Captivate, book I of the Love & Lust (2 page)

Two

Slade Collins stares at himself in the wall-to-wall mirror. Droplets of ice-cold water patter from the end of his nose onto the granite countertop. He certainly isn’t looking his best today. His skin seems a bit ashen under the row of lights dangling from the loo ceiling. Leaning forward, he can see puffiness just under his eyes, betraying his lack of sleep. Working the late shift at the pub last night wasn’t a great idea.

Hopefully his choice of casual yet trendy clothing and slightly messy hair will help overcome any initial negative impressions. His white shirt looks good on him, cut so that it fits along the narrow taper of his waist. His jeans hang low on his hips and his belt is cinched so his pants don’t sag too far and make him look like a right wanker.

He lifts his hand and examines the coffee stain on his sleeve. His lips flatten into lines of disapproval. What had that girl been thinking to leap right into his way like that?

She nearly gave him a heart attack when she teetered back toward the road. He was sure he would be on BBC news that night with some wild claim that he pushed an American tourist under a London bus, or something equally tragic.

He dabs a damp cloth against the stain, knowing it is hopeless. “So much for looking perfect,” he mutters as he rolls his sleeve up his forearm. He works on the left sleeve, measuring them against each other to make sure they look even.

Glancing back in the mirror, Slade dabs the cloth against his face. He feels flushed, but thankfully he doesn’t look it. A slight sheen of sweat clings to the line of his brow, but his smile still looks cool and confident. Just how it needs to be.

But a casual smile isn’t enough to restrain the hollow feeling winding through his stomach. It’s a good thing he didn’t eat anything yet or he’d be like the guy in the end stall tossing up his cookies.

For the twentieth time since entering the lobby of the Covent Garden Hotel, Slade wonders if this was a big mistake. His friend Sean was the one who saw the ad in the paper. “Model needed for
Ender’s Betrayal
photo shoot.” That was it. No details. No contact information. Only an address and a time. Seems a bit shady to him, but Slade couldn’t
not
go. Not when there was a chance he might actually be able to break into the modeling industry.

University never really worked out well for him. The parties were too frequent and the birds too fit. After a year of school, his mum called him back home and told him to get a job.

He bounced from job to job, but nothing really fit. It wasn’t like he actually wanted to grow up to wear a stuffy suit and tie and be chained to a desk for the rest of his life. He also wasn’t the least bit interested in asking sarcastic little prats if they wanted fries with their meal.

So Slade got a job at the only place he ever felt comfortable: a pub.

It’s a good gig. Late nights, more numbers for birds than he could keep up with, and of course, all the free pints he could want. Well, maybe not all that many, but it was still better than bagging groceries at a Sansbury’s.

But after three years as a publican, Slade was ready to make his mark on the world, and what better way to do that than to flaunt what Mother Nature gave him.

Slade unbuttons the top button of his shirt and steps back. He frowns, turning to get a view from all sides. He shakes his head and re-buttons it.

There is a tremor in his hands that makes him feel jumpy. Normally nerves don’t really get to him, but today he’s got a whole swarm of butterflies taking up residence in his stomach.

Leaning over the sink, Slade stares himself down. The scent of lavender from the soap dispenser does little to make him feel calm. “You can do this. It’s just a photo shoot. A few pics, a few smiles, and you’re golden, mate.”

A toilet flushes behind Slade and he stiffens. He’d thought he was alone in the loo apart from the guy in the end stall. He leans back and clears his throat as the door lock slides.

A man with an angular face and wide blue eyes smirks at Slade as he steps up to the sink beside him. His clothes are obviously designer-made, as are his shoes and the fancy haircut. Slade instantly dislikes him.

“Nervous too?” the stranger asks as he turns on the water and makes a show of wetting down his face.

Slade grimaces.
The bloke didn’t even wash his hands first.
“Nah, mate. Cool as a cucumber.”

He tosses the paper towel into the waste bin. After he slings his satchel over his shoulder, he turns to leave. The man chuckles and shakes off his hands. “Right, because it’s normal to chat with yourself in a bathroom.”

Yep, definitely American. Should have known.
Slade glances back over his shoulder. “Only in London.”

He shoves the bathroom door open and tosses a wave back over his shoulder. Slade hates Americans. Okay, well, maybe not all of them, but certainly the ones who think they are better than everyone else.

He’s met some really great American girls in his time at the White Horse Pub. Of course, they were just looking for a guy to show them a good time and he was more than willing to oblige.

Slade walks down the hall but at a much slower pace than his normal gait. He feels too restless to sit so he paces back and forth in the corridor instead. Artwork in wide frames lines the walls, but he hardly stops to notice. He is so intently focused on the pattern of the carpet to notice the American pass by or to respond to his biting comment.

His stomach clenches as he hears the steady hum of voices from down the hall. Most of the guys waiting are still talking crap about their exaggerated resumes. He’s heard inflated rumors about TV spots and magazine ads. One guy even bragged about landing a role on an American soap show, but apparently the scene he was in was cut before it aired.

Some of the guys are dressed like him, casual yet particular. Others have gone for more of a flashy style with jeans and a sports coat. He’s even seen a few polo shirts in the mix.

The waiting room is too stuffy for Slade. It feels close, suffocating.

Slade can’t care less about his competition’s indulgent resumes or the swagger they pair it with. All that matters is winning over the lady in charge, and that’s something he plans on excelling at.

As a kid, he discovered that women liked him. Not in a creepy, report you to the police sort of way, mind you, but rather the simply noting of his long eyelashes or his easygoing smile. As he grew up, he learned that all he had to do was slip into an easygoing smile and life just got so much easier.

He’s played on that asset for more years than he can count, and today he plans on milking it for all it’s worth.

The sound of a commotion up ahead convinces Slade to head toward the waiting area. When he arrived a little after nine this morning, the room had already been flooded with guys waiting for their time in the spotlight. He found it a bit odd that many of them decided to go shirtless despite the chilly temps outside, but Slade just shrugged it off. Whatever floats their boats.

His intent had been to arrive early, get a prime spot, and be out of here no later than noon. That plan backfired when he bumped into that girl on the street. That put him in a bad mood, and it hasn’t exactly improved any since arriving.

Noon comes and goes. So does two o’clock.

He grits his teeth as he scans the registration table. The line has dwindled slightly, but there must be at least fifty guys still hanging around the waiting room and ten more in line.

Doing a quick head count of the room, Slade realizes only two people have gone back since he left to cool off in the bathroom. Two. That is pathetic.

What is taking so bloody long?
He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and groans. It is nearing three o’clock and he has to leave by four to head to work again.

“Hey, I’m standing here.” Slade turns at the indignant cry from behind him as he steps into line to speak with the registration lady.

The boy looks like a slightly older version of Justin Bieber, and not really in a good way either. He’s trying way too hard to pull that off. “Aren’t you a little young for this group?”

The boy puffs up his hairless chest in indignation and Slade laughs. “Put it away, boy. No one wants to see it.”

He turns his back on the kid and taps his foot impatiently as he waits for the guy in front of him to stop chatting up the assistant. She’s not
that
good-looking.

Her hips are a bit too wide and she’s got this hint of a unibrow going on that makes Slade cringe. How can this woman work in the fashion industry and not know how to use tweezers?

“Next.” The woman sends the guy standing in front of Slade back to the waiting area with a stack of forms to fill out.

“You again?” A slightly bushy eyebrow rises as she looks past Slade at the red-faced boy just beyond. Slade can tell by the set of her lips that she’s not the least bit happy about his presence.

He’s pretty sure this was a rhetorical question as well. The fact that she remembers him from the past two inquires doesn’t bode well. “Yeah, my name is Slade Collins and I registered earlier this morning with you…”

She stares back at him with a blank expression.
Way to make an impression,
Slade inwardly groans.

He forces himself to smile. “I was wondering if you might be able to bump me up a bit in line. You see, I’ve got to head out for my job soon and—”

“Oh really?” She leans forward and crooks her finger at him to do the same. He leans in and fights back the tears that sting his eyes when he catches a whiff of her pungent perfume. “Do I look daft to you?”

Slade frowns. Oh the many ways he could answer that question! “No. Not at all.”

“Then what idiotic thought process told you that you could waltz over here, cut into my line, and assume I would bow to your every whim?”

His nostrils flare as he feels heat flood his face. He would love nothing more than to lash back at this power-hungry, haughty woman, but she knows she has him exactly where she wants him. Uncomfortable and biting down hard on his tongue. She knows the instant he says a single word in anger that he will get a personal escort out of the building and back onto the street.

Instead, he swallows down his anger and forces a tightlipped smile. “You must really love your job.”

“I will call your name when it is your turn.” She dismisses him with a hand gesture that feels dangerously close to shooing. “Until then, sit down!”

A string of explicatives dashes through Slade’s mind as she looks beyond him. “Next.”

He narrows his eyes as he turns to find the Bieber wannabe grinning from ear to ear. “Wanker,” he mutters, making sure his shoulder connects with the kid’s arm as he shoves past.

Scanning the room for a spare seat, he finally spots one in the very back of the room. All of the cushioned chairs are taken, leaving him to sink down onto a hard foldout chair. He drops his bag beside him and fidgets with his sleeve again. After obsessively rolling and unrolling his sleeves, he decides to put them right back where they started.

“Whatever,” he mutters as he digs deep into his bag and pulls out his earbuds and iPhone. He cranks up the volume and closes his eyes to zone out to Safety Suit and Daughtry for a while.

When someone taps him on the shoulder a while later, Slade jerks upright. He gets tangled in his wires and swears as he yanks out an earbud. Clutching his sore ear, he stares up at the pretty brunette leaning over him. “What did you say?”

She smiles. “I asked if you are Slade Collins?”

“Sure am.” He winds the earbuds around his iPhone and shoves it into an interior pocket of his satchel. Rocking back onto his heels, he gives her a onceover. “You need me for something?”

The girl straightens and jerks her thumb back over her right shoulder. “They’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

“Bollocks.” He stumbles to his feet, tripping over the strap of his satchel. His chair tips over and clatters to the floor behind him as he fights to keep his balance.

“Smooth, mate, real smooth.” A ginger-haired guy with a slightly wonky goatee laughs as he lifts his legs out of the way.

“Oh, piss off.” Slade slings his bag over his shoulder, making sure it slams into the back of the guy’s head before offering the brunette a smile. “After you.”

Her startled expression melts into a knowing grin. “Well, aren’t you a real charmer?”

“I have my moments.” He walks past a tall potted plant and turns the corner to follow behind her.