No Strings Attached

Chapter Seventeen

"Hi, Sasha," I say politely as I approach Giovanni's gorgeous receptionist, who currently looks as though she's suffering from a certifiable mental breakdown.

Having showered and changed at the hotel, I've removed the scent of my earlier sexual escapade thoroughly. I jumped off of him as soon as I realized I had been curled around him far longer than I should have been.

He didn't tell me to stop. In fact, he told me not to. I don't know what that means. I don't know anything right now. I'm confused, conflicted and completely insane, far more than usual.

But I'm here to work. That is why I am here, first and foremost, despite what my body may be telling me.

Sasha's eyes widen. "Thank god you're here. The pamphlets are still wrong. They misspelled our head sponsor's name! See! This is a disaster! I told them specifically—"

"Sasha." She stops rearranging the chairs beside the runway. "I got this, okay? Have the winners arrived yet?"

"An hour ago. They need to be picked up, and I completely blanked on preparing a driver—"

"I will help you. I'll send a car to them."

"Sasha, this isn't fitting now," a model says, walking up to Sasha in only briefs, holding out a blazer. Damn, he's comfortable in public.

"What do you mean it doesn't fit? You were fitted a week ago."

"I think I went to the gym too much this week or something."

"For Christ's sake, come with me. Scarlett—"

"I've got it," I reassure her again, holding up my hands. She nods, pulling the model backstage. I see a young guy walking by.

"Hey."

Looking completely clueless, he stops, looking to me. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Come here."

He sets down the light and hurries to me.

"What's your name?"

"Mike."

"What do you do here?"

"I fix the lights."

"Not today. I need you to pick up contestants in Beverly Hills. Give me your number." I pull out my notepad, scribbling down what he nervously tells me. "Okay, I will text you the address. They need to be here in one hour, one. Not a damn minute later. Before you leave, grab refreshments from the cooler and have them ready for them in the vehicle."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Go in the back and find something resembling a uniform and when you get back, make sure you find me, alright? I am Giovanni's publicist. The winners will get photos with Giovanni."

"I'll find you."

"Thank you, Mike."

He nods, but doesn't move. I stare at him, holding my phone mid-air.

"Now, Mike."

"Right, okay."

I watch him run for backstage, pulling out my phone to call the pamphlet company. God, I hope he can do this.

I open the screen, freezing when I see five missed calls from Dixon. Shit.

"Miss Bardot."

I look up, finding Giovanni walking up to me, changed as well. He's wearing one of his own custom suits like he was the first day I met him, except this time, the color is a pale blue. The contrast with his jet black hair and glowing skin is magnificent.