Shut Up and Model for Me (48 page)

I purse my lips before opening my mouth, but she cuts me off.

"Don't even try to hide the fact that you only agreed to this dress because you're so getting laid by Jaime tonight. You wouldn't have me put this much effort into making you hot if your only agenda was to be Micah's arm candy for the night."

I open my mouth. She raises her eyebrow and I start to laugh, but it dies quickly. "You know we haven't had sex since Boston, right?"

She frowns. "He gay?"

"Half gay, but that has nothing to do with it. I feel like... I don't know, he's trying to prove himself to me. He's gotten me off twice and walked away like he didn't have the biggest case of blue balls in all of history."

Her eyes sparkle.

"What?" I ask bluntly.

She shrugs and twirls a piece of her long hair around her finger. "From what I know of Jaime, he's not the kind of guy to stick around after he fucks a girl. So take his situation. If he was really a scumball and ended up screwing a girl he's known for most of his life, he'd hide from her, not answer her calls, and pray to God he never saw her again. When a scumball fucks a girl he's not supposed to fuck, he turns into a coward. But he's here, Brit. He's returning your calls, he's flirting with your parents, and he's working for you, for crying out loud. He's a smart guy and obviously knows the risks. So the fact that he's not having sex with you means he's dead serious about you, Brit."

Dead serious. I've never been dead serious with a guy, and the last thing I'd ever expect from myself is to be dead serious with a guy who is as equally unserious as I am. I thought I'd end up settling down with some guy who would comb the wild out of me. Tame the voyeur. Tame the girl who's a party animal on the inside and secretly-not-so-secretly obsessed with sex.

Anyone but a guy like Jaime.

"You look freaked," says Evan.

I'm about to respond when there's a knock on the door. Evan tells them to come in.

It's Cam.

His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he looks me up and down. "Mom and Dad are going to—”

"Shit themselves?" I finish. "I know. Trust me, I know."

"They want us downstairs. You ready?"

I shoot Evan one last what-the-fuck-am-I-doing glance.

"You look fucking delicious," she says. "Have fun!"

I follow Cam out of my bedroom and then down the stairs. Not only are my parents waiting for us, but so is Micah, Jaime, and Ava.

I remember Ava from when I was a teen, when Mom and Dad used to drag me to benefit dinners regularly. Ava Jennings, heiress of a company that developed some fancy tax service software. She's the kind of beautiful that, regardless of your sexuality, you look at her and wonder what it would be like to be with her. Her eyes are huge and bright green, her nose small and sloped, lips big, cheekbones high, and breasts a perky c-cup. If anyone was deemed a walking Barbie, it would be Ava Jennings.

Plus, you know, she's filthy rich.

And right now, Jaime has his arm around her waist.

I try not to focus on them.

Like Cam predicted, Mom looks like a troll is following Cam down the stairs instead of her daughter. Dad clears his throat and tugs at his tie.

Jaime bites down on his bottom lip. I keep eye contact with him, wondering if my parents or Ava or Micah notice. But I can't rip my eyes away from him. In this moment, he owns me. He grins and slowly shakes his head. He must know what I'm trying to do to him with the dress and the heels.

I'm trying to torture him.

"Britain," Mom says slowly. "Don't you think that number is a little... ill-fitted?"

"The clothes in my closet are all from high school," I say innocently. "It's the only thing that didn't make me look like I was fourteen."

Dad scoffs. "Well she definitely doesn't look fourteen."

Jaime opens his mouth like he's thinking of saying something smart, and then snaps it shut.

I'm surprised when Ava is the next one to speak. "I think she looks fantastic."

I study her to see if she's being sarcastic, but Ava looks genuinely sincere, wearing a smile that shows off her perfectly straight, white teeth.

"It's nice to see you, Ava." I step into the foyer behind Cam, holding my clutch in front of me.

"No date?" Jaime asks Cam. "Typical of you."

Cam shrugs. "I can't hit on rich chicks if I have a date. I mean I could but it would require being sneaky, and I am way too lazy for that."

Mom and Dad exchange a look. They say nothing before heading out the door.

"See? If I ever said something like that, they'd lock me in my room without supper. Even at twenty-two."

Ava giggles.

"You don't know that because you've never shown them anything other than fake good-girl Britain," Cam says.

I can't argue with that.

Micah offers me his arm, and it's only then do I remember that I'm supposed to be on a date with him. Jaime's arm around Ava is stirring up my insides, so out of revenge, I lean in and kiss Micah lightly on the lips, even though there is no real reason to do so now and here. We're supposed to be faking this thing for our parents.

I turn to Jaime, who's gaping at me.

"Take a picture, it will last longer."

Cam chortles behind me, but Jaime doesn't bother with a reaction. He only says, "You're the one who takes the photos."

Micah guides me outside. Mom and Dad always get a limo for benefit dinners considering how abundant the wine and champagne is at events, and this time is no different, except there are two waiting for us. Me, Micah, Ava, Jaime, and Cam slide into the second limo. I realize how often I'll be needing to check my dress to make sure my ass isn't hanging out.

Since Micah and I are the last to climb in, we end up having to sit across from each other, meaning that my seat is right next to Jaime. I plop down without realizing that his hand is where I'm sitting. Palm facing up.

I nearly jump up, but choose to hold myself together. He squeezes my right ass cheek.

No one in the limo is acting like they know where his hand is. Micah's busy with a champagne bottle. Cam is unscrewing his flask.

Jaime slides his hand down further. His fingertips brush against the crotch of my panties. Goddamn this short dress.

He pulls out his phone with his free hand like he isn't currently occupied with feeling me up.

My clutch buzzes.

I slide my phone from my purse and read the message.

Lace underwear... preparing for a special night?

Jaime starts typing on his phone again. A new message pops up.

You're already wet. I can feel it.

He wiggles his fingers beneath me. I choke on my own groan before he pulls his hand from my seat and rests it in his lap.

I type out my message to him.
There's only one reason I'm wet, and only one person that I wore this dress for
.

This is going to be a good, long night.

CHAPTER TEN

"You show a bit of skin and both your parents pop Xanax's," Micah whispers to me at the table during the first course. I turn just enough so the cuff of my ear brushes his nose. We're sharing a table with my mom and dad and his dad, so now is most certainly the best time to be flirty.

I giggle like he told me a joke. "Don't make fun of them. I wore only t-shirts and turtlenecks before I left for college."

I watch my parents from the other side of the table. They're both in hushed conversation, pushing the food around their plates. Mom keeps glancing at me. No, not glancing. Glaring.

Something tells me they're concerned with more than just my cleavage.

I flag down the nearest waiter. When he bends forward to take my order, I say, "A double, please."

"A double of what beverage, Miss?"

"A double something. A double anything."

The waiter takes off to grab me my drink, and I avoid my parents and Micah by studying the pompous, bullshit atmosphere of the ballroom. Gaudy chandeliers hang from the marble ceiling, draped thickly in crystal. The room is even surrounded in pillars. Fucking pillars—like, really.

But the room is nothing compared to the people. CEOs, heirs, and heiresses. These are my family's people.

My dad makes more money a day than most families see in a quarter of a year, but when I was in high school, I felt like we were another functioning, middle-class family. We fought, be bantered, we had rules, we loved each other. Cam and I came from wealth, but for the most part, we didn't let that get to our heads.

But these people seem fake. They look fake. Then again, I went to public school and never actually bonded with rich bitches, so I'm probably judging. I'm good at that.

Most of the ladies and gentlemen at the benefit dinner are over fifty—my parents’ age—
talking gently at the tables and holding crystal goblets filled with champagne. My eyes flicker over to Jaime and Ava who stand by the bar. They don't have to get their own drinks, considering there are waiters in tuxedos every two feet, but they chose to. Like they wanted to get away from our table.

Deep in an apparently-amusing conversation, Ava sidles up to Jaime, coy smile playing on her lips. She's totally into him, which I guess isn't a shocker because he's hot and she's hot and them both being here means they're connected to money.

Benefit dinners are how babies are made, folks.

I'm oddly numb about watching them talk. I mean, it'd be one thing if we were actually together, if I wasn't his boss, if we weren't practically brother and sister, if I wasn't on a fake date with another man. All these things so blatantly wrong with me and Jaime. Maybe this is a good thing, to watch Jaime's date unfold, Ava Jennings sweeping in and saving the day. The realization will dawn on him that he's young and hot and doesn't want to start a relationship with some gawky, mouthy pornography photographer whose family will murder him if they found out the truth, and who, honest to god, looks fucking ridiculous in this dress.

Jaime laughs at something Ava tells him and grabs two drinks from the counter top, both of them clear liquid and garnished with a lime. He begins to walk back to the table as Ava heads to the bathroom.

I blink and focus back on my plate, and then glance at Cam, who's staring at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Steak's good," I say, jabbing the hunk of meat with my fork and sawing off a slice. I make my movements dramatic, like I'm tearing through grizzle, when in reality the steak cuts just like butter.

"That's because it's a hundred and fifty dollar steak," says Cam.

Before Jaime's at the table, I mutter, "Be right back," to Micah.

I stand from my seat and wobble across the marble floor, making a mental note to kick off my heels the second I'm back in the ballroom-slash-dining hall. Doing so would probably be a disgrace to my family or something, considering how fancy this event is, but my cleavage is a disgrace to my family too so I’m already under the water.

The clack of my stilettos echoes in the bathroom. Someone clears their throat from one of the stalls, and it's a dainty enough voice for me to assume that it's Ava's. I hurry into a stall and wrangle with my stupid clingy dress until I'm able to pee. When I hear her toilet flush, I hurry, exiting my stall the same time she exits hers.

I don't really know what I'm doing. Sizing her up? Maybe. I try to act cool and totally nonchalant as I shove my hands beneath the automatic faucet.

"So, Britain McCulley."

She says my name so slow that it's almost musical, and when I look at her through the mirror, she tosses me a wry smile. Good god, the girl is hot. And I'm not ashamed to admit it either. She flips her hair back and says. "Jaime is cute, don't you think?"

She surprises me, and I end up glaring at her. Why is she bringing Jaime up? Does she know? Did he tell her? I try to play it off with a shrug. "We've been friends forever."

"I remember when I saw him at these things back in high school."

My hands freeze around the freshly laundered towel I'm using to dry off. Jaime never went to these dinners when he was a kid. Why would he? He wasn't a part of the company yet, and he was one of the worst behaved teenagers ever.

She sees my confusion and continues. "There were a couple of times when Cameron snuck me outside and Jaime was waiting with a bottle of Jäger, or flavored vodka." She giggles. "Or another one of those horribly sweet bottles of booze."

I can't help but smile. "That doesn't surprise me one bit."

"You were too young then."

At first, I think she's making a jab at me, but her eyes are soft and playful. She spins on her heel and struts to the makeup mirrors on the wall.

"You've grown up since then." She snaps open her clutch and pulls out her lipstick. "A little bird told me you were doing pretty well in the photography industry."

I clench my jaw.

She rolls the lipstick over her bottom lip. "I may or may not have been a subscriber."

I'm going to try and not let this go to my head, but the fact that one of the most gorgeous heiresses ever was an
East Park Exposed
subscriber is a little outrageous. "I'm working on novellas now. Storybooks with photographs."

"They doing well?" she asks nonchalantly.

"They haven't released yet, but my team is... optimistic."

I watch her give her reflection a dreamy smile as she caps her lipstick. "I’ve always wondered what it was like to have the confidence to model for a magazine like that. To not be afraid to show the whole world your body and your sexuality."

I lean against the bathroom wall and cross my arms over my chest. I have to be dreaming right now. "The position's always open." Wow. Really, Britain? What an awkward fucking thing to say.

She laughs and slips her lipstick back into her clutch. "Couldn't. Daddy's company is partially riding on my good behavior. You know how it is."

Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers widen. "They don't know?"

"If they do, they haven't said anything."

"Wow," she whispers. She’s staring at me like I'm made of solid gold. "You're brave. Keep it up."

She struts past me, leaving me dumbfounded in the bathroom.