Chapter 20: Twisted Lies: Chapter 20

I avoided Christian with the determination of an escaped convict fleeing the FBI in the week leading up to New York.

It was surprisingly easy, given how early he left in the morning and how late he returned at night. I suspected he might be avoiding me as well, and I half expected him to back out of accompanying me to the shoot.

No such luck.

The morning of my Delamonte shoot, I found myself thirty-five thousand feet in the air, sitting across from a man who seemed as hellbent on ignoring me as I did him.

Except for a courteous exchange of we hadn’t spoken to each other since we left the house.

I sipped my lemon water and snuck a peek at Christian. He was working on his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration. His jacket lay on the seat next to him, and he’d pushed his shirtsleeves up to reveal his watch and tanned, muscular forearms.

How had I not realized how sexy forearms were until now?

I stared at where his Patek Philippe glinted against his bronzed skin. Jules was right. There was something about men wearing watches…

“Something on your mind?” Christian didn’t look up from his computer.

I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but my heartbeats collided like he’d caught me stealing.

“Just thinking about the shoot,” I lied. I took another sip of water.

Between the tension on the plane and my Delamonte shoot that afternoon, I was surprised I could keep anything, even liquids, down.

“What are you going to do while I’m on set?” I asked. “Go into the New York office?”

Harper Security was headquartered in D.C., but it had offices around the world.

“I’m not flying with you to New York so I can hole myself up in another office.” Christian typed something on his keyboard. “I’ll join you on set.”

Surprise ballooned in my chest, followed by a pinprick of anxiety. “But the shoot could take hours.”

“I know.”

I waited for an elaboration that never came.

I held back a sigh. Christian was more mercurial than a broken thermometer.

For lack of anything better to do, I settled deeper into my seat and examined the luxury surrounding us.

Christian’s private jet resembled an airborne mansion. Buttery cream leather seats formed intimate seating areas, and an elegant, cloud-like navy carpet muffled the steps of the two smartly outfitted attendants who looked like they’d stepped out of the latest issue of Besides the main cabin, the jet also boasted a bedroom, a full bathroom, a four-person screening area, and a dining table set with magnetic-bottomed plates and silverware engineered to stay still through turbulence.

It must’ve cost a fortune.

Christian seemed as comfortable with his opulent surroundings as someone who’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but my research told me he hailed from a normal, upper-middle-class family. According to the only public interview he’d ever given, his father had been a software engineer and his mother a school administrator.

“Why did you choose private security?” I asked, breaking the silence. “You could’ve gone into any field.”

Christian had graduated summa cum laude from MIT. He could’ve gotten a job anywhere after graduation—NASA, Silicon Valley, the CIA. Instead, he chose to build his own company from the ground up with no guarantees of success, in a field few MIT grads touched.

“I enjoy it.” Christian finally looked up, his mouth curving at whatever he saw on my face. “Rhys says it’s my god complex. Knowing how important the lives at stake are and that they’re in my hands.”

I’d forgotten Rhys used to work for him. They were so different it was hard to picture them existing in the same sphere.

Rhys, for all his gruffness, stuck by the rules (unless Bridget was involved). Christian didn’t seem like he had much use for rules at all unless they were his own.

“It’s not.” I may not know Christian that well despite living with him, but I knew he wouldn’t do anything out of pure ego. He was too practical and calculating for that.

“No, it’s not. Not entirely.” He rubbed his thumb over the face of his watch. “If I only wanted money, I could obtain it any number of ways. Stocks, selling proprietary software…which I did, to raise capital for Harper Security. But once you reach a certain level of wealth, money is just money. It doesn’t add any inherent value beyond that of ego. What’s more important is your network. Access. The people you know and the things they’re willing to do for you.” A smile, equal parts sensual and dangerous. “One debt owed from a well-placed contact is worth more than all the cash in the world.”

A shiver of trepidation crept up my spine. What he said made sense, but the he said it made it sound more ominous than he’d probably intended.

“Speaking of business…” Christian switched topics so effortlessly it took my brain a minute to catch up. “How’s the business plan going?”

“Good.” I wanted to say more, but the brush of his knee against mine distracted me.

I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten during our conversation.

Masculine heat and decadent spice stole into my lungs and further distracted me before I grasped the rest of my near-forgotten words. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now. Tell me more about you.”

His mini-speech just now was my first insight into how his mind worked.

Christian wore his expensive suits and charm like armor, and I was desperate for a chink, for any glimpse into the man behind the mask.

What was his childhood like? What were his hobbies, his goals and fears? What made him into who he was?

I didn’t know why I wanted answers to those questions, but I knew the tiny glimpse I’d gotten wasn’t enough. It was too intoxicating, like a shot of fine tequila straight to the blood of an alcoholic.

“I’m not that interesting.” It was the smooth, practiced response of someone who’d spent a lifetime locking his private thoughts and feelings inside a vault.

“You’re wrong.” Our gazes locked like two pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. “I think you’re one of the most fascinating men I’ve ever met.”

It was a bold admission, one that had his eyes darkening into a rich, molten amber.

“One of?” The languid softness of his question stoked whatever wild alchemy burned between us. Dark flames devoured all the oxygen in the cabin, leaving next to nothing for my compressed lungs.

“Tell me more about yourself, and I might promote you to the top of the list.”

His laugh stole into the remaining pockets of air in my chest. “Touché.”

Christian’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and the remnants of his laughter evaporated. Black swallowed amber, leaving nothing behind except promises of sin and dark pleasures.

Pinpricks of nervous energy buzzed beneath my skin. The memory of our almost kiss when I first moved in resurfaced, as it had a bad habit of doing since that night.

My nails sank into my knees, and I waited, not breathing, not moving, as Christian lowered his head—

“Mr. Harper, apologies for the interruption. But you wanted me to alert you fifteen minutes before landing.”

The attendant’s gentle voice sliced the moment into a thousand jagged pieces.

A cold wave of oxygen rushed back into my chest, followed by the acrid sting of disappointment when Christian drew back. Face blank, all traces of desire snuffed as if it’d never existed at all.

“Thank you, Portia.” Perfectly even, perfectly calm, unlike the erratic heartbeat thundering behind my ribcage.

Portia nodded. Her eyes flitted between us before she disappeared to another part of the jet.

Christian returned his attention to his computer, and we didn’t speak for the duration of the flight.

It was just as well.

I couldn’t have formed proper words had I tried. I was too unsettled by the knowledge that Christian Harper had been about to kiss me again…and that I’d desperately wanted him to.

As nervous as I was about the Delamonte shoot, I was grateful for the distraction from my tangled feelings toward Christian.

I wanted him, but I didn’t want to date him (or anyone else).

We lived together, but we barely knew each other.

The world thought we were dating, but we’d barely kissed.

The contradictions were enough to drive a girl mad.

Once I returned to D.C., I needed girl talk with Ava and Jules ASAP. I was too rusty in the boys department to sort through my mess on my own.

But, for now, I had something more urgent that required my attention: not screwing up the first Delamonte photoshoot of the most important brand deal of my life.

When Christian and I arrived at the studio, it was already bustling with activity. The photographer, makeup artist, hairstylist, and various assistants and Delamonte staff rushed around, steaming garments, and fussing over lighting and props. A pop song played in the background, but all commotion halted when I walked in.

Spiders of anxiety crawled over my skin.

I had no problem doing solo photoshoots or being on camera when I couldn’t people watching me. Being the center of attention at an in-person shoot was an entirely different matter.

“Stella!” Luisa broke the silence and greeted me with effusive kisses on both cheeks. “You look wonderful. And Christian.” Her eyebrows climbed up her expertly Botoxed forehead. “

is a surprise.”

“I’m in the city for business. Besides…” Christian rested a hand on my lower back. “I couldn’t resist attending Stella’s first photoshoot.”

He looked and sounded so believable as a proud, doting boyfriend that I almost forgot we were pretending.

Almost.

“Huh.” Luisa eyed him with fascination. “Indeed.”

I was more surprised to see her on set than she was to see Christian. As the brand’s CEO, supervising photoshoots was below her pay grade.

She must’ve read the confusion on my face because her eyes twinkled with knowing. “I couldn’t resist dropping by as well. People say I’m micromanaging, but this campaign is my baby. I’m determined to make it the best one in Delamonte history, and you, my dear…” She patted my hand. “You’re going to help make that happen.”

The sandwich I ate for lunch churned in my stomach.

Christian retreated to the back to take business calls while I sat through hair and makeup and met everyone on set, including Ricardo, the brand’s in-house photographer. He was a handsome man in his forties, with tanned skin and a flirtatious smile that he bestowed upon me before it faded.

I followed his suddenly wary gaze to where Christian stood by the exit, his phone to his ear but his attention fixed on us.

“Your boyfriend is an intense one, huh?” Ricardo let out a nervous chuckle before he cleared his throat. “No matter. Time to get started, darling. We have magic to make!”

He was charming enough to pull off such a cheesy line, and for the next hour, I tried my best to follow his guidance, posing and turning and contorting my body into strange, unnatural positions until sweat trickled down my spine.

The lights were insanely hot, and I pictured my makeup melting until I resembled a crazed clown.

Also, was it just me, or had Ricardo lost some of his enthusiasm? His encouraging shouts of “Gorgeous!” and “Beautiful!” had gradually tapered off into “Turn left” and “Too far left.” Soon, only the clicks and whirs of his camera filled the studio.

No one spoke, but the weight of their stares pressed against me like a second layer of clothing.

Self-doubt crept into the vacuum left in the wake of their silence.

“Lift your chin higher.” Ricardo’s instruction interrupted the fantasy I’d concocted of being alone. “Drop your hand…a little more…relax those shoulders…”

It wasn’t working.

He didn’t say it, but I could it. The thick, sour sting of disappointment tainting the air. The one I was so used to tasting whenever I went home.

I was finally working with my dream brand, and I was screwing it all up.

Tears gathered behind my eyes, but I set my jaw and blinked them back. I would cry on set. I could hold myself together until the shoot was over.

Besides, this was only the first session. There were three more. I’ll practice before the next one and improve…if they kept me on.

The unforgiving fist of anxiety strangled my lungs.

What if Delamonte terminated my contract? Were they allowed to do that?

My mind rifled through the contract’s clauses, frantic in its search for one that allowed the brand to dump me if I didn’t perform up to its standards.

hadn’t I looked more closely at the language? I’d been so excited I’d signed after a quick check with Brady to ensure there were no major red flags. But what if—

“Stella, darling.” Forced patience strained Ricardo’s voice. “Let’s take a break, shall we? Walk around, drink some water. We’ll reconvene in ten minutes.”

Translation: you have ten minutes to get your shit together.

Low murmurs broke out, and I spotted a frown on Luisa’s face before she turned away.

The rush of tears pressed harder against the dam of my willpower.

Warm, masculine spice filled my nostrils. A second later, the deep black of Christian’s suit jacket came into view.

He handed me a glass of water. “Drink.”

I did. It cooled some of the sweat inching my spine, but the air was still too hot, the lights too bright. I felt like a bug buzzing around in a fluorescent bulb, trying to escape before I burned to death.

“What are you doing?” I asked when Christian took my empty glass, set it on the nearest table, and returned to stand in front of me. Assessing me, the way he would a prospective investment or unsolved puzzle.

“Reminding you of why you’re here.” His tone was soft but authoritative enough to drown out the nasty taunts crowding my head.

“Why are you here, Stella?”

“For a photoshoot.”

I couldn’t summon the energy for a better, less inane answer.

“That’s the ” Christian grasped my chin and tilted it until my eyes met his. “I’m asking you Why, of all the people who could be standing in your spot, are here?”

“I…” Because I’d spent the past decade cultivating an image that had become a cage as much as it had a lifeline. Because I was deceiving my followers and almost everyone I knew to achieve some stupid, arbitrary measure of success. Because I was desperate to prove I succeed to people who didn’t even care.

Thickness clogged my throat.

“Because they chose you.” Christian’s cool voice sliced through my muddied thoughts. “Every blogger in the world would kill to be standing where you are, but Delamonte chose Not Raya. Not any of the other women at the dinner or in the pages of magazines. This is a multibillion-dollar brand, and they wouldn’t have invested in you if they didn’t think you can do it.”

“But I can’t.” My whisper revealed the heartbreaking truth. I was an imposter, a little girl playing dress up in a grown up’s clothes. “You see how it’s going. I’m bombing.”

“You are not bombing.” The guided precision of his statement struck the shell of uncertainty in my chest. Dented, but not destroyed. “It’s been an hour.

hour. Think about how much time you invested to get to where you are now. How much have you achieved? How many people have you outlasted? You downplay your accomplishments as ordinary when you would hail them as extraordinary on anyone else.”

Christian kept his grasp on my chin as he brushed his thumb over my cheek. He was close enough I could spot the gold flecks in his eyes, like fallen stars swimming in pools of molten amber.

“If you saw yourself the way other people see you,” he said quietly. “You’d never doubt again.”

Curiosity and something infinitely sweeter and more dangerous fluttered to life in my heart. “How do other people see me?”

Christian’s eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Like you’re the most beautiful, most remarkable thing they’ve ever seen.”

The words lit every molecule in my body and dissolved them into a pool of exquisite, unbearable warmth.

We weren’t talking about other people, and we both knew it.

“This is one photoshoot, Butterfly.” Another brush of his thumb, another gallop of my heart. “The first half was practice. The second half is yours. Do you understand?”

It was impossible not to get swept away by Christian’s confidence.

Instead of adding a brick to my worries about not living up to expectations, his faith in me fortified me enough to lock those ugly, taunting voices in my head back in the box where they belonged.

“Yes,” I said, my lungs tight but my breathing easier than it’d been all afternoon.

“Good.” His lips dipped and touched mine in the softest of kisses.

It wasn’t the first time we’d gotten this close, but it felt more effortless.

Less of a kiss, more of a promise.

My nerves settled while everything around me disappeared for one long moment.

Then the moment was gone, and so was he, but the warmth of his presence and the phantom brush of his mouth lingered.

Another flutter disrupted my heartbeat.

I steeled my spine and faced Ricardo again with a smile.

“I’m ready.”

If the first half of the shoot was a disaster, the second half was a revelation. Whatever had been blocking me unstuck, and Ricardo’s rapid shutter clicks filled the studio with renewed enthusiasm.

And we were done.

I hadn’t moved more than a few inches the entire time, yet my heart thundered like I’d just ran the New York Marathon.

“Perfect! You are darling, despite the, ah, rocky start.” Ricardo winked at me. “You were for the camera. The final photos are going to be gorgeous!”

“Thank you,” I murmured, but I barely heard the rest of his gushing.

My eyes searched the stark white room until they found Christian.

He stood in the back corner. Still on a business call, still gorgeous in his suit and tie, and still watching me with those eyes of whiskey over ice.

Despite the phone pressed to his ear and the hungry stares of every woman and several men in the room pinned on him, he didn’t look away when I gave him a playful wink and smile.

It was an off-the-cuff, in-the-moment sort of thing, and not the type of action I’d usually take with a man I had barely even kissed.

But I was riding high after the shoot, and Christian was so composed all the time I wanted to knock him off-kilter.

Just once, just a little bit.

Nothing, however, could’ve prepared me for the devastation his lazy, answering smile wrought on my heart.

The butterflies lying dormant in my stomach went crazy, and I suddenly knew, with all the certainty in the world, that they were there to stay.