Page 200 of By A Thread

She still livedin the same building. A swanky location with units that faced Central Park. TheLabelcover could have earned her a penthouse a few blocks north, and Elena knew it. The woman was calculating and focused. She wouldn’t have just walked away from the cover story she’d fucked her way into my bed two years ago to get.

I lucked out and caught the door as a woman with two huge dogs with rhinestone leashes exited. I paused to give them dignified pats before taking the elevator to the fourth floor. It was a case of déjà vu, walking down the sunny, yellow hallway to 4C. The last time I’d been here, she’d answered the door in another man’s shirt.

But it had barely mattered then, and it certainly didn’t matter now.

I knocked.

This time, she opened the door in a cloud of fragrance and her own clothes. Elena Ostrovsky was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. People had been telling her so since she was fourteen years old. She tended to get nervous if they went too long without reminding her.

For an afternoon at home, her hair was done in thick, lustrous curls and swept to the side in a low tail. Her eyes were painted in coppers and bronzes. I’d never seen her without makeup. We’d never spent a full night together, and it was only now that I found that strange.

“Dominic.” I didn’t like the way my name sounded from her lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Are you?” I asked.

“Come in,” she said, stepping away from the door and opening it wider. She was wearing red leather pants and an oversized, sheer black blouse, and gold studded stilettos. Just a quiet day around the house.

“Am I interrupting?” It was half dig and half legitimate concern.

“No, no! Of course not,” she insisted, either ignoring the insult or not remembering that it had been a very valid question last time.

I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know her.

I stepped inside. The furniture was different, I noted. Upgraded from my last visit. White couch. White chairs. One thing that was the same was the Wall of Elena. Framed headshots, magazine covers, shots from the runway and red carpets. Every picture had been cropped and edited so it was just her.

When we were dating, I’d found it “interesting” when she’d added a photo of the two of us during New York Fashion Week and then cropped everything except my arm out of it. I thought of the box of Ally’s framed photos she’d brought home from her father’s things in the storage unit. Candids in mismatched frames of all the people she loved the most in life. Not a glamor shot to be found.

“You can guess why I’m here,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

Elena gave me her prettiest pout. “You aren’t here because you miss me?”

“No. The cover, Elena.”

She pranced over to the low sofa and sat, crossing one knee over the other, stretching her arms over the back. Posing. “I don’t want to do it anymore.” But the lie didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yes. You do. You’ve always wanted that cover. It’s why you started dating me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Always with the same song and dance.” She reached for the pack of cigarettes she had on the table.

“I guess that’s why you changed partners in the middle of the dance.”

“Dominic, that was ages ago,” she said, lighting a skinny cigarette. “Let’s forget all that.” She patted the couch next to her.

I ignored the invitation.

I didn’t like being here. I didn’t like being around her. The stark contrasts between her and Ally, my past and my present, were dizzying.

“The cover,” I repeated. “What’s your game?”

She looked away again and brushed a hand over a furry pillow, fingers plucking at the ivory tufts. “I changed my mind,” she said, less emphatically.

“You changed your mind, or someone changed your mind?”

“What does it matter?”

“We can still run your cover, your story. You signed the releases,” I warned her. “This isn’t going to look good for you, reneging on a deal with Dalessandra Russo.”

She flinched then. Elena already had a reputation for being difficult. She showed up late, left early, and spent most shoots complaining. Her manager and her looks were the only things keeping her gainfully employed.