Playboy Billionaire

STELLA

When Antonio didn’t come home last night, I was worried. That thought alone is horribly messed up because why should I care about Antonio that way? He’s not my responsibility. Not really, anyway.

After Agent Beys brought him home in the early morning hours, I figured it would only be appropriate to offer that he stay until Antonio wakes. I’ll admit, I hovered in his room a little after Jack went downstairs. Just to make sure he was alive, of course. He was carried in so limp and out of it, I was merely concerned, like any person would be for their friend. I guess we’re friends, whatever that really looks like, I don’t know. Probably isn’t supposed to look like fucking each other, but it was just once.

Then that kiss…

I can’t think about these things. Today I’ve got an appointment with Iris about a fashion show. I want to meet with one of the designers to see if they’ll buy some designs. I can’t see myself making these on my own, let alone anyone buying them without a proper name behind them. It’s a win-win scenario, and I’m grateful she’s helping give me an in.

After I walk Jack out, wave goodbye as he gets in a car, and speeds off, I plan out what I’m going to wear to this meeting. The nerves kick in as I stand in my closet, overthinking everything. My dream isn’t just to be in fashion, it’s to define it with my designs. Even if my name can’t be on them, I’ll know I had a hand in it, which is good enough for me.

Anyway, my family would frown upon any such endeavors because it strays from the business we’re in. It makes our name about something apart from mafia power, and that won’t do in their eyes.

“I think you should wear the black one.” Arms snake around my waist from behind, and I know it’s Antonio. His chin rests on my shoulder, and I nearly melt into him, forgetting everything around me.

“What are you doing?” I pretend to be annoyed, though I do nothing to escape his embrace.

“What are you getting ready for?”

“I have a meeting.” I pull away now as the feeling of anxiety begins to burn again in the pit of my stomach.

“For?”

“None of your business.” I fully escape and twist around to look him in the eyes. He seems rather determined. Something isn’t wavering in his stance, and I’m not sure what’s brought this on, but I don’t like his persistence.

This back and forth is giving me emotional whiplash, and I don’t have time for the confusion that brings. One day he avoids me, the next, he acts as if he’s fucking me with his eyes.

“You should stay with me today.” He leans against the doorway to the closet.

“Did you not just hear me?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“I’m going out today.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You're still hungover.” I fold my arms over my chest and tap my fingers so he knows I’d rather have this conversation end.

“It would be good for us to be seen.”

“Antonio. Leave.” He shifts his jaw and shakes his head at me, turns around, and exits my room with heavy feet. I roll my eyes when he’s out of sight and turn back to my clothes.

I forgot to mention who I’m meeting. None other than Mike Amiri, head of AMIRI. It’s to my advantage to wear all AMIRI if I want to appeal to the narcissism in every artist. I choose high-waisted black jeans with darker wash black patches, classic black pointed toe heel booties, and a classic workwear button-up, tucked on one side, finished off with an Amiri belt and large black sunglasses. I was inspired to create this based on a runway look from the last show I was at.

After I’m head to toe in AMIRI, I pull my hair out of my face, slick it behind my ears on both sides, and braid it the rest of the way down. I finish it off with some small silver hoops and a simple glowing makeup look with a subtle red lip, and I’m out the door with my sketchbook in less than an hour.

I get a text from Iris as I step out in the hot California sun.

“Be there in three.” I sigh and plop down on the front porch chair, flipping through my Instagram as I wait.

“You weren’t leaving without me.” I look up to see Alk sliding on some shades.

“No, of course not.” I press my lips into a smile, and he comes to sit next to me.

“We can go home at any time, Princess. You know that, right?” He turns his head to me as I slide my phone into the large pocket of my jeans.

“I know.” I nod, and he nods back once, then turns his head to look out at the neighborhood.