The Contract (Convenience Book 2) Read online

  The Contract

  Convenience Book Two

  Stella Gray

  Copyright © 2020 by Stella Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About This Book

  Also by Stella Gray

  Prologue

  1. Luka

  2. Luka

  3. Luka

  4. Brooklyn

  5. Brooklyn

  6. Brooklyn

  7. Luka

  8. Brooklyn

  9. Brooklyn

  10. Brooklyn

  11. Brooklyn

  12. Luka

  13. Brooklyn

  14. Brooklyn

  15. Brooklyn

  16. Luka

  17. Brooklyn

  18. Brooklyn

  19. Luka

  20. Brooklyn

  21. Brooklyn

  22. Luka

  23. Brooklyn

  24. Luka

  25. Brooklyn

  26. Brooklyn

  27. Brooklyn

  Also by Stella Gray

  About the Author

  About This Book

  If only I'd never signed that contract. Or accepted the one I didn't.

  My husband doesn't trust me. Not that I can blame him.

  But he needs me, needs my image. I need his connections. And I have to find a way to convince him to set aside our differences.

  There's one way that always works.

  Even when we hate each other, our bodies betray us.

  The one place we've never disagreed is in bed.

  Except this is about more than just us.

  And even Luka Zoric's legendary control breaks sometimes.

  Also by Stella Gray

  Arranged Series

  The Deal

  The Secret

  The Choice

  Convenience Series

  The Sham

  The Contract

  The Ruin

  Prologue

  Brooklyn

  Six Months Ago

  I sit stiffly in my chair, pulse racing, and try not to overthink what’s about to happen.

  Last week I had a great audition with Elite Image, but as days went by without a call back, I figured I hadn’t made enough of an impression with the agents at the casting call…until I walked out of my morning yoga class yesterday to find I’d gotten a voicemail from an EI assistant. When I called Elite back, the assistant told me that the CEO wanted to “personally” meet with me for an interview. I was floored.

  I’d gone to plenty of agency auditions during my past two years in LA, and never once had I gotten more than the standard “Don’t call us, we’ll call you” before being dismissed. Could this finally be the break I’ve been waiting for? I wondered.

  I’d been driving my best friend Mateo up a wall for the past twenty-four hours asking that same question over and over again. It seemed like Mateo’s career had exploded overnight, while mine had lagged slowly behind. I knew Mateo had a unique look, one that got people’s attention, but so did I—and it wasn’t like I couldn’t book a gig here and there. The problem was that I felt like I’d been treading water in the industry for years.

  Part of me had already considered the very real possibility that a modeling career might not be for me. I’d even been researching college programs and taking some of those online “Which Career is Best for You?” quizzes, but every single one of them pointed me toward a job in entertainment or the arts, so I hoped and prayed that it was just a matter of time for me.

  Now here I am at the Elite offices, first thing Tuesday morning, ready to find out if this is my rocket to fame or just another false alarm.

  I’m in a gleaming black leather chair that likely cost more than my car, waiting on Austin Spears to sit down at his huge desk across from me. My excitement battles with sheer anxiety, a high of adrenaline coursing through me. I’ve been struggling so hard here on the West Coast, to the point that I’ve even considered walking away from modeling altogether. But it seems like my career is starting to look up. Why else would the CEO want to have an in-person conversation?

  “Miss Moss, it’s a pleasure.”

  Spears saunters in with a warm smile and my hopes skip up a little higher. I begin to rise from my seat, but he gestures me back into the chair and reaches down to shake with me.

  “I’m Austin Spears,” he says, though of course I already know that. Even if I wasn’t in his executive office suite, his flashy designer watch, cologne, and tailored suit all scream CEO.

  “It’s great to meet you,” I tell him, smiling back widely. “You can call me Brooklyn.”

  “Perfect. I prefer Austin, myself.” He gives me a once-over, but it feels professional.

  I’m glad I settled on a little black dress and heels for this meeting instead of the skinny jeans and bohemian blouse I’d been debating. He’s dressed in dark navy, his auburn hair slicked back to show off a perfect undercut. As he takes his hand back I notice that his nails are manicured, his skin, baby soft. This is a man accustomed to luxury. Money. Power.

  I shiver to think about how a contract with Elite Image could propel me into that same world. I’ve been working my ass off trying to land a decent contract, to get my face out there in a bigger way than I ever could booking small-time gigs back home in Chicago. I’m ready for this.

  He leans on the edge of his desk with his hands clasped in front of him, but I’m unable to read his neutral expression.

  “Let me preface by saying that we were very impressed with your audition,” he says. “There’s something a little mysterious and inscrutable about you. We see a lot of girl-next-door types and a lot of pouting runway model-wannabes so it’s nice to get something different.”

  I laugh along with him, but my heart is fluttering at the compliment. “Thanks. I just try to be myself.”

  “Well, it’s working for you,” he says, leaning forward. “Here’s the thing. We have a huge campaign in the works with Maxilene. I’m going to assume you’re familiar with the company?”

  “Of course. They’re one of the biggest cosmetics companies in the world,” I say with a nod, my heart starting to pound. “They’re on billboards, they have counters in every department store, and they have a huge international presence. I use some of their products myself.”

  “That’s actually perfect,” Austin says. “Because we like your look for their campaign, Brooklyn. A lot.”

  He moves opposite me and takes a seat in his chair. My pulse is racing so fast now, I can barely breathe. A contract with Maxilene would set me up for the rest of my entire career.

  “That’s amazing to hear,” I manage.

  Austin steeples his fingers. “Of course, we have a hundred other girls that would also be a good fit. Girls that we already represent. So…”

  He watches me closely as he speaks, gauging my reaction, which is hard for me to contain. My initial excitement fizzles into confusion and uncertainty, and it’s difficult to keep my face from showing it. Just like that, any idea of an upfront contract with Elite vanishes. The saying, “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is” pops into my head.

  Still, I try to keep my smile pasted on. “Why did you mention it to me, then? I mean, there’s no point in being coy—I’d love to work with you if that’s what’s on the table, but it sounds like you might have what you need already. Is there another reason for this interview?”

  “Maybe
,” Austin says. “But that all depends on you.”

  “O…kay. Can you be a little more specific?”

  This industry routinely chews models up and spits them out. I should be used to the ups and downs by now, but this is the strangest lead-on I’ve ever had. He’s still weighing me up though, seeming to be considering something, his head tilted to the side. A glimmer in his eye makes me think there’s a lot more to his decision than just my face.

  “I saw on your resume that you’ve done a lot of work in Chicago,” he says, pivoting.

  I nod, my brows drawing together. “That’s right. I started working when I was still in high school, so I stayed close to home for a few years.”

  “Ever had the chance to work with KZ Modeling?” he goes on.

  My scalp tingles a little. I’m not sure how to answer. Of course I’d dipped my toes in the KZ waters that one night with Luka Zoric, but it hadn’t ended well for me. I really want a contract with Elite, though, so I can’t get into all that. I’d only make myself sound naïve.

  I bend the truth slightly. “I had the opportunity for representation, but I turned it down so I could come out here. I wanted to branch out. See new places.”

  His eyebrows arch as he leans back in his chair with a knowing nod of his head. “Probably a good thing. You dodged a bullet there.”

  “Yes.”

  I know he’s referring to the prostitution scandal that rocked KZ, but I don’t need or want to get into the details or participate in any industry gossip.

  “What do you think of them now?” he prods. “Have they really cleaned up their act?”

  I spread my hands in a gesture of uncertainty. Why does he think I would know? My sole experience with KZ Modeling consists of the one-night stand I had with Luka years ago—during which he made false promises of a contract in order to get me in bed. And there lies the beginning and end of my interaction with KZM.

  By all accounts, the Zorics have recently gone full speed ahead in trying to clean up their image publicly, starting with a name change and a rebranding campaign. But as much of a douche as Luka is, I can’t see him or his family carrying on with any sex trafficking now that their patriarch is in prison. I’m sure they’re fully committed to keeping their hands clean.

  “They seem to be on the up-and-up,” I say. “I wouldn’t know the full details, of course.”

  Austin dips his head. “Of course.” He pulls a document from a folder on his desk and sets it facedown on the top. “KZ Modeling, or should I say Danica Rose Management, is exceptionally vulnerable right now. With all the bad PR and a slew of models breaking their contracts with the company, they’re going to have a difficult time staying afloat. In fact, their first quarter returns were frankly pretty dismal. You’ve heard about all of that, I’m sure.”

  “I have,” I admit. “Though the majority of the models were happy to sign on with Danica Rose under new terms. I imagine they’ll bounce back eventually.”

  Austin shrugs. “Who’s to say? Their future is very uncertain. Uncertain enough that another agency could swoop in right now and take them over. Buy the company outright. Wouldn’t you think?”

  “It’s possible,” I say noncommittally.

  The truth is, I don’t really know. I’m not in the habit of spending my time pondering the financial health of the modeling agencies back in my hometown. I have no idea why Austin is talking to me about this. I have zero connection to the Zorics. At the same time, as strange as this interview is, I don’t want to come across to him as indifferent.

  “Is this buyout something Elite is interested in?” I ask, watching his face for a tell.

  “It’s possible,” he echoes me. He gets up and walks to the huge windows, looking out at the view of the Hollywood Hills, pacing casually like this whole conversation is no big deal. But I know I’ve hit the mark. He’s being pretty obvious. “Could you still get a contract with them?”

  My heart lurches again. “Maybe. Though it wouldn’t make much sense, honestly. I’m in LA now and I don’t plan on moving back to Chicago any time soon.”

  Austin frowns as he turns back toward me. “That’s too bad. I see something special in you. And if you were to, say, work your way back into KZ—I mean, Danica Rose—and gather valuable information…information that could be used to assist in a takeover…well, you wouldn’t just be special anymore. You’d be Maxilene-special.”

  I don’t get a chance to even consider a response as he continues, “Elite will take over Danica Rose with or without your help, Brooklyn. But it will go smoother, faster, and a lot more painless with someone on the inside. Especially if we’re able to make them an informed offer.”

  I frown. “I—”

  “I’ve read your CV,” he interrupts, walking closer. “Come on. You’ve been pounding the pavement for years. You should be national by now. You’ve got the look, the experience, the attitude. Let us help you. A face like yours is one DRM will take a second look at.”

  He flips over the paper on his desk and I take a look. It’s a short summary of the Maxilene campaign…with a lot of dollar signs attached to it. I flick my gaze to his. Austin is smiling as if he’s known all along that I couldn’t turn my back on something this good.

  “Are you going to go back to your old agency and be a nobody forever, Brooklyn? Or are you going to finally make a name for yourself? Tell me you’re in.”

  No, I don’t want to go back to my old agency. I outgrew them a long time ago. I want more. I want bigger. Better.

  I want Maxilene.

  I slide the paper back to him as I rise and smooth the front of my dress. Lifting my chin, I try not to let my conscience in. There will be plenty of time for that later.

  My mind is made up.

  With a cool smile I tell him, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Luka

  Chapter 1

  She betrayed me. My wife betrayed me.

  As I storm through the suite, hands at my temples, my stomach roils at the thought of the devastating message I received from Monica Shore this morning. I can’t stop turning the truth of it over in my mind. Brooklyn has been lying to me all along. And now I’m on my honeymoon with a deceitful, backstabbing liar who planned to sell me and my family out to Elite Image.

  They’re not just the competition—they’re our agency’s nemesis. For years, Elite has monopolized all the top talent in the modeling industry, raking in new clients with hardly any effort and scalping all the highest-earning models off of other companies whenever they get the chance. Now that they’ve got their sights set on DRM, I know they’ll stop at nothing to buy us out. It’s no secret that our agency is struggling—but it still feels like a knife to the gut knowing that my wife planned to hand us over on a platter to their vile CEO, Austin Spears.

  I don’t know what makes me more enraged: that I never saw this coming, or that I’d actually started to develop feelings for Brooklyn. Both accounts remind me that I’m an idiot. Especially considering the fact that I’ve been with plenty of women before, and I know exactly how they act once they find out who I am and what I can do for them. I should have known.

  In the end, one thing’s for certain, though—my heart and my judgement can’t be trusted. Weighing people’s integrity isn’t something I’ve had to do often, I guess, and it shows. Instead of being the decent person she presented herself as, she’s nothing more than a self-serving manipulator.

  I try to remind myself that I’m no saint, that I can’t turn my nose up too far. I’ve certainly had sex with women for my own purposes. But the difference between me and my wife is that Brooklyn was malicious enough to actually go out of her way to make me feel something real for her. At least in my case, I never tried to deceive the women I bedded into developing feelings for me. I made it clear that I expected nothing beyond a good lay and some discretion after the fact. I’d say it turned out pretty well for me.

  Yet thanks to Brooklyn, I’m now trapped in this decadent Parisian honeymoon suite
with the last woman on Earth I want to be with. I never should have gotten close to her. I can’t even look at her, even though I can feel her eyes on me and she won’t stop sniffling as if she’s holding back tears. More manipulation, I’m sure. Women are good at playing the crying game. I’ve never fallen for it in the past, and I’m sure as hell not about to start now.

  “Luka, please,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t going to go through with it. I swear. I destroyed that contract; I had no intention of holding up my end.”

  “Hmm.”

  Refusing to respond beyond that, I continue gathering up her things from the bedroom as she follows me around making excuse after excuse.

  I’m barely listening. She’s said the same thing about five times now, in five different ways—but I know what I saw with my own eyes, in black and white. A contract between Elite Image and Brooklyn Moss, offering her big incentives—including a lucrative modeling contract and a deal to work with Maxilene—to provide EI with insider information that would assist them in a takeover of Danica Rose Management. Those assholes actually think they can buy us out.