Model behavior, p.1
Model Behavior, page 1
Also available from Tricia Lynne
and Carina Press
The Unlovabulls Series
Protective Instinct
Also available from Tricia Lynne
Moonlight & Whiskey
Content Warning
Dear Reader, please be aware this book depicts mild recollections of emotional abuse and portrays a character coping with the aftermath of driving while intoxicated. I’ve done my best to keep those issues off page and as non-triggering as possible.
Model Behavior
Tricia Lynne
For Mike, thank you for being the order to my chaos.
I love you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Protective Instinct by Tricia Lynne
Chapter One
What the hell just bit me in the ass?
Oh, it’s my past.
Olive
Ohmygod, your parents should have used a prophylactic, you know-it-all, Instagram-famous Kardashian wannabe.
I had visions of all the things I’d rather do than be dressed down by this harpy of a client rolling around in my brain. Like beat my head on my desk. Maybe get a root canal, sans anesthesia, or have a murder hornet sting me in the boob.
Any of those would be a better option. “Are you even listening, Olive? I’m paying your firm to up my PR profile! I want to know why I didn’t make it into this month’s issue of Dallas Life & Style! It’s your job! Do your job!”
Jesus Christ, her voice was so high. Could dogs even hear her? I literally had to pull the phone away from my ear. This girl made me want to yank my hair out, but I wouldn’t dare risk my perfectly coiffed, tightly slicked-back bun. I settled for tapping my short manicured nails against my desk blotter as I stared at the glass clock on my desk and realized I was precisely four minutes late leaving Russo Image Consulting—the company I built from the ground up.
Yet there I was, fuming while being castigated by a flake of a client I wanted to tell to take a flying fuck. But I didn’t do that—it was my job to stay in control when everyone else lost their shit. Bad things happened when I didn’t. “Crystal, we talked about this. The Spotted column doesn’t run pictures of...” A sloppy-drunk social climber’s nip-slip unless you’re already a damn celebrity. “Wardrobe malfunctions aren’t going to get you the recognition you want in this city. Philanthropy is a much better option. Perhaps if you volunteered for one of the charities on the list that I gave you. I have several contacts at the Botanical Gardens or the—”
“Oh, no you di’int just suggest I give away my daddy’s hard-earned money because you can’t do your job.”
Pfft. Her daddy was a heavy metal hair band bassist who was a one-hit wonder in the ’80s, then sold the rights to his hit to a Fortune 500. Rumor had it, he sat around most days either snorting his money or using it to turn his daughter into an entitled little shit.
Crystal was a piece of work. She was a recent transplant from Vegas with a mid-level social media following. Half of them consisted of her father’s fan base, and the other half followed because of her penchant for posting pictures of herself sucking on suggestive foods while angling the camera to look down her blouse, or up her skirt.
It was time this girl had a reality check. “Darling, there are two ways into Dallas society. You’re born to it, or you work hard for it. You weren’t born to it. If I may be candid, you are a relative nobody in a town where social media influencers are a dime a dozen. You are going to have to put in the legwork we talked about.” Plus, they’re worthy causes you could be supporting, you little—“Unfortunately, I can’t do my job if you don’t follow through with your marketing plan.”
I heard an elegant male snort from just outside my office. That would be Johnathan. Knocking on my desk to get him to look at me, I waved him in. Tall and lean with grape-colored hair and the pants to match, Johnathan strolled in with a wicked grin and sat in one of the modern white leather chairs across from my desk.
Crystal’s voice came out nasally and even whinier than usual. “But can’t I just not and say I did, or make a big donation or something?”
“No, you can’t. Do what we talked about. Clean up your social media presence—get invested in the community and its people. This city is full of old money families, darling. Prove to them that you’re both benevolent and elegant enough to belong in their social circles.”
I’d let Johnathan, my executive assistant and apprentice, take Crystal on as a favor because they’d attended high school together. When she’d proved to be too much for him to handle, I had to step in. But I was done with her bullshit. You didn’t get to be the top PR firm in Dallas without checking out-of-line clients. After all, my name was on the letterhead, and I had a standard to uphold. A hard edge crept into my tone. “Crystal, perhaps Russo Image Consulting isn’t a good fit with your brand. There are two other PR firms in Dallas that I’m happy to recommend.”
“No! No, I don’t want to go somewhere else. You’re supposed to be the best, Olive. I want to stay with Russo.”
I drew in a cleansing breath. I really wished she wouldn’t. “Then you’re going to do what Johnathan set forth in your marketing plan. Separate yourself from the pack. Spend time volunteering and get to know the right people. Put in the elbow grease when necessary. Socialites may party and get photographed a lot, but in Dallas, most also use their influence for the greater good, or to effect change in the Metroplex. You can’t buy those sorts of connections, darling. You’ll need to set yourself apart from the two hundred other Instagram models at Lizard Lounge on Saturday night. Get your hands dirty, Crystal. That’s the photo opportunity DL&S is looking for. Get those photos, and their Spotted column will follow. Now, I’m going to brief Johnathan and you’re going to call Shari, who’s on the committee for the Arts District outdoor concert series to benefit breast cancer research. Like. We’d. Planned. He’ll follow up with you this afternoon.”
I heard the heavy exhale, and the girl seemed appropriately resigned.
Johnathan had specifically picked this cause because Crystal had a music connection and had lost her grandmother to breast cancer.
“Remember, dear, setting yourself apart in Dallas doesn’t mean getting photographed...” Blowing a bouncer in the bathroom at Gilly’s. “...partying all hours of the night. It’s about what you do during the day, too.”
Johnathan grinned ear-to-ear as I ended the call with the client from hell. “Thank you,” he said. “I was in over my head with her. I never should have taken on an old friend as a client. I had no idea what a brat she’d turned into.”
Lesson learned, then. Johnathan had a good head for PR, but a problem saying no to people who hit him up for favors. Putting up boundaries was a subject I might have to broach before I could consider promoting him. Standing to my full and generous height, I smoothed my bright white tailored pantsuit. After shutting my laptop’s cover, I added it to my briefcase as well as the client-specific binder for my next meeting. “Don’t thank me yet. If she doesn’t follow through, we’ll be cutting her loose.”
Johnathan nodded his agreement at the same time his stomach grumbled.
“Dude. Go eat lunch. Where y’all going today?”
“Savor.”
“Mmm. I wish I could go with you, but I’m already late for this appointment. Don’t forget to put it on the company card.” The Friday tradition of taking my staff out to lunch stood, even when I couldn’t go.
A few minutes later, I slid into my SUV as the mid-September sun blazed down on downtown Dallas. Luckily, it was early enough that the Dallas North Tollway wasn’t backed up. I relished the quiet inside my Audi Q8—which was safety-awarded best in its class—as I signaled and switched lanes to make the exit for the Unlovabulls Canine Rescue Center. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t technically working this afternoon, and my meeting wasn’t with a company client.
My friend Lily was a sought-after dog trainer in DFW. She also ran a dog rescue in rural Collin County for dogs with behavior problems that were too much for other rescues and shelters to handle. They’d opened the doors to an amazing facility in Marc h, but in order to maintain it, they needed money.
That’s where I came in. I had volunteered my time to plan and head up several fundraising efforts to make sure the rescue kept its doors open and continued to serve dogs in need. I’d come up with a series of high-dollar fundraisers that would do just that, and today’s meeting with Lily was to share them, get her take, and lay the groundwork for the events moving forward.
Because my career was so demanding, I hadn’t been able to help much while she was getting the Unlovabulls off the ground, something that I felt horrible about, but then I’d also been mourning. Last December—not long after they started renovating the building to house thirty-five-plus dogs—I’d lost my beloved fourteen-year-old rescued Dachshund. When Cassie died, I was heartbroken. Outside of work, she, and the dog sports we’d done together—agility and Barnhunt, rally and Earthdog—had been my whole world. I’d even taken her to the office with me regularly. I knew deep down I was still reeling from the loss, but I had to do something to move on. I wasn’t ready for another dog yet, but helping Lily and dogs who were in need, like Cassie once had been? Yeah, that would be good for my heart.
Hands on the wheel at ten and two, I pulled into a spot in the small lot outside the rescue and grabbed my work bag from the back seat. A cool gust of air-conditioning and the scent of antibacterial cleaner wafted over me as I pulled the door open. Just inside the reception area, pictures covered a blue-gray wall—the original Unlovabulls, breeding dogs that had been rescued from a deplorable puppy mill during a raid that Lily and her fiancé, Brody, worked hard to make happen. Because the shelter specialized in aggressive dogs, other shelters would call them when they had a dog they couldn’t adopt out who might otherwise be put down.
Turning down the hall, I passed the staff offices when a cap of wild brown curls captured in a loose bun caught my eye.
“Hey, girl! Working hard?” Dr. Regina Avalos, DVM—or Gina, as most of us knew her—was tapping on a tablet while making notes on the laptop next to it. She glanced up and yawned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Yeah, burning the candle at both ends lately.” I could tell. She had dark circles under her eyes. She’d been avoiding dealing with her divorce by working too much.
Hell, who was I to judge? I was the queen of throwing myself into my job so I could ignore messy emotional stuff. “I thought about driving over to the UKC agility trial this weekend in Fort Worth to root for the home team. If you need a day off, you’re welcome to tag along.”
Gina rubbed a makeup-less eye. “Mmm. I might do that if I can squeeze in this surgery between now and then. A Neapolitan Mastiff that came in a couple days ago with a torn ACL and a broken canine that’s making him meaner than hell. Plus, we’ve got a Chocolate Lab getting ready to whelp.” The lines on her face softened. “But you know Lily and the mama dogs. I’ll be surprised if she needs me for that at all. She’ll probably camp out in the lobby again.” That was our Lily. “Give me a call tonight, okay?”
Sending her a thumbs-up, I continued to Lily’s office, where the door stood open. It always did. Lily Costello looked up from her desk, her short black waves brushing her shoulders, the light glinting in her violet eyes. The Unlovabulls Rescue was Lily’s baby. Like all babies, it robbed its mama of sleep many a night. She not only loved and fussed over every dog in her charge, but she knew it would take money she currently didn’t have to maintain the rescue in the coming years.
I could alleviate that. “Hey, you. No Brody today?”
Her face took on a wistful quality that I loved her for, but it also made me want to gag a little. “He’s running a football camp for inner-city high school teams today and tomorrow, working with defensive players on proper techniques to minimize the risk of concussions.”
I wasn’t surprised. Football player health was something Brody took seriously, and why, Lily said, he’d chosen to retire relatively young. He wanted to get out while he still had full use of both his body and his brain.
Brody Shaw was the former Pro Bowl middle linebacker and hometown golden boy of the Dallas Bulldogs football team. “Everything looking okay as far as his MRIs and such?”
“Yeah, they’re keeping a close eye on him because, really, what pro football player hasn’t had multiple concussions? But so far so good.” She grinned. “He’s one of the lucky ones.”
I knew what that meant to Lily. Her biological father—also a Pro Bowl middle linebacker—hadn’t been one of the lucky ones, and had gone to an early grave.
I had my own connection to football, but I’d avoided discussing it with...well, everyone. I’d never told a soul—especially not Lily—but my college boyfriend had played for the Bulldogs. Drafted by Minnesota out of college, he’d hopped around to a couple teams before landing as a starting tight end with the Dallas Bulldogs a few years back. Which was why I didn’t take on football clients. Hayes Walker was... Well, it wasn’t a time in my life I liked to think about. Still, on occasion, I wondered about the abuse his body and brain had taken over the years, and if it had anything to do with his decision to retire after last season.
But Hayes’s body had stopped being my concern the night he dumped me right before the draft.
Prick.
I still hoped number 89 was taking care of himself. And I still focused on him too much when I watched Dallas play—a little something I’d never admit out loud.
Luckily, Lily snapped me out of my musings. “Hey, do you want to come with me to check on the pregnant mama before we get started on the fundraising stuff?”
I blew out a breath, though I hadn’t meant to. My eyes began to water.
“Shit. Olive, it’s okay if you’re not ready. I’ve been there. It’s ridiculously hard losing a dog. Especially a heart dog. All dogs are special, but on occasion there’s one that’s just...extra. Joker was extra. He holds a special place in my heart. Casshole was extra, too.”
A laugh burst through my lips as I dabbed at the tears threatening my makeup. “That she was. Girlfriend was waaaay extra. I know she wasn’t the perfect dog—it’s why I gave her that nickname—and she lived a good long life, but still... Even though I knew it was coming, that I could only make her comfortable for so long, it was still raw. Like knowing she had developed liver cancer, that she had six months to a year left with me...it still didn’t soften the blow.”
Short little Lily put her arms around me and hugged. “Why don’t you stay here. I’ll run back and check on mama. It won’t take but a minute and then we can get to work.”
I pushed out a cleansing breath. “No. No, I’ll come with. I need to do this. I’m going to the trial to cheer y’all on this weekend, too.”
After a last squeeze, Lily led me through the hall into the sparse reception area and through a set of doors labeled Maternity Rooms. Someone had painted a stork on the windows clasping a yellow blanket in its beak with a puppy peeking over the edge. That hadn’t been there the last time I was here.
We came to a stop at a door with a half window. A sign hanging on the glass read Quiet Please. I put a hand on Lily’s arm, whispered, “I’m sorry. I should have been here more. I should have helped more with...everything.”
Her eyes softened. “Oh, honey. I understand why you weren’t. Grieving a dog is hard. They’re these perfect little creatures who give unconditional love and don’t have an inherently bad bone in their body. They’re so pure and bright. I grieve every single dog we lose here. Every. One. I carry them with me every day, and I can’t tell you how many nights Brody has had to comfort me through my tears.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “You’re here now, and it’s to do the biggest job we’re facing. Keeping this place open for years to come.”
I nodded, grinned as I squeezed back. I was lucky to have a friend like Lily through all this. She hadn’t always been so open and forthcoming with me—neither of us were the type to let folks in willy-nilly—but since she’d made the effort with me, I was trying to with her as well.
When I heard shuffling in the room, I looked down to see a Chocolate Lab pacing and panting, her belly round and swollen, her nipples filled with milk and swaying to and fro. Poor girl was obviously uncomfortable. “Just in the beginning?”
