Chapter One

Sapphire

I sat alone at the bar with a scotch sitting in front of me. The amber liquid was strong down my throat, but not strong enough to fill me with the warmth I needed to survive this nightmare.

My mother’s house had been repossessed by the bank. The single asset I inherited had been taken away from me with the snap of a finger. Now I didn’t have a place to live, and what was worse, I still had to pay off the loan.

All because of my brother, Nathan.

His girlfriend left him, he got mixed up in the underworld, and he made a gamble he couldn’t afford to lose. The guys killed him once his pockets were empty, and since Nathan had so much debt racked up, the government took the house to pay off everything he owed.

I couldn’t believe this bullshit.

The house had been left to both of us, so we were both on the deed. Since I had better credit, and I was the more responsible one, the loan had been made out in my name. Now I had to pay for his stupidity by losing everything.

And I mean everything.

The house was gone. I still owed five hundred thousand dollars to the bank. My financial aid for college had been canceled because my credit was shit. Now I owed money for an education I couldn’t afford to finish.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The crew that Nathan got mixed up in hadn’t been compensated for the money they were due. They couldn’t take the house because the government beat them to the punch. Knuckles, the leader of their organization, was one of the biggest crime lords in the world. Everyone spoke of him like a myth because they hadn’t seen him in person.

Lucky bastards.

He was untouchable by the police because he had more power than any man should.

They called him Knuckles because that was his weapon of choice—his bare hands.

And I was his next victim.

I stared at the piece of paper sitting in front of me. Scribbled in black ink were simple words.

Three days, sweetheart.

Knuckles liked to play with his food before he went in for the final cut. He was torturing me, watching me struggle without a penny to my name. In random places, I would find these notes, usually slipped into my backpack when I rode the subway. Since I was homeless, I was crashing on people’s couches.

And lying about my circumstances. They thought my place was being fumigated.

It was such a stupid lie I couldn’t believe people actually believed it.

I only had three days of freedom left before Knuckles closed in on me.

And turned me into his personal sex slave. He promised there would be whips and chains. He promised there would be pain and pleasure. He promised he would get every cent he was due between my legs.

It was the final punishment for Nathan—even though he was long gone.

Knuckles warned me not to leave, that there would be dire consequences if I did. He had the resources to find me, and once he did, there would be a lot more pain than pleasure. There would be brutal torture along with his cock ramming me in every hole I possessed.

Fuck, I couldn’t believe this was happening.

I wasn’t sure who I was more pissed at. Nathan, Knuckles, or myself.

Myself because I should have known what Nathan was up to. I shouldn’t have been so absorbed in my studies and work. I should have had a clue to what was going on around me. Nathan lived with me… How did I not see it?

I finished my scotch and ached for another, but I simply couldn’t afford it. One was enough for the day.

The TV in the corner switched to Entertainment Tonight, and Lacy Lockwood appeared on the screen. One of the most beautiful models in the world, she was blonde with blue eyes and a body that would make every man fall to his knees. She modeled the most luxurious lingerie created. It was the kind of stuff that every woman wanted a man to buy her. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. “Conway Barsetti is a genius. Everyone compliments my appearance, but he’s the man who deserves your praise. He’s the most meticulous and brilliant man I’ve ever known. Even on my worst days, he makes me feel beautiful.”

With a size zero and a smile like that, how bad could her worst day really be?

The image changed to Conway Barsetti, standing for pictures outside one of his fashion shows. In a gray suit that fit him like a second skin, he stood in front of the cameras with pure indifference. It was like dozens of people weren’t taking his picture at all, the bright flash hitting his eyeballs over and over. His hands rested in his pockets, and his broad shoulders contrasted against his narrow hips. For a man who designed clothes, his tastes were very simplistic. He turned his head slightly to give another angle for the photographers, his intense expression hardening like he was annoyed.

Not once did he smile.

And he obviously wasn’t going to.

He had deep brown hair that looked black without the sun hitting it directly. Green eyes smoldered in vibrant intensity. His jawline was chiseled like the bone had been molded from a sculpture. His face had been cleanly shaven, but it was obvious he could grow facial hair overnight. A large Adam’s apple protruded from his throat. Instead of looking like the designer who belonged behind the camera, he looked like he should be the focal point of everyone’s attention.

He was damn gorgeous.

There were a few other interviews with the models, all gushing about the designer they worshipped like a god. Maybe they were being genuine, or maybe they were just kissing his ass to get a better spotlight. The show was taking place in Milan. Then then camera turned back to Lacey Lockwood.

“Conway Barsetti is always looking for the perfect woman to show off his art. I was sitting in a coffee shop when I was approached. My life changed forever in that moment, and I couldn’t thank him enough for giving me this opportunity.” The camera turned back to Conway, showing him shaking hands with a few other men in suits.

As I sat there pissing away whatever money I had left on a good drink, I watched this beautiful man living the dream. Rich, admired, and a level of beautiful that could only be described as stupid, he had everything. Women were plentiful, and money wasn’t an issue. He could order as many drinks in that bar as he wanted.

I’d never been jealous like this before.

I was never rich, but I’d always had everything I needed. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, family, and an education. If you ask me, that was living the American dream. With the snap of my fingers, it was all taken away.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

I stared at the screen a while longer, watching the images change as they showed more aspects of Conway Barsetti’s life. It showed his Italian villa in Verona, surrounded by vineyards and gorgeous land. It showed him posing outside a building in Milan, a bicycle leaned up directly beside him. Every image was more beautiful than the last, and not just because he was in it.

It was a beautiful place.

I’d never been to Italy. I’d never been outside the U.S. I’d been too busy being broke and going to school to afford such a lavish trip.

But now I had nothing. Just enough money to buy a plane ticket.

Knuckles threatened to hurt me even more if I ran. In three days, I would officially be his possession. Calling the cops wasn’t an option because he’d kill every friend I had. But the idea of letting this man have me made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t going to wait around until he caught me off guard and wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t going to let someone turn me into a slave. I wasn’t going to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.

“Conway Barsetti’s team just announced they’ll have a special one-time opportunity for women to audition for a spot on the runway. The auditions will be held in Milan…” The reporter’s voice trailed away once I tuned her out.

I left some cash on the table and grabbed my bag from the floor. Knuckles might be watching me that very moment, but I wasn’t going to sit around until he appeared out of the darkness. I was going to run like hell until he caught me.

And I’d never stop.

---

Chapter Two

Sapphire

Even with only a few bucks in my pocket, Italy was a beautiful place.

The most gorgeous place I’d ever seen.

The small towns were surrounded by vineyards, flowers, and marketplaces full of fresh produce along with homemade cheeses. Wine was more plentiful than water, and strangers had no problem sharing with someone they didn’t even know. Not having money to pay for food wasn’t an issue because everyone was so generous.

If I were in America, I’d look like a beggar on the street.

I took the bus to the neighboring towns around Milan and explored them. It was easy to be a tourist when the most beautiful sights were all free. I slept under the stars because it was warm, and I showered in public restrooms. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either.

It was still better than being a slave.

At first, I looked over my shoulder every other minute, expecting to see that horrific man watching me. But three days had come and gone, and he obviously knew I was no longer in New York City. After a quick search, he would find the manifesto of the plane I was on. There was no doubt in my mind he’d tracked me to Italy. But since I was only using cash and not checking in to hotels, there was no way to trace me.

It was like I didn’t exist.

Being homeless was a freeing experience.

The feds would keep searching for me since I owed so much on my mortgage, and they wouldn’t stop until they put me in prison or took all of my wages from whatever job I managed to pick up. I would work forty hours a week just to be piss poor for the rest of my life. I couldn’t even afford to resume my education.

Starting over in a foreign country sounded like my only option.

I just hoped no one caught me.

I didn’t have a false sense of my appearance. I understood I was pretty, but I certainly wasn’t model material. But if I could ask for a job doing something else, like sewing or being an assistant, I could make some money to get by. And I would also work for a very powerful man. It might make it difficult for Knuckles to touch me. That was also the last thing anyone would expect me to do, get a job working for a famous man. People would assume Conway Barsetti would turn me in, but judging by the empty expression in his eyes, he wouldn’t give a damn who I was running from. He had more important things to do—like count his money and his women.

I returned to Milan later that night with a bag full of bread, cheese, grapes, and crackers. The villagers I met had pushed more food into my arms than I could carry. I ate most of it when it was fresh and saved the rest for dinner. I slept in a hostel that night and had a bed and a real shower after a few days without that kind of luxury.

Tomorrow, I would head to the audition and hope for the best. I didn’t have nice clothes, but my clothes shouldn’t matter because I wasn’t looking to be a model.

I’d even be a janitor—if it paid enough.

***

I had to check in like everyone else and was given a number to stick against my clothes. All the women there were already in heels and lingerie, dressed up for the part. Beautiful, skinny, and with enormous hair, they were all qualified to be the next model for Conway Barsetti.

I was the only one fully dressed—and that made me feel naked.

Most of the women raised their eyebrows when they looked at me then whispered something to their friends in Italian. Some even laughed at me, like I was an idiot for showing up dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. My makeup and hair were done, and I dressed nice for a walk through the park, but in that context, I looked like the biggest freak on the planet.

Numbers were called, and women worked the stage like it was the real deal. They strutted, pivoted, flipped their hair, and threw smoldering gazes at the men sitting behind the table.

Conway Barsetti wasn’t there.

He must have more important things to do than pick out his next model. Or maybe he was watching—but he couldn’t be seen. I was a bit crestfallen when he was nowhere in sight. A beautiful man like that was fun to stare at.

They finally called my number, 228.

I walked up the stairs and passed the woman who just hit the runway. She didn’t contain her laugh as she passed me, wearing a silver bra and panties and heels that were so tall she was practically walking on her toes.

I ignored her and walked up to the table where the three men sat. All dressed in suits, their eyes moved over my body, taking in every feature with experienced gazes. It wasn’t the look I received from men when I went downtown in a short dress. It was pragmatic, completely observational.

The one in the middle spun his finger. “Turn and walk.”

“I’m not here to audition to be a model.” I kept my hands by my sides and didn’t bother with a fake smile. I wasn’t there to impress them with my appearance, but my mannerisms. “I have a lot of other skills I think will be useful to the Barsetti lingerie line. I can sew, clean, cook, organize…anything. I’m looking for work, and I’m willing to fill any position you may have.”

The man in the middle had dark hair and eyes. A pen was held in his fingertips and he absentmindedly rotated it within his fingers. His eyes were dark like coffee, with just a splash of cream. “Modeling is the position we’re trying to fill. You want it or not?”

I immediately wanted to challenge him until he caved and directed me to someone who could hire me in a different field, but judging by the hostility in his eyes, he was already fed up with me. It was unlikely anyone spoke to these men that way, not when they could make dreams come true. “Do I look like the modeling type to you?” I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt with flat sandals on my feet. I wasn’t photogenic like the rest of them. I didn’t smile with perkiness or smolder with my sensuality. I was plain and boring. I knew it—and they knew it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You haven’t walked the runway yet.”

“I don’t think my ability to walk is the deciding factor here.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look, I’m desperate for work. I just moved here, and I’ve got twenty euros in my pocket. I can do anything.”

“Then walk the runway.” He flicked his wrist and indicated to the stage with his pen. “Or leave.” He challenged me with his dark look, telling me his patience had been officially drained. The other two men watched me in silence, hardly blinking.

I swallowed my pride and did as they asked. I’d seen two hundred and twenty-seven women walk that runway all afternoon, so I knew exactly what to do. I knew how to hold my shoulders, how to shake my hips, and how to pivot. I felt like an idiot for doing it dressed that way, but I was desperate.

And desperate people did desperate things.

I walked to one point of the stage and then turned back, walking with a straight back and tense posture. I didn’t smile or wear a smoldering expression. That was where I drew the line.

The man in the middle set his pen on his clipboard. “Scars?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have scars?”

“No.”

“Lift up your shirt.”

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“I need to see your skin,” he said. “Blemishes, acne, etc.”

“Just take my word for it.”

He made notes on a piece of paper then snapped his fingers at me.

I placed my hands on my hips, regarding him with an ice-cold expression. Something told me that snap was specifically for me—and I didn’t care for it. “Do I look like a dog to you?”

“Woof.” An asshole smile spread on his lips. “Get your ass over here and take this. It has your instructions.”

“My instructions?” I slowly inched forward, my eyes on the small piece of paper he held in his hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re going to the next stage.” He placed the paper in my hand. “Show this to the men at the door otherwise you won’t get in.”

“Whoa, hold on.” My eyes scanned the information written down. It had an address as well as a time. “You’re seriously considering me?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” He still wore that asshole smile.

“Don’t call me that.” Anytime I heard that name, I felt the terror constrict my throat. Knuckles was the only man to ever call me that, so I’d developed a deep aversion to the horrific nickname. No man would ever call me that for the rest of my life. “And are you insane? Do you see all the gorgeous women out there?”

“You don’t think you’re gorgeous?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter what you wear. Real beauty can’t be hidden. Now get off the stage. We have a lot of women to see.”

I stared at the paper again, unable to believe what just happened. I didn’t know how much models got paid, but it was definitely enough to get an apartment and have a hot shower every day. It could be enough for me to start over. “When I said I wanted a different position, I wasn’t lying. Is there really nothing else?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re the dumbest woman who’s ever graced this stage. You just won the lottery, but you’re too stupid to realize it. You’d rather sew in a factory than be a Barsetti model? No, you’re the one who’s insane.” He leaned forward and stared up at me, his eyes burning like a raging forest fire. “Are you gonna take it or not? We’re supposed to hand out ten invitations. If you don’t want it, I’ll give it someone who actually gives a damn.” He reached his hand out to snatch it from my grip.

My hand immediately formed a fist around the paper, concealing it within my palm.

He leaned back and smiled. “Good…maybe you aren’t that stupid.”

“You’re only choosing ten women?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m one of the ten?” There were thousands of women lined up in the street, all dressed in their best. They were exotic, beautiful, and eager. I showed up hoping for a job mopping the floor or sewing buttons and lace, but I was given something they’d all kill for.

“Yes.” He nodded to the stairs. “Now go before I change my mind.”

I kept the invitation tucked into my palm, feeling my pulse pound around my grip. It was a sunny day in Milan, and the sun was beating on the back of my neck. I felt the sweat collect underneath my breasts in my top. But those physical nuisances paled in comparison to the choice I had before me.

The last thing I ever wanted to be was a model. I didn’t judge women who took off their clothes to make a living, but I’d never been interested in the lifestyle. I didn’t have the right attitude, and I was far too stubborn to follow directions. Knuckles threatened to torture me worse if I ran, but I did it anyway. Anyone would have told me it was the dumbest mistake of my life, but I didn’t care.

I’d rather run than surrender.

Modeling for Conway Barsetti wasn’t ideal, but it would give me something I couldn’t find anywhere else.

Protection.

I’d be surrounded by people all the time, living in the shadow of one of the greatest designers of our generation. A man worth billions had serious power. He wouldn’t care about protecting me, but he would certainly care about his brand.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. “I’ll be there.”

---

Chapter Three

Sapphire

10.

They stuck the number against my tiny black bustier. It was so tight I could only take a half breath. Even though models didn’t wear thongs on the runway, I was required to wear one—that way every detail of my body could be seen.

The black thong matched the lace of my top, and there was a tiny pink flower right below my cleavage line for color. I’d never worn lingerie in my life, so it was my first time being put on display like this.

And I had to wear it in a room full of strangers.

A woman did my hair and makeup, transforming me into a woman I hardly recognized. Body makeup was rubbed into my skin, hiding even the slightest blemish from being visible. My hair was three times bigger than usual, and there was so much mascara on my lashes that my eyelids actually felt heavy.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.

But what other option did I have? Anyone could judge me for making money with my body, but when I was on the run from a psychopath, I didn’t have many options. I didn’t speak Italian, so finding work was difficult. I needed something that required very little talking.

And modeling required no talking.

The other nine girls were perfect for the part. Tall, beautiful, so thin I wondered if they ever ate, and perfect. Some of the girls made friends with each other, and none of them could contain their excitement for being selected in the top ten. I wasn’t sure how many models they were looking for, but I would assume only half of us were likely to be picked.

I doubted I would make it to the next stage.

But then again, I didn’t know how I got here to begin with.

“Line up.” A middle-aged woman in glasses clapped her hands and pointed across the stage. We were inside one of the Barsetti studios, an entire auditorium full of rows of seats. The balconies were decorated with elegant Italian designs and an enormous fresco was painted across the ceiling.

The girls filed in a straight line, starting at number one.

From left to right, we formed a line. I was the last one in line, and I wondered if my placement had anything to do with my odds. Maybe the best candidates started at the front.

The man who had selected me stood in one of the aisles, the other two men sitting with their clipboards. He held his phone to his ear, listened to something, and then shoved it into his pocket. “Conway Barsetti is arriving.” He sat down with the other two men, leaving the aisle seat open.

It turned dead silent in the auditorium. People weren’t even breathing. The girls sucked in their invisible stomachs and pinned their shoulders back, ready to impress a man who was impossible to impress.

I straightened my posture and mimicked them as much as possible, but it didn’t stop me from feeling stupid. I didn’t know how to be sexy. These women were masters at it, knew exactly what a man like Conway Barsetti wanted to see. I was totally clueless when it came to stuff like this.

But if he didn’t pick me, I would ask for other work. I wasn’t leaving this place until I had an income. Italy was expensive, and I couldn’t rely on good people giving me free food all the time. I had to carry my own weight. I would clean toilets if that’s what it came down to.

The silence continued to stretch endlessly, everyone afraid to breathe too loudly like it would disrupt the anticipation. I hadn’t seen a room become this tense for anyone in my life. Even when the President of the United States appeared on TV, people weren’t this rigid. It seemed like I was waiting for a king.

A ruler.

At the exact same time, both doors swung inward and opened the entryway. Sunlight entered the room, and the silhouette of a man was seen. In a black suit and royal blue tie, a man carrying broad shoulders and endless power entered the auditorium. His presence infected every inch of the room, filling the air with his potent authority. I felt it with every breath I took.

A young woman followed behind him, a clipboard in hand with her pen held in her fingertips. She constantly stayed a few feet behind him, her body just as poised as the models on the stage.

Once he was away from the sunlight, his visage was finally visible. His chin was marked with a noticeable line of scruff, but it was expertly manicured. His hands rested in his pockets, and a shiny watch reflected the stage lights. He held himself with better grace than all of us on stage.

All eyes were on him.

He knew it, but didn’t seem to be affected by it.

He took a seat in the chair reserved along the aisle for him. The woman who followed him around took a seat directly behind him. The men who had escorted him there shut the doors then lingered in the back, turning into motionless statues now that they weren’t needed.

Quite a performance.

The woman on stage with us addressed us again. “Now that Conway Barsetti is here, let’s get started. When I call off your number, you’ll walk to the edge of the runway, pose, and then return to your position. Cue the music.”

Instantly, music erupted over the speakers. The lights were cranked higher.

My eyes looked at the spot where Conway was sitting, but I couldn’t make out much of his features. His green eyes slightly reflected the lights coming from the stage, and it seemed like he was staring at me.

But that must just be in my head.

Number one went and strutted to the edge of the stage. Her heels clanked against the floor, but she didn’t falter in her steps. She posed at the end, flipping her hair profoundly before she turned and walked back. She was in a thong just the way I was, but she obviously didn’t feel even remotely uncomfortable showing her entire ass to the men in the audience.

I kept my posture, but the sky-high heels were already killing my feet. After five minutes of wearing the damn things, I was in pain. How did models bear the pain and still strut like they owned the stage? It was a mystery to me.

Number two went next.

My eyes moved back to Conway Barsetti’s figure in the audience. His elbows rested on the armrests, and his hands came together in the center of his chest. His watch was more noticeable, and he wore a black ring on his forefinger. His face was still mostly hidden in the shadows, but now there was no mistaking what he was looking at.

Me.

Number two did her best work and returned to the line, but Conway Barsetti missed her entire performance.

He couldn’t actually be staring at me, not when there were nine better candidates performing for him right at that moment.

Number three took off.

His green eyes were locked on me, not even blinking. He stared at me with an intense gaze that was almost hostile. It wasn’t clear whether he hated me or wanted me. Maybe he was ticked his assistants had placed me in the top ten. Perhaps it irritated him that such an unworthy woman wore one of his greatest designs.

Number four went next.

His eyes were still on me.

I turned my eyes away, his heated gaze becoming too much. I suddenly felt vulnerable, like an antelope standing in the tall grass of the Serengeti. There was a lion watching me. I couldn’t see him—but I could certainly feel him.

I’d been threatened by worse men, Knuckles being the top pick. But I always hit back with the same force they struck me with. If a man tried to disrespect me, I did the same to him. Allowing myself to be intimidated simply wasn’t an option. To live your life in fear was to not live at all. Despite learning all those lessons, I felt trepidation when he stared at me.

I felt like he could see right through me, see all my fears and doubts. He could read my mind like words on a page. He could feel every emotion like it was wafting from my skin. He could sense my vulnerability, knowing I was slowly coming undone.

His image on TV was nothing compared to the real thing.

He may be beautiful, but damn, he was terrifying.

He was thirty feet away from me, but his presence projected so far it seemed like he was standing right in front of me.

The lights put me on display, and all I could do was stand there and take his stare. I was already nervous to walk in my heels, but now that his harsh eyes were watching me like a pair of binoculars, I didn’t feel as strong as I did before.

I felt like a mess.

Now we were on number six.

She didn’t make it to the edge of the stage.

As if Conway Barsetti was speaking through a microphone, his voice projected throughout the entire auditorium, but he accomplished it without raising his voice. “Numbers one through nine, you’re dismissed.”

Number six froze at the edge of the stage, in mid-pose. She looked over her shoulder at the older woman in charge of the audition, shocked and looking for direction. The other girls looked at each other too, devastated by the announcement.

Then they all looked at me—furious.

The woman in charge faltered before she found her voice. “Uh, head backstage, please…” Judging the fear in her voice, this had never happened before. Conway Barsetti hadn’t even seen all the models before he dismissed them.

He hadn’t even seen me move yet.

He was about to be disappointed.

Heels tapped against the stage as all the girls walked off, their silent fury audible in my ears. They moved behind the curtain, and within a few seconds, the sound of their heels ended. Then all I could hear was my own breathing.

And it was loud.

Conway Barsetti didn’t move from his seat. Everyone was rigid around him, waiting for whatever would come next.

Was I supposed to do something?

The woman who was telling us what to do a second ago had disappeared with the other girls, so there was no one to give me any direction. I kept my posture as long as I could, feeling my shoulders ache from pulling them back so tightly. It was difficult to tell exactly what Conway was doing because the audience was a haze when the bright lights hit my face so hard.

Then he spoke again. “Leave us.”

He’d dismissed the others, but now, he seemed to be dismissing me.

Everyone seated in the audience rose to their feet and started to leave.

I turned away and did the same.

“Not you.” His voice rose slightly. “Stay.”

Somehow, I knew he was talking to me. I slowly turned back around, watching everyone else walk out the double doors. They shut behind them, and after that loud clank, it was silent again.

Now it was even more silent than before.

Conway rose to his feet, buttoning the front of his suit at the same time with elegant grace. He moved to the center of the wide aisle, his hands sliding into his pockets. Now that he moved away from the shadows of the seating area, his whole face was on display.

His eyes never looked so green.

His wide shoulders hinted at the power underneath his suit. He was in the audience and I was the one on stage, but he seemed to be the center of focus. For a man like Conway Barsetti, he didn’t need a stage. He was always the star.

I crossed my arms over my chest, hiding my bare stomach from view. Now that it was just the two of us, I felt even more on vulnerable. I was aware of the way the lingerie pushed my boobs tightly together to form a dramatic cleavage line. I was aware of how revealing my thong was. My bare skin pebbled just from a single look from him.

“Don’t slouch.”

It took me a moment to process the order. I was used to firing back with smartass comments, but he was potentially my new employer. So I dropped my hands to my sides and stuck out my chest.

“Good.” He took the stairs and slowly reached the stage, his heavy footfalls echoing from the acoustics of the auditorium. He approached me from behind, making me feel like a small fish while he circled me like a shark.

Now I was even more aware of my bare ass.

I could feel him stare at it.

He slowly circled around me, coming around my left until he was directly in front of me. His hands remained in his pockets and his eyes combed over my body, examining the roundness of my shoulders and the hollow in my throat. He moved farther south, taking in the sight of my cleavage then progressed downward.

I wanted to cross my arms over my chest again. I felt fire all over my skin, the heat in his gaze. I felt defenseless against this man—like I had no power whatsoever. That was a recurring theme of my life lately. Everything had been taken from me, but now this man was about to take whatever was left.

Once his examination was over, his eyes met mine. “Name?”

I didn’t want to have a name. I wanted to leave my old identity behind and start fresh. I didn’t want anyone to trace me back here. I was running from the American authorities and the mob at the same time. My odds of success weren’t great. “Does it matter?”

He must have expected me to answer him obediently because he couldn’t control the slight rise of his right eyebrow. He was nearly a foot taller than me even in the five inch heels I wore, but I could still see his reactions easily. “You’d rather I called you Ten?” The baritone of his voice was mesmerizing. It had a hypnotic ability to stop me from thinking about anything. It was like a spell.

“Call me whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“If you don’t care, why don’t you just give me your name?”

Not only was he handsome and authoritative, but he was smart too. No wonder why he was a billionaire and the most respected lingerie model on the planet. “Ten, it is.”

His eyes narrowed this time. “The only reason a woman won’t give her real name is because she’s running from something—or someone.”

“I won’t bore you with my baggage, Mr. Barsetti. But yes, you’re right.”

“It’s Conway Barsetti.”

“My mistake…”

“Fine, Ten.” He stepped away, his cologne lingering in my nose once he passed. “Walk.”

“Where?”

He never answered me again. He only snapped his fingers.

My eyes immediately narrowed at the action.

“Don’t waste my time, Ten. There and back.”

He wanted me to walk the runway like the other models. I sucked in my stomach and then did as he asked, mimicking their movements the best I could. When I saw fashion shows on TV, I never understood just how difficult it really was until I tried to strut in insanely tall heels. I walked to the edge, posed, and then turned around and walked back to him.

His eyes didn’t linger on my face. He watched all of my movements, from my arms to my legs. He brushed his thumb along his bottom lip and furrowed his brow, as if he was really thinking about what he was seeing.

I returned to the spot where I started.

“Poor mechanism. Loose control. Not enough confidence. Shoulders back farther…widen your steps.” He circled around me, eyeing my legs and my hips. “You need a lot of work.”

“I need a lot of work?” I snapped. “Then why don’t you pick one of the other nine? They were flawless.”

He circled behind me then came back around. “Don’t question me.”

“Don’t question you?” I asked incredulously. “You just insulted me.”

“I critiqued you.” He stopped in front of me again. “And you’re going to have to get used to it if you want to be a Barsetti model.”

“So that means you’ve chosen me?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” He stepped toward me and placed his hands around my rib cage just below my breasts.

It took me a second to understand he was touching me because it happened so quickly. It was one thing to stare at my nakedness, but another to touch me like he had every right to do whatever he wanted. “Uh, do you mind?” I slapped his hands away.

His face was just inches from my face, and he stared at me with arctic coldness. “Do you always interview for a job like this?”

“Do you always assault your employees like this?”

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his eyes touching me even more than his hands did. “I need to understand your body. I need to feel it, to measure it. If you can’t handle being touched, then this isn’t going to work.”

“You could have asked permission first.”

“I don’t ask for permission,” he snapped. “Every model who wears my lingerie belongs to me. I can do whatever I damn well please. Now, if you want to work for me, your attitude is going to have to change.”

“Asking me to change my attitude is like asking me to change my personality.”

“Then control it.” He slid his hands into his pockets and headed to the stairs. “We have a lot of work to do. Be in my dressing room at six tomorrow morning—and expect to be touched.” He took the stairs until he was back in the aisle.

“Six in the morning?” I asked incredulously. I usually wasn’t up until eight.

“Yes.” He adjusted his cuff link then looked at his watch. “I start my day at four.”

Jesus Christ. If I were a billionaire, I’d allow myself the luxury of sleeping in every day. “I know this is a weird request, but I need to be paid under the table. If that can’t happen…then I can’t do this.”

Once he was finished with his sleeves, he looked up at me again. His bright green eyes cut into me like they were knives. He watched me with distinct coldness, the ice reaching every corner of the room. He could replace me with another beautiful woman at any moment. People didn’t make requests like mine unless they were hiding something illegal. I definitely was, and he may not want to help a fugitive. “I accept your terms. But that means you better accept mine.”

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