For the next week, I keep my distance from Remi, even if she’s never far from my thoughts.

Our past is everywhere, practically a part of everything I do. I wish I could get her off my mind, but it’s almost impossible. She’s so close now, and so beautiful. The way she looked at me that night after work when I was brainstorming some Spine ideas was pure and simple loathing… but not that alone.

There was desire mixed in there. Confusing as hell and weird but it was there.

I keep thinking about what it would feel like to have her legs wrapped around my waist. I’m not sure if Remi realizes it, but she’s absolutely fucking stunning. The more time I spend around her, the more I can’t stop staring at her body. Perfect proportions, and if she were taller, she’d be a model. As it is, she’s about five foot five, a solid foot shorter than I am. I could crush her if I wanted to… and I really, really do.

Remi, bent over my desk, legs spread wide, ass pink and red from my palm spanking her over and over. I want to see her tan lines, the stubble around her pussy, how soaking wet she gets when I touch her skin, those perfectly full breasts…

A knock at my office door yanks me back to reality. “Yeah?” I call out. “Come in.”

Franklin, a thin guy with tight dress pants and an even tighter suit jacket, comes stumbling into my office. He’s nominally my assistant, although I don’t really use him very much, opting to send him around to the office to help out with whatever’s happening. Today he’s supposed to be assisting on a photo shoot that’s happening upstairs.

“There’s a problem,” he says.

“What’s up?”

“Our model.” He pants, takes a deep breath, stands up straight. “Our model got sick. Puked for, like, twenty minutes in the bathroom, and now she’s refusing to work.”

“Shit,” I say. “Who else can do it?”

“We don’t have any other models,” he says. “I mean, there’s the guy model obviously, but it’s a swimwear line. They want both genders, and…”

He trails off as I raise a hand up. “Who’s taking lead on the account?”

“Remi Brooks,” he says immediately.

A smile slowly slips across my face. “Remi, huh?”

He nods, looking terrified. “Should I go talk to her?”

“No, I’ll talk to her.”

He looks a little relieved. “Okay. What are we going to do? The director is getting pissed and the photographer is starting to threaten to walk out.”

“I’ll handle it.” I smile at Franklin. “Go back and tell them to wait a little longer. I’ll be up soon.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Go ahead.”

He looks relieved and scurries off, leaving my office in a hurry.

I stand and stretch, grinning to myself.

Remi was an asshole to me at the bar the other day, and now I’m getting a little bit of revenge.

Remi looks at the swimsuit, this modest blue bikini, back to me, back to the swimsuit, and back to me again.

“No way,” she says. “Not a chance.”

The director rolls his eyes. He’s this French guy, Louis Claude-something or other, supposedly one of the best fashion photographers in the business. He’s mostly just catty and annoying.

“I told you she wouldn’t do it,” he says, his accent thick. “We need model, not… her.” He practically sneers.

Remi glares at him. “I may not be a model but I’m standing right here.”

He shrugs a little. “No matter. You aren’t doing it, so what do I care? I leave now, n’est-ce pas?”

“Stay,” I say to him, and turn back to Remi. “And you put it on.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m serious. I’m not doing it.”

“What’s this shoot being used for?” I ask her.

She hesitates. “Digital. I think… the website maybe.”

“So not some huge, national campaign?” I ask her.

The Frenchman snorts. “Hardly. Small shoot, some smiles, white background, very boring. Not worth my time.”

I just ignore him. “Who’s going to see this, anyway?”

She shakes her head. “Justin.”

“Remi. This is your problem. You’re the lead on this project. You seriously want to piss off a client?” I step closer to her, eyes locked on hers. She’s so fucking beautiful, I think I’d give my right pinky to see her in that bikini right about now.

“I’m not a model,” she says softly.

“We’ll pay you the model’s fee, how about that?”

She laughs. “It’s not about money.”

“Fine then. Make it about pride. You really want to have fucked this up?”

“It’s not my fault the model got sick.”

“It’s your fault whenever something goes wrong, you know that.” I stand close to her, speaking low. “Put the swimsuit on, Remi, and go smile for the camera.”

She stares at me with that mix again, mostly loathing, but partially lust. I can see it in her eyes and I know she has to see it in mine. It’s confusing as hell, whatever this attraction is.

She doesn’t say anything for almost a minute. She looks between me and the swimsuit again, like she’s having an internal struggle. Mostly, I think she’s just trying to decide if she should quit now or later.

Finally though, she picks up the bikini. “Get out,” she says. “Both of you. I’ll do it.”

The Frenchman sighs. I give him a look.

“She will do,” he says reluctantly. “Pretty enough. We will see how the, ah, the suit fits, yes?”

“Go get ready,” I say to him, and he leaves the room. I look back at Remi. “Get it done.”

She glares at me. “I’m not doing it for you.”

“I know.”

I turn and leave the room, shutting the door behind me.

I don’t know how I got this lucky. I honestly expected her to curse me out and walk back to her office. I never in a million years expected her to actually go through with this.

It’s better than I ever imagined.

She takes ten minutes to get changed. I’m sure she’s mostly standing in there, debating with herself some more. Finally though, she comes back out, and she looks…

Fucking incredible.

I’m half hard as soon as she walks into the main room. Everyone stops and stares at her. Full, round, perky tits, tight stomach, perky ass. The bathing suit is actually slightly too small for her, accentuating her body even more. It’s almost fucking lurid, the way she moves in that thing.

“Good,” the Frenchman says, staring at her. “Very good. You fit very well.”

“Let’s get this over with,” she says, her cheeks a shade of scarlet red I’ve never seen on her before.

“Come together!” the Frenchman shouts, and his people move into positions.

Lights come up. The male model steps into frame, a ripped guy slightly shorter than me. He looks like a stereotypical surfer. I’m better looking than he is, I keep thinking, although really I’m just jealous that he’s in the shoot with Remi and I’m not.

They take pictures. She leans up against the guy, she poses on her own, they stand back to back. The Frenchman leads them through it, mainly focusing his increasing incoherent instructions at Remi.

“Smile like you fear me!” he barks. “Smile like a bomb dropped!”

Remi glances in my direction and I’m grinning huge. I just shrug.

“More eyes!” the Frenchman shouts. “Less eyes! Pout! Yes! Pout!”

It’s like an insane gameshow where there aren’t any directions and everyone’s a loser. Remi does her best, which is actually pretty admirable, trying to keep up with the fast paced barking orders coming at her.

“Bend! Yes, bend down now. You, boy, behind! Yes! Oh, very good, look away now. Look away! Eyes now!”

She’s contorting, twisting, moving all around. The Frenchman is snapping pictures wildly, and I’m just standing there, cracking up.

Remi meets my eyes and glares at me. The Frenchman howls with delight.

“More of that!” he screams. “Yes, that passion, that anger.”

Remi stares at me, loathing dripping through, loathing tinged with pure lust. She wants me to strip off that fabric, that tiny bit of fabric separating her incredible body from the rest of the world. She wants me to lick her nipples, tease her pussy, fuck her right there on camera.

She wants me to use her, humiliate her, stroke her, make her fucking come.

“More!” the Frenchman screams, and I realize that I’m so fucking hard it almost hurts.

I sit down in a chair as the shoot wraps up. They do some conventional posing, Remi struggling to keep up. By the end of it, she looks exhausted, and she was only in front of the camera for twenty minutes at most.

“That was a nightmare,” she says, hurrying toward the back room to get changed.

I walk with her. “You were amazing.”

“I am so mortified.”

“You’re a professional model now.”

She stops and turns to me, glaring so hard I think she’s willing my head to explode.

“I didn’t do this for you,” she repeats. “Asshole.”

I can only laugh as she stalks off. I get one last glimpse of her amazing ass before she disappears back into the room to get changed.

I don’t bother waiting for her. I know she’ll just be pissed, and besides, I don’t need to see her with all her clothes on.

I’d rather see her stripped bare.