“Home again,” I sighed to myself as I unlocked the front door. I didn’t quite know why, but sometimes I talked to myself on those rare moments when I was home alone and not entertaining VIPs.

Probably because it made it a little less weird and lonely.

I had a penthouse overlooking the best views of the city, a huge bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, all the luxuries I’d ever dreamed of while working my way up as a model one scrap at a time…

But I didn’t have anyone to share it with anymore.

As much as I loathed Alex now, I missed him in some ways because of the holes he’d left in my domestic life.

The dishes he’d picked were all gone. The photos he had put up of the two of us -- the lies designed to make me think we had more of a bond than we really had -- they were gone. Hell, the little homey touches like outdoor living magazines amongst the fashion spreads on the coffee table -- they were gone, too.

“It’s not like I mind a model apartment. Showroom style never gets old.”

Not quite true. I had someone in every two years or so to redo the apartment in more modern textures and finishings, but the changes were always gradual.

I uncorked a bottle of wine to pour myself a glass, then checked my fridge. The chef stopped by every week to freeze or refrigerate a week’s worth of meals for me to eat at my leisure, which worked much better than trying to coordinate his visits with me being home.

“Asparagus risotto and glazed tofu steaks? Oh, yeah,” I approved, taking out the dish and popping it into the oven to follow the cooking directions.

While I waited for it to heat up, I checked my phone. The party tonight was going to be insane. It was some celebration of an anniversary issue of some magazine. Someone had told me there was more than booze passed around now between the models and professionals.

I didn’t know if that meant sex or drugs, but either way, I was fine saying no. Neither was my style.

“Oh, but there’ll be drama tonight.” I grinned to myself at the kind of antics that tended to crop up toward the end of any night out, then refilled my wine glass.

Then, I plugged my phone into the house speakers to give myself a background soundtrack for my dinner. I liked classical music. I heard enough thumping pop and runway music as part of my job.

I hummed along to it, swaying on the spot as I tried to ignore the memory of Alex’s arms slipping around my waist from behind, his head on my shoulder as we waited for dinner to heat up.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”

In reality, I had no trouble getting offers… I was just picky about which ones I accepted.

I took my plate out of the oven and caught myself wondering whether Leonel liked asparagus.

“You should have seen this guy when he was your age.”

I shoved Paul, then tried to take his cocktail away. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink if you’re going to tell old stories…”

He laughed, holding his drink up and away from me. He didn’t remember to account for the fact that I was taller -- he had never been tall enough to walk the runway himself.

I plucked the drink out of his hand, then sipped it before handing it back. “Fine. But don’t talk like I’m decades older.”

He was grinning at Hunter, one of the models I was ambivalent about. He had natural flair, but once he was done on the runway, I wasn’t convinced he’d adapt well to print.

Leonel was already there, but his career so far was one of those rare, sudden success stories. Most models had to work their way up from the new faces department, one job at a time.

“It seems so long ago now that you were anywhere close to us,” Hunter admitted with a laugh. “It just feels like I’m cobbling together jobs sometimes.”

I nodded. “That’s quite normal.”

“Mmhmm.” Paul smiled. “Just as long as you don’t screw up in terms of, you know… PR gaffes, or doing a really bad job at a show sometime… you don’t have to worry. You’ve got a classic bone structure. It’s always gonna be in demand.”

Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, sidling this way and that for a moment. “Thanks.” His eyes lit upon me. “Could I ask you more about your career? Just for… you know, mentoring purposes?”

“Aw, go mentor our boys,” Paul teased and shoved me playfully. “Go mentor your drink first, though.”

I laughed and took Hunter to the bar to get a drink for each of us, then found a table. “What did you want to know?”

“Well… basically…” He fidgeted with his glass, then cleared his throat. “Leonel’s pretty new, right?”

“Yeah?”

“But he’s… suddenly big. Why can’t that happen to me? What do I have to do?”

I pressed my chin to my fist, leaning back in thought. “Some guys orchestrate it… you know, make up some big news to announce about themselves. Coming out doesn’t work anymore, obviously.”

Hunter chuckled. “Right.”

“Some guys build their own following online to get more attention. Twitter, Instagram, you know the drill.”

I itched to check Leonel’s feed. It had been filled with photos of Milan. With back-to-back fashion weeks it hadn’t actually been that long since London, but fuck, it felt like forever.

I was flying back for the final day in Milan before they all headed back here, then to Paris for the last of these hell weeks. And then back to New York City for the cologne commercial.

Maybe I could see him somewhere in all that.

“Right. I do that,” Hunter said with a nod.

“There’s no substitute for good old-fashioned work.” I shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Just… one word of advice. Never base your self-esteem on how much you’re working. That goes for any creative industry, but especially one like this.”

He nodded again, then scooted his chair closer, reaching across the table to run a hand along my arm down to my wrist, then over the back of my hand.

I barely resisted the urge to draw my hand back. I just raised my gaze to Hunter’s, watching him closely.

Is he…? Almost certainly.

“I appreciate your advice,” he murmured. “It’s easy to feel like you just need to be five pounds skinnier, or two inches taller, or…”

I shook my head firmly, easing my hand away to pick up my glass and finish my whisky. “Never think that way. They want you bad enough, they won’t care how many inches they take in or let out your hems.”

He hummed, then leaned in. “As long as you’re hot enough, right?”

“As long as you’re hot enough.” I chuckled quietly, taking in Hunter’s face. He was pretty, with razor-sharp cheekbones, perfectly swollen lips, the kind of light green eyes you could lose yourself in, long lashes, wavy blond hair…

Gorgeous enough for Prestige’s roster, or for my bed. So why didn’t I want to take him there?

He leaned in just a bit more. “What about… sleeping your way to the top?”

I almost winced, but instead, I managed a chuckle. “I got lucky and I didn’t do that. Some guys do.”

“Is there an opportunity?”

“Not at Prestige.”

Hunter’s gaze, which had been fixed on my face for the whole conversation, dropped to the table. He flinched and pulled back, quickly grabbing the stem of his drink again and sipping it. “Right.”

To ease the embarrassment, I added, “You’re gorgeous, you look and walk the part… pay attention to everything Paul and Raymond tell you, learn or study whatever or whoever they tell you to, and we’ll do everything we can to help you.”

“Right. Sorry. I guess I was just jealous,” he murmured, finally glancing up at me again.

I nodded. “It’s hard not to be, but hang in there. No agency can survive on the talents of one model alone. Models come and go, but a steady hard worker? Indispensable. You’re almost moving up to the runway department now, Raymond told me.”

“I am?” That news seemed to brighten Hunter’s day as he pushed back his empty glass and rose to his feet. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

I pulled him in for a one-armed hug, my arm firmly around his waist and no lower, and kissed his cheek. “Keep rocking it. You’ll do fine.”

As Hunter made his way back to Paul, I slipped my phone out to send Leonel a quick text.

-

Sure, I could find out from Raymond, but I’d get one hell of a raised eyebrow. Trying not to feel like I was skirting behind everyone’s backs, I rejoined the group.

“Mentored him up?” Paul teased, and it was easy to tell what he was thinking. Meeting him later? Not that I could blame him, that had been my MO for the last few months. And, or so I’d planned, for the next few years.

Now, though?

Things were different, and I wasn’t sure why.