Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 111: New Model

Josh

I am sitting on my hotel bed, my laptop open. I quickly click the Zoom link to connect to Rebecca.

Rebecca’s face appears within seconds.

"Well, well. If it isn’t the knight in leather armor." She grins.

I smile sheepishly. "Don’t start," I warn her. Rebecca’s been my friend since college, and she never misses a chance to give me shit. "Did you find out anything from Sarah yet? About where Hailey might be working?"

"I did," Rebecca says, her face filling the screen. "And Sarah is suspicious as hell. Kept asking why I wanted to know about Hailey’s whereabouts. I had to make up some story about sending her a congratulatory gift basket."

I run a hand through my hair. "And?"

"And..." Rebecca drags out the word, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. "Luxe Magazine’s studio. Some converted warehouse on Kent Avenue. Sarah doesn’t know where she is staying yet."

My heart rate picks up. "You’re a lifesaver, Bec."

"I know." She leans closer to the camera, her expression turning serious. "Now tell me what your plan is, Josh? Show up at her work? Conveniently bump into her on the subway?"

I pause, my mouth half-open, because honestly? I hadn’t gotten that far.

"I don’t know," I admit.

Rebecca sighs, folding her arms. "You do realize you are borderline stalking, right?"

I wince. "I’m not trying to ambush her. I just."

"I am just yanking your chains, Joshy. I think it’s romantic," Rebecca sighs. "I wish someone would chase me."

I laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. "You’d deck anyone who tried, Bec."

"Fair," she says with a smirk. "But still. It’s sweet. Messy, questionable timing? Absolutely. But sweet."

I snort. "Thanks, Bec."

"Anytime, leather armor." She logs off with a wink, and I’m left staring at my phone.

Tomorrow, I need to figure out a way to run into her without scaring her.

I spend the rest of the day walking around New York, trying to convince myself I’m not a complete lunatic for flying across the country on impulse. The streets are packed with people who all seem to know exactly where they’re going, while I wander aimlessly, searching for inspiration.

As evening falls, I find myself in a small bar in Williamsburg, nursing a gin and tonic and scrolling through my phone. I pull up Kent Avenue on Google Maps, studying the location Rebecca gave me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head over there and... what? Wait outside like some lovesick teenager?

That won’t do.

The bartender slides another drink my way. "You look like you’re plotting something complicated," she says.

I laugh, surprised by her observation. "That obvious, huh?"

"You’ve been staring at that phone for twenty minutes with the face of a man either planning a heist or trying to work up the courage to text someone."

"Option two," I admit. "Sort of."

She nods sagely. "Girl trouble?"

"Is there any other kind?" I take a sip of my drink. "I flew here on a whim to see someone I barely know."

The bartender whistles. "Bold move. She worth it?"

I think about Hailey’s determined sprint down the highway, the way she clutched that portfolio like it contained all her dreams. "Yeah," I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. "I think she might be."

"Then don’t overthink it." She wipes down the counter. "Just be honest. New York has enough game players."

I consider her advice as I finish my drink. Honesty. It sounds simple when she says it.

~-~

Morning comes too quickly. I shower, dress in my least wrinkled shirt, and head out. I stop for coffee, then make my way toward Kent Avenue.

The warehouse is easy to spot—all industrial chic with massive windows. I position myself across the street at a coffee shop with outdoor seating, feeling ridiculous. This is stalking, isn’t it? I’m literally stalking her.

I’m about to give up and leave when the doors open and a group of people exit the building. I enter the building quickly.

I stride into the lobby, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. The converted warehouse has that typical Brooklyn industrial-chic vibe—exposed brick, polished concrete, and oversized light fixtures that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

A sleek reception desk sits front and center, manned by a woman with a geometric haircut and chunky designer glasses.

She looks up as I approach, her expression professionally neutral. "Can I help you?"

"Hi," I say, attempting a casual smile. "I’m looking for Hailey Jameson? She works here as a photographer."

The receptionist’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows draw together slightly. "Hailey Jameson?" She taps at her keyboard, eyes scanning the screen. "I don’t see anyone by that name in our system."

My stomach sinks. "She just flew in from Portland for a big spread in the September issue?" I feel like I’m babbling now, the confidence draining from my voice with each word.

"Sir, I’m not familiar with anyone named Hailey working here." Her tone shifts from neutral to slightly suspicious. "Are you sure you have the right address?"

"Kent Avenue, right? The Luxe Magazine studio?" I pull out my phone, double-checking Rebecca’s information.

"Yes, it is."

"You there! FINALLY!" someone yells behind me. freёnovelkiss.com

I turn to see a woman rushing toward me, clipboard in hand, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished concrete. She’s dressed all in black, with a Bluetooth earpiece and the harried look of someone running late for something important.

"Where have you been?" she demands, looking me up and down with critical efficiency. "You were supposed to be in makeup twenty minutes ago!"

"I think there’s been a misunderstanding—" I start, but she cuts me off with an impatient wave.

"No time. Marcus is already on the warpath. The other models are prepped and we need to start the first set." She grabs my arm, tugging me away from the reception desk. "I’m Tammy, by the way. Wardrobe’s this way."

The receptionist gives me a puzzled look but says nothing as I’m whisked away. I open my mouth to explain, but Tammy is already speaking into her headset.

"Found him. Bringing him up now," she says, steering me toward an industrial elevator. "Honestly, the agency said you were reliable."

My mind races. This woman thinks I’m a model. For Luxe Magazine. Where Hailey is shooting.

This could actually work.

"Sorry about that," I say, deepening my voice slightly. "Traffic was a nightmare."

Tammy gives me a side-eye as the elevator doors close. "Whatever. Good thing you showed up when you did."

I glance down at my dark jeans and fitted button-up. It wasn’t exactly model attire.

The elevator opens directly into a massive studio space. Bright lights illuminate a set designed to look like an urban rooftop. Assistants scurry around adjusting equipment, while several impossibly attractive people in sleek clothing lounge on metal chairs.

And there, in the center of it all, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail, stands Hailey. She’s bent over a tripod, adjusting her camera, completely in her element.

My heart does a ridiculous little flip.

Tammy pushes me toward a corner where a woman with a makeup kit waits. "Quick touch-up, then straight to wardrobe. We’re behind schedule."

"But I—"

"No buts. Marcus is watching."

I follow her gaze to a stern-faced man observing everything from a glass-walled office above. His piercing stare makes me straighten my posture instinctively.

The makeup artist descends on me before I can protest further, dabbing powder on my face and styling my hair with expert efficiency. "Good bone structure," she mutters. "Turn left."

I comply, my eyes never leaving Hailey. She hasn’t noticed me yet, too focused on her work, directing an assistant to adjust a light.

"Okay, you’re good," the makeup artist announces, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Tammy rushes over, clipboard clutched to her chest, eyes wide with urgency. "What are you doing? You need to be on set in two minutes!" She glances at my button-up shirt and makes a noise of exasperation. "Take that off. Now. The concept is ’urban warrior meets high fashion’ – you’re supposed to be shirtless"

"Shirtless?" I repeat, panic rising in my throat. This charade has gone too far, but I’m in too deep to back out now.

"Yes, shirtless! Did you even read the brief?" Tammy shakes her head and starts unbuttoning my shirt herself, her fingers moving with professional efficiency. "Marcus will have an aneurysm if we delay any longer."

I glance over at Hailey, who still hasn’t noticed me as she adjusts her camera settings. Part of me wants to confess everything, but another part—the reckless part that flew across the country on a whim is curious to see how this plays out.

"Fine," I mutter, taking over from Tammy and finishing the job myself. I pull off my shirt, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Thank god I’ve been keeping up with my workouts.

Tammy’s eyes widen slightly. "Well, at least you came prepared physically."

"Perfect," Tammy says, stepping back to assess. "Now get over there. Hailey’s waiting."

My heart pounds as I walk toward the set, feeling like an imposter about to be exposed. Hailey’s back is still to me as she speaks to one of the other models.

"I want to capture that tension between vulnerability and strength," she’s saying, gesturing with her hands. "Like you’re powerful, but there’s something raw underneath."

"Like this?" a tall blonde man asks, striking a pose.

"Close, but—" Hailey turns and freezes mid-sentence as her eyes land on me. Her mouth falls open, camera forgotten in her hands. "Josh?"

The studio falls quiet. Everyone turns to look at us.

"Hi, Hailey," I say, trying to sound casual despite standing half-naked in the middle of a high-fashion photoshoot.

"What are you—how did you—" She blinks rapidly, as if trying to make sure I’m real. "You’re in New York?"

Before I can answer, Marcus’s voice cuts through the silence. "Is there a problem, Ms. Jameson?"

Hailey’s eyes dart to the glass office, then back to me, panic written across her features. "No! No problem.