Page 79 of Third Time is the Charm (Passion and Perseverance #3)

Tristan tapped his pen impatiently on the table in front of him just wanting to get this fucking ordeal over with.

Treating this like any other project was a genius stroke on his part.

He’d originally done it because in the moment he didn’t have time to think of how else to approach it, but now, reflecting on the impulsive move, it made the most sense.

By having an audition, even though the model to be chosen was pre-determined, it threw off any suspicion from Sloane or Pierce; ok, mostly from Pierce.

To explain to her who he was, what had happened with her father, and why he needed to draw her would have required too many answers that he was unwilling to give, not to mention, he’d assured Carter that he wouldn’t.

Even though the man had seemed spineless, he’d blackmailed Tristan and Tristan wouldn’t put it past him to do something to his mother’s portrait if he went back on his word.

No, the best way to have this girl, Elsa, sit for him and do exactly what he wanted was to treat this like any other piece that he was beginning; the less she knew, the less she could question.

As much as he would have revenge on her father for his obstinate behavior, Tristan couldn’t risk endangering the Guild any further.

On top of it all, the chosen routine put him in the mindset that she was just like all the others; and she would fall just like all the others. He smirked to himself at the thought.

“Alright, they are all here,” Morgan said, pulling Tristan from his plans to the present.

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s get this show started,” Tristan said as he tossed his pen on the table and leaned back nonchalantly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Alright,” Morgan agreed, setting down the small stack of headshots on the table in front of Tristan.

Tristan made no move to look at the photos on the table.

No, he wanted to see if he could guess which woman he was being forced to portray.

God, with his luck this past week, Carter’s daughter was probably in her forties and had inherited his large nose.

Realizing that Morgan was waiting for him to review the photos, Tristan shot him a look that said to just bring them in, he wasn’t bothering with the photos today.

Reading the message loud and clear, Morgan walked to the door of the conference room that they’d rented for the afternoon and ushered in the line of ten models.

Tristan knew from the second the women walked into the room which would be good candidates and which wouldn’t be – if this were a typical audition.

Not based on their looks, but the attitude that they carried with them.

The first three, a blond and two brunettes, all stunning, walked into the room like they owned it; they knew how good they looked and they each had no doubt that they would be the one chosen.

Tristan never picked those because they didn’t mind being used.

Like him, they would attach no emotion to whatever else happened during the creative process, and that would be devastating to the result that he needed to achieve.

The next three, all blondes, were almost at the other end of the spectrum.

They knew they were beautiful, but their dress and demeanor was reserved; they were here for the job, but would treat it as exactly that, they wouldn’t be open to any extra activities that might be involved.

Tristan’s observation was confirmed when he noticed rings on the left hands of two of those models.

Married and off-limits. If he was willing to bet money, it would be that the third, non-married woman was Jack Carter’s daughter.

Her hair color and the shape of her eyes vaguely reminded him of Jack.

His jaw clenched as he recalled the reason he was doing all of this; he must have sent a menacing stare, because the third woman’s eyes widened in concern, her body moving back slightly in fear.

The next two were ideal candidates – nervous, yet eager.

Beautiful, yet not so self-absorbed that they would consider using their looks however necessary to advance their career, like the first three would.

Maybe he would even keep one of them on file for his next actual exhibit piece and save himself the trouble of going through the audition process again.

The one model in the middle with jet black hair was particularly enticing; he scanned the length of her, his eyes returning to capture her anxiously willing gaze.

Just as Tristan began to send her a sultry and seductive smile a crash off to the right startled him as the last model in line seemed to have dropped the clipboard that held the information sheet and questionnaire all the models were required to fill out.

For a second, Tristan couldn’t really see her; she had turned around and knelt down to gather the board and papers scattered on the floor behind her.

He watched intently, only semi-aware of the few models who had begun to snicker at her clumsiness.

She wasn’t dressed like the rest of them; she had on jeans and a blazer that were fitted onto her toned form, as far as he could tell, and she was wearing a hat, underneath which seemed to be tucked all of her hair.

She awkwardly stood back up and turned to face him again, her vibrant green eyes catching his.

Tristan felt the air being pulled completely out of his lungs. She was exquisite. He couldn’t even see all of her face or her hair because it was hidden, but the way she looked at him made his heart stop. He couldn’t help but stare and soak in every detail about her.

She wasn’t as tall as the rest of them, but then again, she hadn’t worn heels to the audition like them either.

While the rest of the models seemed to be either quite voluptuous or the typical runway tall-and-skinny, this woman was the only one who seemed to fall right in the middle.

She had on a white t-shirt underneath her blazer, both of which partially obscured the shape of her torso from his assessment.

She fidgeted when his gaze slowly returned up her body to capture hers.

“Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled as she quickly reached up and pulled off her hat, having forgotten that it was even on. She must have assumed that’s why he was staring at her, because he was waiting for her hat to come off.

If he had known what it would reveal, he would have asked her to give him a moment to recover his breath, but he was afforded no such luxury.

He watched in torture as the removal of her hat let her warm, messy, red waves fall, cascading down her shoulders and back.

Before, he’d been blown away; now, he felt like the wind had been completely knocked out of him.

God, he hoped Morgan didn’t realize what was going on, or that he probably needed to call an ambulance; his brain couldn’t even register if he was remembering to breathe.

He should have suspected that she was a fucking siren.

Her skin was so fair and her face was sprinkled with freckles.

Her vibrant hair set his desire for her on fire.

She would be incredible to capture. He could barely read her demeanor; he was so distracted by how exquisite and unique her beauty was.

She hadn’t put on any make-up like the rest of them and she hadn’t worn something slinky and provocative, like the first few.

She was nervous, that was obvious when she dropped her clipboard and even now as she bit her lip, still uncomfortable under his stare; he knew he could break through that though.

Fuck. He knew he would enjoy breaking through that.

He was here for a reason, and the reason wasn’t his choice, wasn’t up to him.

He would still use her though, for his next project, he had no doubt. Once he got his mother’s portrait taken care of, she would be his.

Breaking his gaze from her, he looked down at the photos in front of them, shuffling them for a moment to compose himself and get on with this farce. He looked up again, unable to control his eyes and stop them from going back to the siren on the end.

“What’s your name?” he asked her pointedly, before he could stop himself.

“Ellie,” she replied softly, her words registering in slow motion as he found himself enthralled by the movement of her mouth.

“Ellie…” he repeated slowly. In retrospect, he could see that how he repeated her name made it sound like a question, as though he didn’t recognize it or why she was here, instead of the statement of awe that it was, which explained her subsequent response.

“I’m so sorry; It’s Elsa. My name is Elsa Carter,” she nervously elaborated. “But you can call me Ellie.”

And just like that, the giant bucket of reality dumped ice water over every fiery thought that had just run through his mind.

For an instant, his mind went blank with rage for the second time this week; Jack Carter had screwed him once, and now again, the man had managed to unintentionally fuck with his mind.

The beautiful, albeit slightly awkward and clumsy, woman standing in front of him was mesmerizing.

Everything about her had ensnared him from the second he saw her, and now, again, the joke was on him.

This stunning siren was Jack’s daughter; she was the reason he wasn’t in possession of his mother’s portrait, even if it was all Jack’s doing, and she was going to pay.

“Elsa Carter,” he drawled out slowing, testing her name on his lips, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The smile that he sent her was enticing and alluring, but if she had looked closely, if she had known what to look for; she would have seen the danger hiding behind the friendly facade.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. ahh... Shoot. I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she rambled, her face flushing as her mouth clearly worked faster than her brain could think.