The ELEGANCE building soars into the San Francisco skyline, sixty floors of steel and glass catch the morning sun. From here, I can see the Bay Bridge stretching across the water. The Financial District hums with morning energy—designer heels clicking on pavements, sleek cars purring past, the scent of artisan coffee drifting from nearby cafes.
I smooth my hands down my cream Bottega Veneta pantsuit for the hundredth time. The silk camisole underneath catches the light, and my Yves Saint Laurent heels add enough height to make my legs look endless. My hair’s swept into a sleek low bun, and my makeup is natural but flawless—exactly what you’d expect from a potential ELEGANCE model.
‘Do I look okay?’ There’s no missing the hint of nerves in my voice. No wonder. This meeting has the potential to change everything—and not just in my professional life, but in my personal one too. I assumed Killian disapproved of my career choice because he found it distasteful, not because he’s possessive and determined to be the only man I pose naked for. It makes sense though. He’s not a man who’d share.
‘No.’ Killian’s voice is rough as his black eyes absorb every inch of me. ‘You don’t look okay. You look like an absolute knockout, and every man in that building is going to lose his fucking mind when you walk in.’
Heat blooms in my chest. ‘You’re just biased now.’
He reaches for my arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I’m just stating facts.’
Thomson approaches before I can respond. ‘All clear, boss. Sterling’s stationed in the lobby. I’ll take the executive floor.’
Killian nods, but his eyes haven’t left me. I’m acutely aware how much my career change will influence our relationship, because after last night, it’s abundantly clear we’re in one. After the coffee table incident, he ran us a lavender bubble bath, which we soaked in for almost two hours, and he answered every single question I asked him. Although, I couldn’t bring myself to ask him the one that still niggles me—what happened to his ex. It shouldn’t matter, but it obviously affected him, and I want to know everything that makes him who he is, the good, the bad and the ugly.
‘Ready?’ Killian checks, scrutinising me.
‘Yes. Let’s do this.’
I suck in a deep breath as he ushers me inside the revolving glass doors. The marble lobby of ELEGANCE puts most five-star hotels to shame. A cascading crystal installation drops three stories through the central atrium, and the walls are lined with iconic covers from the magazine’s forty-year history. Sterling nods from his position near a living wall of tropical plants as we pass.
The elevator is comprised of chrome and mirrors, with a glass wall offering vertigo-inducing views of the bay. My stomach flips as we shoot up to the fifty-eighth floor, though that might have more to do with Killian’s proximity than the height.
Even if I don’t get offered a slot here, I’m officially retiring from glamour. I thought I wanted to do something more momentous, and what could be more momentous than being with him? There’s something profoundly intimate about loving a man who allows so few people past his defences. Every day, I peel back another layer and discover something even more beautiful beneath. It’s like excavating a masterpiece—carefully, reverently—with the knowledge that what you’re uncovering is both rare and precious.
‘This way, Miss Williams.’ A willowy assistant leads us through an open-plan office that looks like an art gallery. Everything is white, glass, and chrome, dotted with abstract sculptures and elegant fashion photographs.
The conference room door swings open to reveal four of the most influential people in fashion. Mandy Morrison, Editor-in-Chief, raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow as Killian follows me in. She’s exactly as terrifying as I imagined—sharp cheekbones and an even sharper tongue if the rumours are true.
‘Avery, darling.’ David Chen, the Creative Director, air-kisses my cheeks. His silver-streaked man bun and avant-garde Yamamoto suit are on point from the man who revolutionised fashion photography.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ I glance from David to Killian. I should probably explain the presence of the six foot five Adonis beside me. ‘This is my b—’
‘Boyfriend,’ Killian cuts in smoothly, his hand finding the small of my back. ‘Killian Beckett.’
I almost choke on the heavily perfumed air. Boyfriend? I was going to say bodyguard, but if he wants to declare our relationship status publicly that’s one giant step for an emotionally challenged Beckett.
‘Beckett?’ Kim Rivera, the Fashion Director, perks up. ‘Of Beckett Enterprises?’
‘The same.’ His blunt delivery doesn’t invite further questions.
James Barrett, the Photography Director, studies us both with an artist’s eye. ‘You two should do a spread together. Quite the striking couple. The camera would love you.’
‘No.’ Killian’s sharp response is immediate and final.
I catch Mandy hiding a smile behind her coffee cup. ‘Shall we begin?’
For the next hour, they fire questions at me like bullets. My education, my background, my aspirations. When I mention my psychology doctorate, Mandy’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise.
‘A model with both beauty and brains.’ David leans forward. ‘What made you pursue psychology?’
Killian’s lip twitches. Yesterday’s conversation hangs unspoken in the air. Trust issues my ass. I studied psychology because it interested me, not because I’ve got daddy issues. But I’m happy to call him daddy if it means he’ll put me over his knee again. That was hot as fuck.
‘I’ve always been fascinated by human behaviour. Understanding what drives people, what motivates them.’
Killian scoffs and masks it with a cough. If he fucks this up for me, it’ll be me spanking his ass—with a shovel which I’ll use to bury him with after.
‘And now you’re a glamour model.’ Mandy’s tone is neutral, but her eyes are brimming with curiosity. ‘What motivates you?’
‘The need to demonstrate that women don’t have to choose.’ I meet her gaze. ‘You can be intellectual and sexy. Professional and playful. Have boobs, a bum and a brain.’
Kim nods slowly. ‘Our readers would relate to that. A woman refusing to be put in a box.’
‘What do you want, Avery?’ James asks suddenly. ‘Where do you see yourself going?’
I glance at Killian, finding unexpected strength in his steady gaze. ‘I’m ready for something more elevated,’ I admit. ‘Something that showcases all of who I am, not just my body.’ I keep the bridal couture dreams under my belt for now. I don’t want them to assume ELEGANCE is just a stepping stone for me.
Mandy studies me for a long moment. ‘Would you mind stepping out while we discuss? Katie will get you both coffee.’
The next twenty minutes are torture. I pace the pristine hallway while Killian leans against the wall, watching me with something like pride.
‘You nailed it, baby.’ He brushes a kiss over my temple.
‘I hope so, but either way, I’m going to nail you the second we get out of here.’
‘We’re going to have some celebrating to do.’ His quiet tone exudes confidence.
When we’re finally called back in, Mandy doesn’t waste time. ‘We want you for February’s cover.’ She slides a mock-up across the table. ‘And we want you to write a four-page feature. “Beauty and the Brains: The Model Breaking All the Rules”.’ Her eyes slide to Killian. ‘And if you happen to change your mind, we’ll happily include you in the article.’
‘No chance.’
‘Never say never,’ Mandy says wistfully. ‘I have a feeling Miss Williams could be persuasive.’
‘You have no idea,’ he mutters grimly.
I practically float out of the ELEGANCE building, my heels barely touching the marble floor. Even Killian’s granite features have softened into something dangerously close to a grin.
‘I did it!’ I resist the urge to jump up and down—the Bottega Veneta pantsuit probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
‘You did.’ His hand settles on my spine again, his thumb stroking with a tenderness I could get used to. ‘Which is why I’ve booked us a table at Saison tomorrow night. I suppose it’ll be our first official date.’
‘Saison?’ I stop dead. ‘That’s impossible to get into.’
‘Nothing’s impossible for a Beckett.’ His eyes glitter with something that looks suspiciously like pride. ‘Maybe you’ll find out one day… oh wait, no, you don’t believe in marriage.’
‘I think my exact words were “I’m not sure if I believe in marriage” —you might have a photographic memory but your ears need syringing.’
Sterling trails behind us, his face set in its usual scowl. Something about his expression niggles at my instincts, but before I can analyse it, Killian’s opening the car door.
‘So what are we doing tonight?’
‘Tonight,’ his voice drops an octave, ‘we’re doing each other.’
‘I can work with that.’ I slide across the cream leather interior. ‘But first, I have a date with a different Beckett brother.’
‘Rian.’ Killian tuts, hopping into the car beside me, dropping a possessive hand on my thigh. ‘It’s not a date, it’s a grovelling apologetic phone call. And I plan on eating you out the entire time you’re talking. At least if he hears you moan, he’ll believe you’re sick.’
‘You’re the sick one! You’re one dirty bastard.’
‘That’s why you love me,’ he quips. The second the words are out of his mouth, his face falls. ‘It was a joke.’
‘Jeez, relax, I know it was a joke.’ I place my hand on top of his as Sterling gets into the front seat. ‘I hope you weren’t joking about eating me out though.’
Sterling huffs, Thomson laughs, and Killian simply smoulders.
