Exposed to You (2 page)

“Good. I’m looking for
an amateur. I want a... natural feel.”

“What exactly is the
modeling position for?” I asked, fiddling with the hem of my skirt.

Mr. King noticed the
gesture and smiled. “It’s a side project. I’m interested in artistic
photography and looking for a very specific look.”

He continued to stare
at me, and as he did so, his expression… altered. It was like he was looking
through me. The effect was instantaneous: I felt it in my stomach, and my
nerves fluttered to attention. Suddenly, the air between us felt different.
Charged.

Mr. King hopped off
the desk. “Stand up.”

I instantly stood and
saw him smile again.

“Yes, you are the
perfect height. I’d guess about five-foot-two?”

I nodded.

“You have a petite
figure, so there is no doubt you fall within the weight scale provided in the
advertisement.”

I nodded again, my
cheeks heating. It was hard not to find talk of my weight offensive, but I
reminded myself that if I wanted to be a model, I was going to have to toughen
up. In the modeling industry, models’ statistics were common knowledge. It was
how they got opportunities. So, I went a step further.

“I think I’m about
105.”

Mr. King nodded, a
small smile playing on his lips. “Very good. Very good, indeed.”

He continued to smile
as if at a private joke, crossed his arms and walked back to the desk, leaned
against it. “However, we still need to get to know each other. Like I said, the
position requires a certain personality.”

A tougher personality,
I supposed—one not thrown off by questions about weight.

 “Do you have any
objections to nudity?”

Even though I had
prepared myself for that question, I still blushed. I took a deep breath and
shook my head.

“We would have to work
on that blush,” he smirked, making me blush redder. He made a twirling motion
with his finger, and I turned on the spot.

“Perfect.”

So quickly it made me
jump, he grabbed his desk chair and placed it across from the couch, told me to
sit again. I sank back down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other,
trying to look calm and professional, when in truth I couldn’t remember ever being
as nervous.

He pulled out his
phone and scrolled through it. “I composed a list of personal questions I
thought relevant to ask in order to get to know one another.”

He glanced up at me as
if to ask if that was okay, and when I nodded, he began.

“How old are you, Miss
Clair?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Are you from New
York?”

“No, I’m from
California. I came here for school.”

“And what did you take
in school?”

“BA in Fine Arts.”

“Oh?” Mr. King raised
an eyebrow. “What fine art did you study?”

“Both drawing and
painting. I tried to study something that would be more... useful, but I wasn’t
interested.”

“Useful?” He arched a
dark brow.

“I considered going
into law afterward because, well, my parents suggested it and my best friend
wanted to study it.”

“But it wasn’t for
you,” he said, finishing my sentence and looking at me intently with his blue
eyes.

“No,” I said softly.

“You’re passionate,”
Mr. King nodded in understanding. “I am too.”

I looked down at my
hands, trying not to think of all the ways Dallon King might be passionate. A
glance around his office, and my thoughts traveled to him being passionate on
the couch, on the desk, against the door…

 “Where are you living
at the moment?” His question broke through my thoughts.

I knit my fingers
together and instantly pulled them apart, realizing it betrayed my nervousness.
“I’m still in the student residence apartments with a friend, but I have to
find my own place by the end of the week.”

The eyebrow raised
again. “Do you have any leads?”

“No.” I looked down.
What was the point in asking all these questions, just to get to know me
better? Or was he trying to gauge what he should offer me, if anything?

“Well, Miss Clair, I
should let you know that I am prepared to compensate you very generously. If
you’re interested in the position, that is.”

“I am,” I said, almost
too quickly. “I mean, if you’re interested in me, that is,” I added and
instantly blushed again. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch and he adjusted
his position on the chair.

I hadn’t meant to
sound so eager, but I was. It wasn’t just that I needed the money; I also liked
how Mr. King made me feel. There was something about the way he looked at me
and asked me questions that made me feel like I was truly being seen. For the
first time in my life.

Mr. King smiled and
leaned forward to touch my knee. “You’re so sweet. Before you agree, however, I
would like to show you my studio. It will give you an idea of what I expect.
Are you free right now?”

“Sure,” I said,
somewhat surprised.

Without further
discussion, he led me back through the now dark, empty office. Outside the
building, a black Audi SUV was waiting. The driver greeted us and then opened
the door. I climbed in and Mr. King slid onto the seat after me.

 “Home, Sir?” The
driver asked.

 “Please, Arnold.” Mr.
King responded before turning to me. “My studio is in my home.”

My eyes widened
slightly and I turned to the window so he couldn’t see my surprise. The
butterflies in my stomach intensified at the thought of going to Dallon King’s
home
,
and the logical part of me was freaking out that I was doing something I
shouldn’t be. My parents would have said it wasn’t appropriate, considering I
didn’t really know him, and he could get in trouble for taking a young woman to
his home after work hours. Then again, my parents would also die if they knew I
was pursuing something as lowly as a modeling career.

Beside me, Mr. King
was looking out his own window as if lost in his thoughts. I leaned back in my
seat and tried to relax. His receptionist had known about our interview, so
there was nothing to worry about. I was new to the corporate world, after all.
How was I supposed to judge what was appropriate?

He adjusted his
perfectly knotted tie, shifting the seat slightly, and his scent wafted toward
me. I inhaled and held my breath, trying to shut him out, even though there was
less than a foot of space between us. I’d never felt like this around someone
before—it was like every fiber of my body was aware of him. I tried to focus on
the scenery out the window, but to no avail; all I could think about was how I was
reacting to him. I’d entered the interview only somewhat intrigued, but now I
wanted desperately to be the person Dallon King was looking for.

When we reached his building,
he got out and quickly shut his car door before walking around to open mine. The
doorman greeted us, addressing Mr. King with a smile. The lobby seemed to be
made entirely out of marble. It was the most expensive looking building I had
ever been in. There was even someone to push the elevator button for us.

Mr. King scanned a
card once we were in the elevator and pushed the button for the 33rd floor. “I
own the entire top floor,” he explained.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Do
you have a big family?”

He glanced at me from
the corner of his eye and a smile twitched on his lips. “No, Amy, I do not.
That life is not for me.”

The elevator doors
opened and he breezed into the living area. “Please, feel free to look around.
I’ll get you a drink.”

I walked around
slowly, looking around me in awe. Like him, his penthouse exuded money and
power. All the artwork and furniture was modern, of course, and expensive.
Through the windows I could see a balcony that seemed to wrap around the entire
floor. It was a lot of space for one person.

Mr. King was in the
kitchen, which looked out into the living room. He poured two glasses of
champagne and handed me one, his eyes boring into mine.

“To hopefully making a
deal,” he said and we clinked glasses.

We both took a sip and
he watched me over the rim of his glass. I suddenly felt shy and glanced away.
I was undeniably attracted to him, and I was sure he knew it.

He pushed a contract
toward me across the breakfast bar. “This is a simple non-disclosure agreement,
not an official work contract. If you accept the position, we can prepare a
contract together. This agreement simply states that if you do not accept the
position, you will not reveal the nature of my artistic project. I hope you
understand that it is here for my protection.”

He lowered his head
slightly, looking at me intently, before releasing the contract so I could look
through it. I didn’t know anything about non-disclosure agreements and
certainly couldn’t afford a lawyer if I wanted to, but it didn’t seem to matter
anyway. I had no desire to tell anyone the details of Mr. King’s project. So, I
signed and dated the agreement and passed it back to him.

He smiled and placed
the contract in his briefcase. “Come, I’ll show you the studio.”

He led me down the
hall and stopped at a set of closed double doors. For a moment he looked
unsure, but it was a very brief moment, and then he was pushing both doors open
at the same time to reveal the studio.

I wasn’t sure what I
was expecting. The white backdrop, yes. Clothing racks full of outfits, yes.
But a bed in the middle of the room?

I could feel him
watching me.

“What color is your
bra?”

The tone of his voice
had changed, grown lower. I couldn’t look at him when I responded, even though
I knew I should have; I didn’t want him to know I was afraid. There was a
strange energy in the room, like the one I’d felt earlier in his office, but
magnified.

“Black.”

Mr. King walked up to
a clothes rack and shuffled through the items, pulled off a plaid skirt. “I
think we should try this one,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

I stopped breathing.
This was the moment that decided whether or not I could be what Mr. King
needed. It was time for me to choose the timid, appropriate girl I had always
been, or a new version of myself that could live a little.

He held the skirt out
to me and I took it.

“Now, I know this is
all new to you, but if we try some practice shots, you will have a better idea
of what the job entails. What do you think?”

“Sure,” I said,
smiling in a way that was more confident than I felt.

“Wonderful,” he
smiled. “I’ll help you out of your dress.”

My heart began to
race, but I ignored it and nodded before turning around to give him access to
the zipper. I felt him before he touched me: an electricity that raised the
hairs on the nape of my neck. He gently lifted my hair off my back and put it
over my shoulder before slowly, leisurely unzipping the dress down to my
bottom, pausing briefly before pulling it over my head.

“Face me.”

I obeyed, wearing only
my bra and panties and trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt. Luckily
I’d foreseen stripping down and was wearing a nice matching pair.

“Don’t be nervous,” he
said, looking pointedly at my arms, which were across my chest protectively.
“Being comfortable with your body is an important aspect of modeling.”

I dropped them but
still had difficulty meeting his gaze.

“You are a very
beautiful woman, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Clair.” He looked me up
and down appreciatively. “Exactly what I was looking for.”

I hid my blush by
focusing stepping into the skirt. While I fiddled with it, Mr. King pulled off
his suit and slacks and changed into a pair of worn jeans with holes in them
and a simple black T-shirt. I averted my eyes as he changed, but not before I
caught a glimpse of his muscular back. Now looking the part of a photographer,
he swaggered over to a nearby shelf, picked up an expensive-looking camera.

“When we’re in here
working, think of me as a director. Do not question me—just obey my requests.
Understood?”

I nodded, and then
spoke. “Yes.”

“Good. We should be
able to tell very quickly whether or not this arrangement will work.”

My stomach clenched
momentarily. I wanted more than anything for the arrangement to work.

“Lie down on your
right side and prop yourself up so you’re facing me.”

Easy enough. I got
into position on the bed and he snapped a few pictures.

“Don’t smile, just
look into the camera. Stare like you’re looking right through it. Perfect. Now,
roll onto your back.”

Mr. King climbed onto
the bed and stood above me, snapping away. From my vantage point, I was looking
up between his legs, and my mind traveled to places I didn’t want to go.