10.

They stuck the number against the tiny black bustier they’d provided. 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 from his line—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 into place, 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 pull 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 appeared. In a black suit and royal blue tie, a man bearing 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 more grace than all of us on stage.

All eyes were on him.

He knew it, but he 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 your number, you’ll walk to the edge of the runway, pose, and then return to your position. Cue the music.”

Instantly, music erupted from 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 discomfort 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 might 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 had 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 seeking 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 by 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 quieter 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 had 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 due to the acoustics of the auditorium. He approached me from behind, making me feel like a small fish being circled by 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 in 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 he was a billionaire and the most respected lingerie designer 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 might not want to help a fugitive. “I accept your terms. But that means you better accept mine.”