This Is Me (Cover Girlfriend, Book Three)

Episode Two

Lincoln

*Present Day*

Of all the nights.  Of all the fucking people.

Terri had manipulated, coaxed, and eventually dragged me to this event, though I shouldn’t have denied her.  Her grand opening in Paris!  Her fucking dream.  Of course I want to share it with her.  It shouldn’t matter that I’ve been a shell since I had to go into hiding; leave my business in the hands of Richard Smith.  Foreman and friend.

“He’s finally here,” her whispered breath in my ear as I try to pull away from her; she drags me to him.

“Terri,” my voice a warning she doesn’t hear, but more likely ignores.

My Carlos.

He hasn’t been mine for at least half a year.

“Mr. Rickerts,” I hear her voice coo as we stop in front of him.

His father is Mr. Rickerts.  She knows that.

And.

I’ll rip her throat out.

Whoever the fucking model is standing next to him, a pale comparison to the Bitch.

He showcases that lax expression as he flicks his gaze over me and settles it on her, “And you are,” he asks, his voice bored.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rickerts,” she gushes; makes sure to keep my arm hooked in hers so I can’t escape. “I’m Terri Lee.  The artist.  Of course you must meet the man behind everything; Lincoln.”

His eyes focus on her, and I know we’re both in trouble.  That look.

I miss that look.

“Terri?”

She smiles up at him, clenching her elbow around mine because she must feel me wanting to fucking bolt.

“Terri Lee.  I’m so glad you could make it.  Please.  This is Lincoln.”

She pulls me forward, and I know her.  I fucking know when she’s putting me up as a sacrifice to the dragon.  But this time?  Fuck, this time I don’t mind.

I miss him.  His sweet-treat caramel eyes, and the way his body hugs a suit.  His laugh, his smile.

But he appears a sliver of the man I remember.

His white suit slides along his frame as if its been hanging in his closet a few years, and he’s lost more than enough weight to wear it again.  He compliments it with a carnation pink silk button down, and a crimson tie.  It’s simple; it’s bold.  The fabric contrasts with his tanned skin and his dark hair, and I’m sucking in the sight of him.

Fuck, he looks like he gave up on life.

He seems stunned, gazing at her as if she’s everything, completely ignorant of my presence.  Then, he asks in an almost reverent, pleading voice, “You’re Terri?  Linc’s Terri?”

Of course she laughs, lays her other hand on his arm as she delicately pushes the slut’s hand off of it, looking into his eyes, “I haven’t been his for a long time, Mr. Rickerts.  I’m just Terri.”

She shrugs off my arm to take his, looking up at him with that completely Terri, (I should be scared), fucking look.

“I think we have a lot to discuss about my art, and my muse,” she stresses that last word.

For himself, Carlos tightens his arm around her elbow, giving Terri that megawatt smile that still makes me weak as they begin to stroll away, “Terri.  I cannot imagine the stories we could swap.”