The Collection (Contemporary Reverse Harem 5)

Chapter 10

RAND

I’d watched the beautiful Kealy arrive at the party, and Cross kindly brought her across the room to me and the other guys. She almost fell over the little guy in the bowtie who worked for Forest, but righted herself like nothing ever happened.

“Hey, Rand, I think you know Kealy, and this is her friend Fantine,” Cross said.

We all shook hands hello.

“Let me go get the ladies a drink.” He headed for the bar.

Holy shit. The two women before me were by far the most beautiful in the entire party, which was full of models and other fashion industry weirdos. But those people were not my tribe. I was in modeling to pay the bills while I was in college, and then I’d be saying adios to it all.

And the emaciated models so many guys clamored after?

Well, they could have them.

Kealy and Fantine were the type of women who made my heart pound. Especially the lovely, edgy-looking Kealy from the fashion shows. I could see, although I couldn’t tell you how, that she was a woman with a story. Wherever she’d come from, she’d come a long way. And she was still plowing forward.

Just like me.

“I’m glad you ladies could come,” I said as Marlon and Shane waved hello from across the room. “Does Marlon’s place rock, or what?”

“Oh, my god, I’ve never see anything like it,” Kealy said, incredulous. “It’s crazy. I mean, a swing?”

“You know what?” her perky friend said. “I’m gonna go try out that swing right now. See if I don’t!” And she marched right over to break the ice with the swing. I’d seen it before. As soon as one person tried it, it would be occupied for the rest of the night.

And now, I could have Kealy to myself, if only for a minute.

“Would you like to grab a seat over here?” I asked, pointing to one of Marlon’s cushy velvet sofas.

We settled into a comfy piece of furniture. “I guess modeling’s treating Marlon well,” she said, sitting back and crossing her legs. She took a tiny sip of her champagne. Smart girl. The night was young.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” I said, looking around. I wasn’t sure if she knew Marlon’s story and how his family was loaded, but it wasn’t my place to out my buddy. I tried not to gossip anyway. The industry was bad enough about that sort of thing.

“So, those clothes we wore at Forest’s last fashion show were really something, weren’t they?” I asked to make conversation.

Her face brightened. “Yes, the trousers were my design.” Then just as quickly, her shoulders slumped. She stared at the little bowtied dude on the other side of the room. I couldn’t recall his name. And who invited him, anyway?

“Really?” I said. Yeah, I’d be keeping my opinions about those pants to myself.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Well, I designed them, but someone else got credit.”

“No way. How did that happen?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m not entirely sure. But I’ll keep my work to myself from now on. I won’t be as trusting as I was.”

I felt for her, I really did. “Sounds like a hard lesson. But an important one.”

She shrugged. “That’s true. And that’s how I have to look at it. Lesson learned, now move on.”

“Well, you want to know something?” I asked. If she was confiding in me, then I’d confide in her.

“Sure. Tell me.”

“I’m not sure about those trousers. The fly was just too weird.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Well, thank you for being honest. I know they weren’t for everyone. But they looked nice on you. I saw all you guys on the runway with them.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Seemed like I’d never get used to being complimented for my modeling. I guess that just showed my discomfort with it and how it would never be a long-term thing for me, anyway.

“I expect I’ll keep doing the modeling thing for another year or two while I finish up school.” I wanted her to know I wasn’t some empty-headed pretty boy. Actually, I wanted everyone to know that.

“Oh, cool, you’re taking classes. What are you studying?” I loved that she was interested in something other than fashion. It could be so insular. I hated that about it.

“I’m studying business, but this semester, taking history and math. It’s great. No one in my family has ever been to college.”

Her eyes widened. “Me, too. Well, at least, I’m assuming I’m the first. I was raised in the foster system.”

I’d been right. The woman had a story.

“So you’ve come a long way, then? Foster kid to top New York designer, to a fancy-schmancy party like this?” I wanted her to know I didn’t take any of it too seriously.

She laughed. And damn, if her green eyes didn’t glitter in the party’s low light.

“What about you?” she asked. “I mean, what’s your story? It’s not everyday you see a model with pierced ears, covered in tattoos.”

“I suppose. I have a colorful past. I was a troubled kid going nowhere when someone at a shopping mall approached me about working as a model.”

“No kidding! I thought that whole idea of being discovered was an urban myth,” she said.

“It sounds like it should be an urban myth. But when I found out I could make some decent money modeling, I was all over it. The downside is, my father hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“What? Why?” she asked.