30 Days of Demonfire

Modeling

I don't like early morning shoots. First of all, I really like the time Damian and I get to spend cuddled up together in bed after patrols. When I wake up early, that cuts that time almost in half. Second, morning brings out the worst in people. For a group shoot, like I'm doing today, there's always somebody who's cranky and miserable and somebody else who's abrasively cheery.

It does give me an excuse to drink lots of coffee, though. And I really like coffee. So there's that.

This whole thing is supposed to be finished by one. We're shooting for a magazine ad for some perfume. I'm not even entirely sure. Whatever it is, I guess it's a woodsy thing, because we're dressed like wood nymphs or fairies or what the hell ever and we're gathered around a tree stump with lots of flowers and things in the scenery. It's ridiculous. But it's a pretty big shoot so I do what I'm told without complaining.

By twelve-thirty, we're tired of holding poses and having our hair and makeup touched up every six seconds and I decide that when I find out which company is selling this perfume I am so never buying it from them.

Then there's a bunch of twittering from the makeup crew who are standing off to the side to jump in and save us from an emergency fake eyelash mishap or something.

"What's going on?" I hiss to Sam, one of the models near me.

"I don't know. Some kind of celebrity just walked in, I think."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Sure is cute, though..."

We get yelled at and told to pay attention to what we're doing. I don't know why they'd let a random guy in the studio. That's sort of creepy.

We have one more pose to take a million pictures of, and as the photographer arranges us how he wants Sam whispers, "I found out who it is."

I stopped caring a while ago but I say, "Yeah? Who?"

"It's Damian Wayne!" she tells me excited, and I grab her wrist because I'm so shocked that I lose my balance.

"Who?" I demand. There's no way I could have heard that right.

"Wayne! You know—the billionaire. Does he have a girlfriend? I can't remember."

What the absolute crap is Damian doing here? The photographer pulls Sam over to the other side of the set and I search the small crowd of people for Damian.

He's just leaning by the door, keeping quiet, minding his own business. When he looks up at me, I raise my eyebrows at him but he just smirks at me. He's dressed nicely—a dress shirt and a blazer with dark wash jeans and converse. Not nice enough that it's conspicuous to anyone but me.

The rest of the shoot goes by so slowly, and by the time we're finished all the girls are anxiously giggling and fluffing their hair because the ambiguously-single richest man under thirty in the whole damn country-barring a few actors and boy-band members-is standing between us and the exit. The photographer shoos us away and, taking that to mean that everything's finished, Damian walks purposefully right up to me.

I don't know what to do or say or think. "What the hell are you doing here?" I hiss, looking around nervously. Great X'hal. Except for the photographer, who's fiddling with his camera, every single person in the room is looking at us.

"I am here to see you, of course," he says simply, and he slides a hand to the small of my back and tilts my chin up and kisses me. I have to will my hair not to burst into flame, and I grab at the lapels of his jacket because I'm so shocked I'm about to topple over.

"What in X'hal's name are you-?"

"Go change," he interrupts, and the hand on my back slides into my hair, which is probably kind of hot. "We'll go out for lunch."

I gape up at him. "My dad—"

"I'll explain later," he says, dropping his voice so only I can hear him. "Go on."

"Why didn't you tell me you're Wayne's girlfriend?" Sam asks as I approach the exit.

"Um, I—"

"Would you be mad if I sold the picture I took to a magazine?" She brandishes her phone at me so I can see. In the ten seconds that Damian was kissing me she took like eight pictures.

"I guess you better hurry up and do it before somebody else does," I sigh.

"Yes," she cheers to herself. "Don't let him kiss you again until I finish changing so I can get more pictures," she adds, and she rushes off. I think I just turned my friend into a member of the paparazzi.

I change as fast as I can because I really don't want Sam to take more pictures. I grab my purse and head back into the studio, where I grab Damian's wrist and drag him behind me.

"Slow down," he advises, tugging me back.

"No, you hurry up," I snap. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Tt." He leans his back against the wall and pulls me against him. "It's perfectly fine. I spoke to your father."

"You what," I deadpan. I'm not really pleased.

"I did not really mean to," he says, tracing the line of my cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry that I talked to him without you but once the discussion began he was unwilling to wait any longer for answers."

"Okay, okay. I guess we're gonna have to deal with that. But what's all this?"

"Your father was unhappy with the use of the hologram necklace," he explains, and he runs his finger over the chain on my neck, tickling my skin.

"Well, it's not as though it's his business," I scoff.

Damian frowns at me. "Try to see from his point of view. It looks as though I'm using you."

"No," I counter, "it looks as though you don't care how I look and you just want to be with me without people prying."

"That is how I intended it," he says softly. "However, if making this one change will make your father happy, I believe it is worth it."

He's not wrong, but I'm still sort of uncomfortable. "Ri," Damian says, and he pulls me into a hug. "You said before that you can't date Batman. I suppose that what I'm asking now is if you'd like to date Damian Wayne."

He's right. Why do I keep rejecting Damian when all he's doing is being the person he wants to be? "Of course I do, stupid," I say. "But you didn't ask me."

He furrows his eyebrows at me. "I just did."

"No, you said you 'supposed' you'd ask me," I remind him, and he's getting annoyed so I loop my arms around his neck. "That's not asking."

"Grayson," he growls.

We've been dating for eight months and my favorite thing to do is still annoying him. Okay, one of my favorite things. "Just ask me," I say, and I tighten my arms around his neck so that all it would take to kiss him is an arch of my throat. "Ask me to date you."

"Mar'i," he says, and he pulls me more firmly against him, "will you date me?"

"I'm sorry, but I think you can do better," I tease.

Damian frowns at me and he spins us so that I'm trapped between his body and the wall. "You're annoying," he growls, and he presses a quick kiss against my lips. "And brave," he adds, and he kisses me again. "And passionate—" Another kiss— "And so, so beautiful." He doesn't kiss me after that but he tucks my hair behind my ear and I'm so full of electricity that a simple gesture like that sets me on fire. "I could keep going but you have not yet eaten and I'm eager to get you home. Mar'i Grayson, I love you. Will you date me?"

I so did not expect him to be so theatrical about it. Note to self: tease Damian more. "Yes, Damian," I breathe, and I kiss him so hard our teeth touch. "X'hal, I love you," I murmur.

"Glad to hear it," he says. "Now, I've made reservations for two and we need to stop in the garment district as you cannot go in those clothes."

"Wha—garment district? You don't need to buy me a dress, Damian," I protest weakly as he wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me behind him.

"You have one with you, then?"

"No, but—"

"Then I am buying you a dress."