Chapter 39
Carla
I stared at the phone, vibrating with another one of Kellan’s increasingly impatient texts, this one just a series of question marks! I sighed, wishing I had the courage—or the words—to respond, but ever since giving in to Deacon’s kiss the night before, my mind had been awhirl.
I’d barely slept, tossing and turning with forbidden desires of what might have happened if I’d given in to temptation and leaned into the kiss, signaling I wanted—needed—more. And I did! But not, I realized around 4 AM, from Deacon—but from Kellan.
Still, I had to wait out my deadline and give the founder and owner of Florida Faces enough time to make an offer, or blow me off. The sun was growing pale and wan in the orange-black sky when Kellan’s text faded and the outside doors opened.
Deacon walked inside, all business in a black suit that looked like it had been made just for him—and probably most certainly was. He looked clean shaven and hard pressed, as if he’d dallied too long the night before and, rebuffed by my chaste kiss, had switched gears from pleasure to business in less than a day.
I sat serenely at my desk, prepared for whatever might come. I was tired, frustrated, confused, lonely, guilty, ashamed, proud, anxious and, above all, flat-lined. After the romantic dinner with Deacon the night before, I’d drifted home—alone—to my loft high on top of South Beach.
There I’d stood, sipping seltzer and nibbling crackers to ensure I wasn’t hung over this morning, peering down at the city that had once felt like home to me. Glittery and neon, bustling even at the late hour, it had suddenly seemed more foreign to me than some chaotic marketplace in far flung Zanzibar. My heart ached for what I was missing—not just home, but the man who made me feel at home.
I had frowned and sighed, squirmed and paced, well into the night, until finally inspiration struck and then, at peace, I finally slept until well past morning. Rising casually and dressing in the same manner, I’d made a few calls, and even fewer appointments, before finally arriving to my office after a late lunch, bag in hand and heavy from the efforts of my morning.
I’d sunk into my chair, still avoiding Kellan’s texts because… what would I say? I’d be on my way home in a few hours? Broke as a joke or at least broken? That I’d kissed another man last night, but it didn’t mean anything? How’s my family?
Instead, I’d settled on nothing, muting my phone and sliding it off my desktop while waiting for afternoon and then, evening, to approach. Now that it had, and Deacon had arrived, I remained seated, in a surprisingly Zen state for someone so desperate to right her wrongs and, quite frankly, save her ever loving ass!
“I expected you to be more prompt,” I teased, crossing my legs beneath my casual crinkle shirt and twiddling my left foot as I peered up at him, standing on the other side of my clear Plexiglas desk.
He grinned just as casually as I was dressed. “I had a lot to think about, Carla.”
“Me too,” I said, sliding a contract across my desk. “That’s why I took the liberty of preparing a package I think you’ll find more than acceptable.”
He cocked a salt and pepper eyebrow and picked up the contract, glancing at it briefly. As he read, eyes widening, fingers tightening on the thick packet of pages as he gently slumped into the seat across from my desk. He took his time, poring over every page, every paragraph, sub-paragraph, addendum and addendum to the addendum.
When he was finished, he put the contract down and slid it halfway across my desk. The move was dismissive, but his thin lips, hungry eyes and lean cheeks weren’t. “What’s all this?” he asked, voice calm even if I heard the hitch of excitement just behind the practiced façade.
“It’s a contract, clearly,” I said, standing abruptly and grabbing a pen on the way to my feet. “Offering you what I think you really wanted out of dinner last night—the Miami Models franchise, its name and, as it stands, my current stable of talent.”
His eyes grew narrow, no longer striking. His face grew angular, no longer handsome. His pose was almost predatory, turning to face me even as he remained standing, his whole body tense. “Is it legal?” he asked, and I knew then all my worries had been for naught—he was in, hook, line and sinker.
I clicked the pen playfully after that, my heart full of relief and already anxious for the ride home to Siesta Key. “I met with my attorney over lunch,” I said. “Then called each of my models after my meeting. One by one they’ve all filed in to sign off on it. For the price listed, they’ve agreed to join Florida Faces, no ifs, ands or buts.”
“But…” he teased, winking playfully even as he reached for my pen. “What if I don’t want all your models?”
“Sorry,” I said, reaching to grab it back. “It’s all or nothing, my friend. My models, my franchise rights, my office space and equipment, lock stock and barrel. It all goes today, to you, or tomorrow, to someone else.”
It didn’t, of course. It either went to Deacon, today, or to bankruptcy court, tomorrow. Either way I’d be free, one way or the other. He shrugged, signed both copies and tossed the first contract back my way. “I’d have bought it at twice that price,” he huffed, smugly putting the cap back on my fancy contract signing pen.
“Funny,” I said, sliding my signed version into my valise and reaching for my car keys. “I’d have sold it for half as much.”
He chuckled, watching me take a key off my chain and slide it on top of the contract. “What’s this?” he asked as I leaned slightly closer to satisfy a quick case of curiosity.
“My key,” I said, purring slightly. “Or should I say, your key?”
He smirked, almost nervously, as I licked my lips in a suggestive display. Inching closer, he eased his seat back and stood uncertainly. “I, uh, think it’s better if we don’t mix business and pleasure, Carla,” he murmured almost nervously.
I smirked, mission accomplished. He had never wanted me for me, nor was there any romantic enticement behind his fervent kiss the night before. He had, as always, been using me. I was almost relieved as I nodded and strode purposefully toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, holding his contract in one hand and the key in the other.
“Home,” I huffed, pausing in the doorway between my office and the reception area. “This is your office now, Deacon. So don’t forget to turn the lights off when you leave and, again, nice doing business with you!”