Chapter 44 44
The door opened again.
A man in a tailored grey suit stepped in, briefcase in hand, posture polite but alert.
His eyes swept the office before settling on Lucas.
“Mr. Brooks,” he said, extending a hand. “Lewis Grant.”
Lucas stood and shook it firmly. “Mr. Lewis. Have a seat.”
Lewis sat, exhaling slightly, fingers tapping the leather of his briefcase. “I’ll get straight to it. As you know, the face of this campaign was meant to be Miss Olivia Saint. Given her current… condition, my board is concerned.”
Lucas’s expression didn’t change.
“They’re considering pulling out,” Lewis continued carefully. “A luxury brand can’t afford uncertainty. Hospitals, scandals—”
Lucas leaned back in his chair, calmly.
“If Olivia can’t continue,” he said evenly, “we’ll replace her.”
Lewis blinked. “Replace her?”
“Yes.” Lucas folded his hands. “Models are replaceable. The brand, the structure, the reach of Brooks Corp isn’t.”
Lewis studied him for a moment, then gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You really don’t beg, do you?”
Lucas met his gaze coolly. “I don’t need to.”
Silence stretched.
Then Lewis smiled—slow and impressed.
“That’s exactly why my company wants this partnership,” he said. “Brooks Corp doesn’t panic. It adapts.”
Lucas inclined his head slightly. “We deliver.”
Lewis snapped his briefcase shut. “Give us forty-eight hours. If Olivia recovers and wants back in, fine. If not—send us a new face.”
He stood, offering his hand again. “Either way, Mr. Brooks, we’re moving forward.”
Lucas shook it, firm and final.
“Good,” he said.
As the door closed behind Lewis, Lucas’s calm finally cracked—just a fraction.
Lucas stood at the glass wall overlooking the temporary casting floor.
One by one, the models lined up.
Tall.
Perfect skin.
Sharp cheekbones.
Confident smiles.
The kind agencies bragged about.
The first stepped forward, striking a pose effortlessly.
Lucas glanced once.
“Next.”
Another walked in, all elegance and practiced allure. She smiled, slowly.
“Next.”
A third.
A fourth.
A fifth.
Different faces. Same feeling.
Nothing.
No pull.
No reaction.
No recognition.
“Next.”
“Next.”
“Next.”
The room grew tense. Assistants exchanged glances. A casting director shifted nervously, whispering, “Sir, she’s internationally ranked—”
Lucas lifted a hand, cutting him off.
“Next.”
Hours passed.
The line thinned.
Even the most confident models were starting to falter under his detached gaze.
Some left irritated. Others embarrassed. A few close to tears.
Finally, the casting director cleared his throat. “Mr. Brooks… these are the best available on short notice.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened.
He turned away from the glass, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
None of them felt right.
None of them made his chest tighten.
None of them made his mind itch like it was missing something vital.
He exhaled slowly.
“Cancel,” he said.
The room froze.
“Cancel?” the director repeated.
“Yes.” Lucas picked up his jacket, voice firm. “Postpone the campaign.”
“But sir—”
“I said cancel.”
He walked out, leaving stunned silence behind him.
Blair wiped down the counter, moving on autopilot.
Her thoughts were still tangled—Lucas’s touch, his eyes, the way he’d almost lost control.
She reached for another cup—
“Did you hear?”
Blair’s hand paused.
Two staff members stood near the espresso machine, voices lowered but excited.
“Mr. Brooks himself is looking for a model,” one whispered. “Emergency casting. Huge pay. Like… life-changing.”
“Seriously?” the other gasped. “I heard they canceled it because none of the girls impressed him.”
Blair swallowed, pretending to focus on stacking cups.
“Still,” the first continued, “imagine that kind of money. One campaign and you’re set for months.”
The bell pinged sharply.
Blair’s head snapped up.
One of the junior staff peeked at the order slip and grinned. “Speak of the devil. Mr. Brooks just placed another order.”
A few of them laughed quietly.
“He never gets tired of coffee,” someone muttered. “Three times a day, like clockwork.”
“And always black,” another added. “Like he’s allergic to peace.”
Blair’s stomach tightened.
She didn’t say a word.
She just reached for the beans.
The rich aroma filled the air.
She poured carefully, added the lid, wiped the cup once, twice—too many times—then slid it onto the tray.
“I’ll take it,” she said quickly, before anyone else could volunteer.
The head staff glanced at her. “You sure?”
Blair nodded, already moving. “Yes.”
She picked up the tray and headed for the door, heart pounding with every step.
As Blair pushed the door open and disappeared with the tray, the café went quiet for half a second.
Then—
“Hm,” one of the staff hummed, arms folding slowly. “I smell an affair.”
Another leaned in, eyes glittering with curiosity. “You noticed it too, right? The way Mr. Brooks looks at her.”
“Looks?” a third scoffed softly. “More like loses his mind.”
The head staff clicked her tongue. “That man doesn’t even notice supermodels, but somehow the coffee girl keeps ending up in his line of sight.”
Someone laughed under their breath. “And she’s always the one taking his orders.”
“Coincidence?” another asked.
Silence.
Then a collective, knowing look passed between them.
“No,” the head staff said lightly. “Definitely not.”
They all turned back to work, but the gossip lingered in the air.
Blair knocked once and stepped into the office.
Lucas had his back to her, phone pressed to his ear, voice tight with irritation.
“No,” he said curtly. “I don’t care how many agencies you call. If none of them fit, then none of them fit.”
A pause. His jaw clenched.
“Forget it. We’ll handle it later.”
He ended the call and exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“That’ll be all—” he started, then turned.
Blair was already there, placing the coffee gently on his desk.
“Your coffee, sir.”
He stilled. Again.
“Thank you,” he said after a beat.
She nodded, but instead of leaving immediately, she lingered—just a second too long. Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk as if grounding herself.
Lucas noticed. “Something else?”
She hesitated, then gave a small laugh.
“I heard,” she said lightly. “About the models.”
He didn’t respond, just watched her.
She picked at an invisible speck on her apron, then said, almost to herself, “I used to dream of being a model too.”
That got his attention.
She laughed again—but this time it cracked midway.
“Funny, right?” Her eyes shimmered. “I actually wanted it so badly.”
Lucas frowned slightly. “What happened?”
Blair shrugged, but the motion was stiff. “Life.”
Then, quieter, “Family.”
Her laugh turned shaky, tears suddenly spilling despite her
smile. “I gave it up for my sister,” she said, half laughing, half crying now. “Told myself dreams are selfish. That someone had to be practical.”
She wiped her cheeks quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry. That was stupid.”
“No,” Lucas said immediately.