Kiss Me Now - A Billionaire Boss Romance

Inside, Marcel’s in a flurry of activity as per usual. I watch him flit between camera equipment, the makeup stands and the artists standing at the ready, and the line of models waiting to get done up. Before he catches sight of me, though, I notice him stop by one stand in particular, and trade a long, slow kiss with a handsome guy whose cheekbones nearly rival Marcel’s own.

I’m grinning by the time Marcel makes it to my side for a tight hug. “Someone’s enjoying himself,” I point out, grinning. I watch Marcel’s guy line up for the makeup stand, and realize he’s one of the models when he strips off his shirt to reveal some seriously cut abs.

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” He nudges my side, winking. Then I follow his gaze across the room to Lark, standing in deep conversation with the set manager next to the coffee cart.

My heart does a weird little flip—rising and sinking again all in one motion. The same way it always seems to around Lark, a regular roller coaster of emotions. I want to know if he’s still thinking about our kiss too. If it meant as much to him as it did to me. But I can’t exactly bring it up, after what we agreed.

“Oh, uh…” I tear my gaze from Lark. “Lark and I decided we’re better off as friends.”

Marcel’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “You both decided this?” he asks, with another long look in Lark’s direction, as if he knows something I don’t.

“Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. After another piercing look, I throw up my hands, relenting. “Okay, fine, I told him no, and he agreed to stop pursuing me. Asking me out. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I knew it.” Marcel’s eyes narrow. “That boy is more hooked on you than I’ve ever seen him on anybody. No way he would’ve suggested a friends-only thing.”

“Can we change the subject, please?” I fold my arms, tilting my head back and resisting a groan. I already went through all of this with Lark, and it was hard enough. Hearing Marcel, one of Lark’s friends, talk about how into me Lark was, isn’t helping.

We made our bed. Or rather, we made our two, separate beds. Time to lie in them. Alone.

“Sure, honey. You ready for today? I was thinking we do same as our first shoot, but a bit more drama on the product. We’ve showcased your demurer looks so far, the barely-there makeup styles. It’d be fun to get a little extra today.”

My cheeks flush. “Uh… how extra, exactly?” I do make some bright colors too—I’ve always liked them myself, for big nights out. But I didn’t picture super over-the-top makeup being my brand, per se.

He laughs at my expression. “Nothing you aren’t comfortable with, don’t worry.” Marcel loops an arm through mine and leads me toward the studio lights. “Trust me,” he purrs, and I can hardly do otherwise, when he’s dragging me around like this.

But, I realize, I do anyway. Trust him. It’s a pleasantly surprising discovery, since I’m not used to trusting my work in the hands of anyone else. Now I’ve learned how to trust not only Marcel, but Lark, too, with their parts in making my brand a success.

We’re halfway through the shoot when a door slams. I glance up to see Sheryl entering, and my eyebrows rise. I hadn’t realized she’d be coming today. I raise a hand to wave to her, and she offers me a tight smile and a curt nod before beelining past where I’m stationed at the edge of the stage, without even stopping to say anything.

My stomach tightens. I wonder what’s wrong? Because it’s clear from her face that something is.

I try to focus on the shoot, but my attention wanders in the direction Sheryl went. I spot Lark standing beside her now, still in his spot backstage. He hasn’t tried to approach me all morning, aside from when I went for a coffee, and he handed me one, already prepared the way I like it, with a rueful smile on his face and a “Good morning,” that sounded like it cost him more energy to say than it would have to swallow.

I know exactly how he feels. I feel the same way. My whole body is burning for him. Every time we lock eyes, it’s a reminder of our conversation last night. Of how devastated he looked by the end of it. Of how much it hurt to walk away after that kiss.

It was the same way I felt, too.

Now, however, as I watch Sheryl and Lark talking—or, more accurately, as I watch Sheryl talking and Lark staring at the floor, his arms crossed, I wonder if maybe some of his mood isn’t related to me after all.