Facade

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-076-5

    To the men-loving men who inspire me,
    my fellow writing sisters who keep me on my toes, and the girls at Dreamspinner who continue to give me a voice.

    Façade
    1

    JONAS HUNTER didn’t take on new clients. He was no longer a young man and was making a very nice living thanks to the regulars he already had. He certainly didn’t need a client whose assistant was as pushy and demanding as this one. Jonas had repeatedly brushed him off until a seductive but businesslike female voice had pleaded with him to give it a try. One visit and then he could decide whether to come around again. Jonas wasn’t sure what had made him say yes. Maybe it was the fact she gave him the choice; maybe it was because the tone of her voice showed she cared for the man on whose behalf she had made the call. Or maybe it had to do with one of his oldest friends mentioning the man to him and telling Jonas he was going to recommend him.
    He’d heard of Nicky Bryant, of course—had seen his antics on television, had even heard firsthand about the elaborate and often over-the-top theatrics Bryant loved to weave into his haute couture fashion shows. Fashion journalists loved to call him highly original, the bad boy of couture, unafraid to stick his neck out, but otherwise too shy to come forward without some sort of costume and covered in extensive make-up. He seemed to do everything imaginable and some things quite unimaginable, all in an effort to be as unique as possible. And he’d succeeded in being the toast of every fashion week all over the world for the last six years, despite the fact he was barely out of design school when he’d taken the most difficult road: starting his own label before he’d honed his craft by working for one of the large fashion houses first.

    2
    Zahra
    Owens
    Still, to Jonas he was just too much, and most importantly, too effeminate and way too demanding. Jonas might be a body for hire, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his preferences. He also had no idea why the man’s assistant had picked him to call on.
    Yet here he was in the downstairs lounge of a house that looked well-maintained and rather inconspicuous on the outside, but resembled the owner’s over the top tastes on the inside.
    The young man who had opened the door and shown Jonas inside looked like he’d walked off the pages of Vogue and had eyed Jonas with quite blatant disdain. Jonas wasn’t bothered by his attitude. He was quite used to the scrutiny, despite the fact he didn’t look like a man of his profession.
    “Mr. Bryant will be right in,” a different young man from the one who let him in announced, placing a flute of champagne on the table next to Jonas. “Traffic is murder on the Périférique at this time of night, but he would like to have dinner with you in his rooms later.”
    And then some, Jonas almost murmured. Instead, he took a sip of the champagne and noticed it was top-notch. This was going to be a long night, spent in the company of some spoiled rotten, full-of-himself girly brat. He was only doing Scott a favor, although he had no idea how his longest running client knew anyone in the fashion business.
    There was a ruckus outside in the hall, and the doors to the lounge flew open. About ten fashion models, each one looking more androgynous than the last, waltzed into the room and miraculously parted when Jonas’s client came in. To Jonas’s amazement, he looked just like he did on TV: slim and elegant, in full make-up, wearing something resembling a pirate’s costume. And bursting with ego, though some people would no doubt call it charisma.
    Jonas had to admit he did look like he could make heads turn. He was eyeing Jonas up and down.
    “This him?” Nicky asked, pursing his painted lips.

    Façade
    3
    The assistant who had stared Jonas down upon his entrance was now acting like a gibbering idiot. “Yes, sir, he is. Came highly recommended, sir. Very… talented and extremely discreet, sir.” Nicky didn’t even look at the young man, who was bowing incessantly. He simply dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
    “I’m sure he’ll be to your liking, sir.”
    “Laurent! Assez!” Nicky shouted, his voice so suddenly loud it made the entourage scatter like a bunch of mice. The one person who didn’t even flinch was a tall, slender and very elegant woman in a pantsuit, with legs up to her neck and flawless make-up and hair.
    “Tanna, send them home. They depress me.