Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

“What about school?”

Melissa deadpans. “Your models will be paid more money than they’ve ever seen for posing naked and you’re worried about a bit of school?”

No, not really. I’m not worried about my models and the amount of money they’ll make. I’m a bit more disturbed at the fact that Amora Acquisitions wants to follow Evan out to Boston to make sure that she’s in the first national issue. Isn’t that considered stalking?

Melissa swivels around in her chair and grabs a folder, handing it to me. “Here’s a list of selected models that Mr. Harrison himself has chosen to be featured in the issue. You’ll need to make sure that each of them fills out the correct paperwork and gets it back to a rep by the end of next week.”

I flip through the papers. “When will I see a rep?”

“There will be one at the auditions, of course.”

I glance up at her. “Auditions?”

“On Wednesday.”

I narrow my eyes. “I never scheduled an audition.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Melissa responds calmly. “We did.”

“You scheduled an audition.”

“For Wednesday. Don’t worry, we got the advertising handled and everything.”

“So it won’t just be hobos off the street showing me their diseases.”

She shoots me a fake grin, stands, and brushes off her pin-striped skirt. “Hopefully not.”

I flip to the front page of the file and see that the top two models listed are Rylan and Dallas. Mr. Harrison is going to be a very disappointed man. Being that Melissa seems to be in a don’t-argue-with-me-and-just-do-it kind of mood, I decide not to say anything.

Evan

“She said what?”

Britain stands in the kitchen like she’s trying to be evasive but knows she can’t be. I sure as hell won’t let her leave. She pushes her hair back and mumbles, “Shesaidthey’reshootinginCambridge.”

“And you told her no, right?”

When Britain flinches, I know she didn’t. She quickly straightens and says, “Dude, it’s not my fault. I kept telling her no and she told me to force you.”

I bark a laugh. “That’s a joke.”

Britain narrows her eyes. “Hah.” She sighs. “Sorry, Evan. There’s nothing more I can do other than continue to say no and get hounded.”

She’d do that for me—I know she would. But I don’t want her to. “I guess I’ll give Amora Acquisitions a call tomorrow and tell them to not waste their time flying their asses out to Boston.”

“Because you’re so full of yourself that you’re convinced Amora is taking our entire team to Boston just to work with your school schedule?”

I know she’s kidding. Well, half-kidding. She cracks a smile.

I jut my chin in the air like a douche and say, “Yeah, dude, I’m fucking hot,” and she laughs.

* * *

When Dallas gets home from his orientation for the new semester, I show him the file Britain gave me. The first page has both of our names written on the top of a list of models Amora Acquisitions wants to take to Boston.

“I don’t know if they’re stupid or persistent,” I groan, falling back onto my bed.

“Persistent,” Dallas says. “That’s how business works. They’re hoping we cave and they’re using force first.”

“You think they’ll follow me all of the way out to Boston to get me in this shoot?”

Dallas shrugs and says, “I think they can follow you and still make a great shoot even if you reject them over and over, but they’ll be hounding you the entire time they’re there.”

“Well, what about you?”

He’s stretching himself out like a cat on my bed. The pose looks really feminine for him and makes me laugh. “What about me? I’m headed to Costa Rica. They know that.”

“And if they stalk you all the way to Costa Rica to get you to pose?”

Dallas shrugs. “If they pay me and it doesn’t get in the way of my research, why the hell not?”

I roll my eyes and turn toward the window. There’s nothing in that answer I can be mad about. In fact, maybe I should have the same attitude about the situation that Dallas has. But I know that if I let Amora Acquisitions or A.J. Harrison get to me, they won’t ever let me go. It’ll be another request two months later, and I can’t afford that, not with Harvard.

“I have to put my foot down now.”

“I know you do,” Dallas says.

I turn back to him, keeping my arms crossed. “But you don’t.”

Dallas sighs and rubs his eyes. I’m picking a fight. I don’t usually do this, but I have been more often lately. By his gesture I know that he realizes it too.

“No. I mean, other than being out of the country, not really.” I narrow my eyes at him and he widens his own. “What? I juggled grad school and modeling last year. Why would it be different this semester?”

Oh, I don’t know, Dallas, because your girlfriend won’t be modeling, which means you’ll be grinding up on someone else.

And I know what happened last time. He fell out of love with his girlfriend and into love with his coworker. I just happened to be on the lucky end of that trade off.

I should tell him how I’m feeling. That would be the adult way to handle my worries with the guy that I love. But I’m feeling less of a grad student right now and more like a sophomore in high school, so instead, I shoot him a plastic grin and say, “Oh, no reason.”

He sits up. “You pissed at me?”

I don’t feel like explaining it to him. I feel like he should already have a clue as to why I wouldn’t want him modeling without me. “I’m just tired, Dallas.”

“Seriously? It’s eight.”

“And I’ve had a long day.”

“And I leave in forty-eight hours. I thought we were spending time together tonight.”

“What were you planning?”

“Well, nothing. I thought you were planning something.”

I fall onto the bed. Maybe my bitchiness is justified. “Nope.”

We both sink into an awkward silence. The kind when both of you are pissed because the other is pissed, and there’s a bunch of unanswered whys floating through the air but no one actually wants to voice them because you’re both pussies.

Finally, he mutters, “Goodnight, Evan,” and turns off the lamp.

I sleep pretty restlessly. For one, I don’t know how to fix my silent emotional argument with Dallas. I’m pissed, and technically, he did nothing wrong. And two, I know I’m going to have to put my foot down with Amora Acquisitions tomorrow and stop making Britain perform all of my dirty work for me. She doesn’t deserve that.

I never thought that erotic modeling would become so dramatic. I was never ashamed of showing off my body, and the separation of my work life and school life with the help of an alias kept everything nice and sweet and completely unemotional. But the past couple of months have revealed an entirely different beast. Bringing a boy into the mix, Britain giving up the reigns... posing for EPE has become a complicated ballgame.

That’s why I wanted out.

And I’ll get out. I just need to put my foot down, for both me and Dallas. Even if he says he would still model if he weren’t in the field, the fact is that he is in the field.

We were destined for a life of biology, not a life of porn, for crying out loud.

When I feel Dallas get up in the morning to go shower, I pretend to be sleeping. He leaves the house before I’m up, and when I ask Britain where he went, she looks at me like I’ve grown a horn for a nose.

“Why the hell would I know these things over you?”

I shrug defensively. “You were down here when he left. Just thought I’d ask.” I pull out my phone to text him, but then I put it away. If he really wanted me to know where he was, he’d text me first.

Instead of calling Dallas, I walk outside to the pool and call the Amora Acquisitions headquarters. It takes me about two hours of transfers and holds before I’m finally where I need to be—speaking with one of A.J. Harrison’s assistants.

“Hi… err… my name is Evan Cosette… I’m a model for East Park Exposed.”

I receive silence for a response.

“Ummm… anyways, I’m on the list for the fall launch issue, but I can’t model because I’ll be in the middle of grad school at Harvard.”

“Ooooohh!” she practically hollers. I pull the phone away from my ear. “Rylan Willow! One moment, let me transfer you over.”

“But…” I begin, but it’s too late. I’m already listening to shitty elevator music again.

To my surprise, the shitty elevator music ends abruptly. “This is A.J.”

Oh, damn. Sent straight to the big man on campus. “Hi, A.J. This is Rylan Willow.”

“Rylan.” His voice is silkier than I remember. “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

I’m about to respond before my mouth snaps shut. He’s been waiting? As in, someone was supposed to relay a message to me and never did, or he’s been waiting because he’s cocky enough to think he has me figured out?

I assume the latter.

I clear my throat and throw on my big-girl voice. “I wanted to fact-check some information with you. My manager informed me that you’re insisting on having both myself and Dallas Whitley participate in the fall shoot.”

He chuckles deeply. “By your manager, I’m assuming you mean Britain.”

I hate the tone of his voice and the way he wields it. It’s like he’s trying to stick me in the dumb little girl box.

“Correct. Britain, my manager, who has been my manager for the past two years.”

“Go on.”

“I’m aware that she specifically relayed the message to your staff that I would no longer be performing for EPE due to grad school at Harvard.”