The Agent and the Model

By RJ Scott

As Michael finally finds the person who left him for dead, can the love he'd found with Alex survive the fallout?

Michael survived a hate crime but is haunted by memories beyond his grasp and plagued by relentless nightmares. When he leaves his life as a catwalk model ad returns home to confront his past, it’s his present in the shape his persistent agent, Alex, who refuses to leave him alone. Once he thought he loved Alex, but their relationship crumbled is destroyed when Alex's well-intentioned but suffocating tendency to protect Michael becomes their downfall.

Michael loves Alex, and always will, and protecting the man he loves is everything. Only, in protecting Michael he loses everything, and he wants a second chance to prove that he can change. When he’s drawn into the darkness of Michael’s past, he’s determined to be a very different kind of person—someone Michael can depend on. Secrets rarely remain hidden, and the pursuit of the person who nearly took Michael's life presents a formidable challenge. The prospect of remaining passive becomes increasingly difficult as danger looms closer. Will history repeat itself, causing Alex to lose Michael once more?

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Scott
• Release date: Jan 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781523709724

RJ Scott

RJ Scott is the author of the best selling Male/Male romances The Christmas Throwaway, The Heart Of Texas and the Sanctuary Series of books.She writes romances between two strong men and always gives them the happy ever after they deserve.

Book preview

Chapter One

Five minutes past Shenandoah National Park, Michael Hardin finally stopped the car.

He had over three hundred miles in his rear-view mirror, tracing back to New York with only a couple of stops, and he was starting to feel it. Following signs to Staunton was easy enough—finding Staunton Choral Gardens B & B less so. He’d been in a daydream and entirely missed his GPS telling him to leave the road at the next right.

What he found when he doubled back on himself was a gorgeous place, all white sidings and a garden tumbling with a riot of colors. The extended house was stunning and quiet.

So very utterly, blissfully quiet.

Michael parked, then grabbed his overnight bag from the seat next to him. He considered whether he should get his suitcases out of the back.

I’m only staying here one night.

After a few short minutes of staring aimlessly at the luggage in his trunk, trying to make a decision, his New York side won out over his Ellery side, and he juggled both wheeled bags out of the car. Making that one decision had him feeling a little more confident he could carry off this normal life routine. No makeup artists fawning around him, no dressers draping clothes on his body, no shouting or chaos, no damn agent ordering him here, there and everywhere.

Michael locked the midnight-blue Porsche and checked he’d locked it. When parked in the city, his car was not just locked, it was left in a secure garage with guards. In fact, the thing hardly ever moved and, not for the first time, he considered why, exactly, he’d bought the car.

To spend money, that’s all, he answered his question.

When he turned to look at the B & B, he faced a guy standing right by him on the grass, staring. He had a cairn terrier in the crook of his arm who also stared but in a more appealing way. Michael flushed at the fact this stranger had seen his whole procrastination over the bags and his locking-the-car sequence.

Just checking it’s locked, Michael explained. Why, he didn’t know.

The man nodded as if he understood the motive behind the explanation, and then he very deliberately looked Michael up and down.

Good morning to you, he finally said before ambling away and muttering something under his breath. For all Michael knew, the man could be talking to his dog, but he doubted it. He was used to people checking him out and feeling that they owed it to themselves to comment on how he looked.

Michael pushed his sunglasses over his eyes. If the guy had a problem with tight designer jeans and a bright lime T-shirt that fit like a second skin, he wasn’t worth worrying about. The people who mattered, his fellow models and friends, lived in New York, not in a small town off the interstate.

He texted Jeremy to let him know where he was; then, on a whim, texted him a picture of the idyllic scene in front of him. He and Jeremy were friends and had some things in common. They both worked for Casey Models—Michael as a senior model, and Jeremy as PA to the new boss, Alexander Casey. Yep, that Alex.

Michael envied the way Jeremy dealt with Alex. While Jeremy could negotiate, wheedle and organize his way through Alex’s day, Michael never knew how to handle his enigmatic boss.

Michael shook his head to stop this train of thought. He would have to talk to Alex in Ellery—there was no way he could avoid the man—it wasn’t exactly the biggest of towns and they had mutual friends.

Now he stood in front of a beautiful B & B, facing an entire night of peace. He awkwardly made his way up the steps to the foyer, pressed the bell at a small desk, and waited.

One minute, sir. The female voice came from an open office door behind the desk.

No rush, Michael called back. He pushed his sunglasses back into his long hair and waited patiently, amusing himself by checking out the various posters with views of the surrounding area. Maybe he could leave Ellery a couple of days earlier than he’d originally planned and on the way home take a detour out into the Valley. He needed a break. Rolling his head and shoulders, he heard the cracks of tension and grimaced.

I need a massage.

He would do a few days in Ellery, show his face, visit his only family—be Mikey for a while. Ellery was always sensory overload for him, and he never lasted more than a few days. Then he’d come back here to this B & B and sleep. Just sleep—for a week, maybe—before he would have to go back to the place where he was Michael again.

Hello, sir. I—

The owner of the voice joined him and stopped halfway through her sentence, staring. Real, absolute, eyes-to-hair-to-face staring. She pulled herself together, then coughed to cover her momentary slip and smoothed her T-shirt over her full breasts. She couldn’t be much more than twenty, but she was certainly working that body. Do you have a reservation? she asked with a broad smile.

Smith, Michael lied. Adam Smith.

She didn’t call him a liar, and given he had paid in advance for the room—or rather, Jeremy had organized it for him—she didn’t need to see his ID or even a credit card. Michael signed the register, and she handed him a room key with a large key ring proclaiming Shenandoah was the jewel of Virginia.

You’re in room twelve, down the far corridor and towards the back, she explained. Would you like a wake-up call?

Michael smiled quickly. For the first time in six months, he had no early wake-up calls. So, no way was he having an alarm. No, thank you.

Papers in the morning, sir?

No. Thank you.

We’re here if you need anything. Just press zero on the phone in your room. Dinner is from 6:00 p.m., breakfast from 7:00 a.m. The card with the Wi-Fi password is in the drawer in the vanity. She tilted her head a little, her blonde ponytail swinging over her shoulder. He saw other little signs, like her leaning on the desk and looking up at him through her eyelashes. Is there anything else, sir?

No, thank you, He added the thank-you to soften the instant reply.

She indicated a door from the foyer. Through there.

She sounded a little disappointed that he hadn’t joined in the flirting, but he wasn’t too worried. He had seen reactions like hers before, and his career depended on women—and men—staring at him, whether in horror, shock, or lust. He sold clothes, fragrances, watches, and jewelry, all on the back of his lucky combination of genetics.

Michael left the foyer in a hurry and stumbled through the door with less poise than a monkey, and finally, there in the corridor was the beginning of a small amount of peace. He found room twelve and let himself in. The room was large, with a white quilt and navy drapes. Windows were open to the fresh breeze that ruffled the thin net at the windows. There was the usual stuff—a TV, towels, coffee, a coffee maker… he would be okay here for one night. After piling his luggage at the end of the bed, he opened his bag. First things first—he needed a shower.

Only when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror did he recall his green-tipped hair, courtesy of an Armani shoot. That was probably why Dog-Man and the receptionist had stared, as well as everyone at the gas stations he’d stopped at. Michael had completely forgotten about the gunk in his hair. He had left the shoot in a hurry in case Alex found him. God forbid his boss, who was also his agent, managed to locate him.

"We could carpool and road-trip, Alex had announced enthusiastically the night before, at the studio dinner. I haven’t been down to Ellery since last summer, and Jason keeps asking me."

Although Michael hadn’t said it out loud, in his head he had three words. No. Fucking. Way. He had nodded as politely as he could manage and said he couldn’t see a problem with the idea. He had lied. Ten minutes in Alex’s company reduced Michael to bitter anger and crappy self-esteem, so what the hell would it be like to spend days with the man heading down the country towards Ellery?

Hot water helped to unknot the tension in his shoulders, and he spent ages soaping and rinsing and conditioning until finally he was happy that the water ran clear of the temporary pastel dye. Looking the part of a woodland warrior for a new natural clothing line was hard on his hair, and for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remove a large blotch of brown dye from near his left nipple. Sighing, he checked out the mark in the mirror. His reflection showed it wasn’t that bad, and he knew it would likely fade in a few days. He peered at his hair and examined the stubble on his face. He should shave.

Fuck it. I’m tired.

He ignored his reflection, which was something he usually didn’t do. Didn’t matter who saw him in the middle of Staunton, or indeed Ellery. He could stop trying now. Decision made, and after setting his alarm for 7:00 p.m., he drew the drapes and settled back on the bed. He had five hours, and he needed sleep.

When Michael woke he