All a pipe dream until he had enough exposure to strike out on his own.

Now, looking sideways at him in the dim ballroom light, I could barely remember the whispered conversations under the covers at nights. Traveling together, Alex moving into a managerial role, a house, fuck knows what else.

“He’ll be mine,” he whispered and stood up to move seats, walking a few rows back during the final lineup.

And then my guys were done.

Leonel had walked three times in different outfits, just as planned, and he’d been flawless. I ought to be relieved -- smug, even.

Instead, as I rose to slip backstage and meet Raymond for the debrief, I just felt sick.