Just Another Series Book 2: Just Another Model
Author
Vesper Nadine
Reads
229K
Chapters
19
Becky once ruled the runway, but one bad choice shattered her glittering career. Now she’s piecing her life back together, determined to start fresh. What she doesn’t expect? Her brother’s infuriatingly charming boss keeps crossing her path. He hides behind a smile that fools the world, but Becky sees the shadows underneath. Aron built his empire from nothing, his past stitched with abandonment and guarded walls. Then Becky storms in—stubborn, sharp, and unwilling to let him hide. Sparks fly, shields crack, and secrets threaten to surface. Two broken souls collide, but can they help each other heal, or will they just deepen the scars?
Chapter 1
Just Another Model
BECKY
“Are you shitting me right now?”
If I were a character in a cartoon, there would be steam coming out of my ears, and my teeth would be on full display, as if I were a rabid animal.
Well, I guess you could say I still looked like a rabid animal—just a little less cartoonish, and a lot more dangerous, if the looks on the faces of people near us were any indication.
If you’re wondering what’s going on at the moment, let me give you a short recap.
So, I was a world-famous model for all the well-established brands. From Gucci to Dior, Benetton, Prada—you name it, I was wearing it at one point in my career.
But as such, I had little to no time for a romantic life outside of the fashion world. When I met Jackson and we sort of clicked, I did not resist the pull, and so our romance started.
He was one of the male models who joined us a few months back, and as I said, the connection between us was instant. You know, like those instant noodles that you just put in the microwave, and they’re the most delicious thing you’ve eaten in months. Well, it’s like that for me, since I have to be careful 99 percent of the time about how many calories I digest.
Like I was saying, the romance started fast and explosively. And on more than one occasion, I caught him looking at his phone nervously while we were together.
At first, I didn’t put too much thought into it, but then I started having my doubts—like maybe I was just one of many, or maybe he had a girlfriend back home…all sorts of things were running through my mind.
But each time I brought it up, he just reassured me I was paranoid and jealous for no reason. He even went as far as to say I was suffocating him and trying to control him. So, I backed away and gave him space.
That is, until today.
We all had our own trailers when we were on set for shooting, or we had rooms when we had a runway evening planned. Today was shooting day. We were stationed in Lorette de Mar in Spain, right on the beach, and it was a beautiful scene where I wanted to spend some time with my so-called boyfriend.
As I approached his trailer, though, a weird feeling started nagging at me, but I pushed it away as just being nervous after a few days without any contact at all. But as I was standing outside the trailer, the sounds from inside were like gasoline to the fire that was still burning because of Jackson’s accusations concerning my level of jealousy.
The sounds were definitely coming from a woman. And as I opened the door, I got a really good view of a woman’s naked front while she rode Jackson. And so, we can continue from my yelled line at the beginning:
“Are you shitting me right now?”
“What the fuck, Becky? What are you doing here? Have you ever heard of knocking?”
Let me tell you something. I am a very bubbly and talkative person, but right then, I was just plain speechless.
“Excuse me. Who are you and what are you doing in my husband’s trailer like you own the place?” the cowgirl asked.
Get it? Because she was riding him… Ah, it’s not so funny if you have to explain it. No, scratch that. It is not funny at all, but hey, always look on the bright side of life, tu-du, tu-du…
“Did you just say this cheating asshole is your husband?” I could not help it anymore. My mouth was in overdrive, and my filter had vanished into thin air.
Finally, she decided it was a good idea to dismount the horse she was riding and, in all her naked glory, she stood in front of me—and probably about fifty people outside the trailer who were interested in the unfolding drama.
“Who do you think you are calling him a cheating asshole? I know my husband, and he would never cheat on me!”
At this point, I was trying to decide if the psych ward was a more appropriate place for me or for the delusional naked cowgirl…or maybe we could both get a place there for a few weeks. Who knows, we might become friends.
Everything combined—the cheating, finding out my boyfriend was married, and my thoughts—pushed me over the edge, and I started laughing hysterically.
Between bouts of laughter, I managed to tell her, “Honey, I have no idea how many husbands you have, but this one is sure not faithful to you. His dick was inside my vagina just a few days ago while he was claiming how much he loves me.”
Sure, I could have been a bit more subtle, but in my experience, it was best to just rip off the band-aid and not stall. My words wiped the smug expression from her face, leaving her as white as a sheet in seconds.
As she turned to Jackson, I could see she gathered all she needed to know just from looking at his face.
“You asshole! Idiot! Scumbag!” she shouted.
Well, did I need to list all the nice words that followed?
Suddenly, Jackson jumped from the bed, with enough decency to grab the sheet and cover the “important” pieces. “Hold on, Lucy. I can explain everything. She was just fun to be around, and it only happened once…”
Now I had heard enough.
“You know what, Jackson? Fuck you! Lucy, right?” I turned to his—supposedly soon-to-be—ex-wife. “Believe me, I have no reason to lie to you. It was more than once, and he always claimed he was single. I mean, look at his hand—he doesn’t even wear his wedding ring. And he was always glued to his phone, so if I had to guess, I’d say there are more women out there with connections to this piece of shit.
“You don’t strike me as the obsessed type who has to message her man every ten minutes, because that’s how often his phone rang. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shoot in half an hour and then I’m gone. I hope you get rid of him and squeeze all the money from his account. Oh, and he also has a yacht in Brazil. He just invited our whole crew to a party there next week.”
With those words, I walked outside the trailer and left them to settle their own drama.
Then and there, I decided to move on from my modeling career and maybe put my business diploma to use. So I did the only thing left to do.
I dialed my best friend’s number. As soon as she picked up, I knew I had interrupted her funny-business time with my brother. A picture I did not need in my head—what was it about today? That was the second couple I’d caught in action.
At least this time it was only on the phone, and I didn’t have to see any nakedness. Still, I knew I had to be quick or she would hang up on me because my brother would distract her.
“Rach, I’m getting a ticket to fly home after I’m done with today’s shoot, so I’d be really grateful if you could stop eating my brother’s face long enough to pick me up from the airport tomorrow around this time?”
Suddenly, I heard a thump, followed by an “ouch,” then whooping came through the line.
“Oh my god! It’s as if you could read my mind! I was going to call you and ask if you had any vacation time left, because no way in hell am I planning a wedding without my best friend.”
A wedding?
At that moment, I realized how much of life back home I was missing because of my job…and only then did tears start flowing down my face.
Before I started sobbing, I assured my best friend, “I’ll be there tomorrow. Say hi to Mason for me. Love you guys.”
And as soon as I hung up, the waterworks started. Bloody hell, I missed home.
Thank God I finally came to my senses.
This summer was going to be one I’d remember forever—where I’d put myself first, do all the things I’d put off for years, and finally enjoy my time off with my best friend and my brother.
Let’s make this summer count.
