Curvy Diversion: A Curvy Girl Friends to Lovers Romance (Curvy Love Book 1) Read online

  Kind of like the way she let everyone else in her life walk all over her. If ever anyone needed a vacation, it was Nessie. I had plans for her though. “Bring him on down to the club, I’ll be happy to whip him into shape for you.”

  “Oh, you and that club.” She laughed, but only half-heartedly. “Shoot, I’d love to hear your latest escapades, but with this stack of paperwork and the museum board meeting tomorrow at the butt crack of dawn, I’m down for the count.”

  “Rain check then.”

  “For sure. If you want we can grab coffee at the new place, what’s it called, uh, The Mean Bean, tomorrow after my meeting.”

  “Yeah. Can’t wait. Text me when you’re on your way.”

  I plopped down on the couch and hit play on some romcom about an awkward sexual adventure. The bowl of avocado for our facials cried out for some chips. There would be plenty now.

  I was half into spreading the green goo on my face when the phone beeped a Facetime call at me. Maybe Nessie gave her boss the finger and was on her way.

  I slid my thumb across the green button and a face popped up on the screen. But, it wasn’t Ness. Unless she’d grown a five o’clock shadow and a penis.

  “Dani?”

  “Grant?” I dipped the phone so all he could see was my kneecap and scraped as much of the avocado off my face as I could with one big chip, swiping at the rest with my sleeve. “What’s the word nerd?”

  He was far from a nerd. Looks of a model, but never came out from behind his own camera long enough for anyone to get a picture of him. Although, I had a few shots.

  “I was hoping to catch you. Getting ready to go out?” His voice was that low flirty tone I adored.

  “Not tonight.” I should have lied. He’d know something was up if I wasn’t going out on a Saturday night. He and I had torn up the town more than once in our college days.

  “Under the weather? You do look a little green.” He swiped a finger along his chin a few times.

  Crap, I’d missed a huge chunk of facial guac. “Har har. You know the things I do to keep this face looking young and beautiful.”

  “It’s all a mystery to me. But, you do look edible.”

  That was a little more flirty than Grant usually was with me. Not that he hadn’t ever hit on me. But, we’d missed our moment. Either he was attached or I was busy with a sub, not that I’d tell him that. Somewhere along the way we gave up on being lovers and became friends. He was the only other long-term relationship I had with anyone besides Nessie, and the two of them had never even met.

  “What’re you doing in on a Saturday night? Don’t you have some twenty-one year old twig to be seen on the town with? What town are you even in?”

  “I’m in Prague, so Saturday night has come and gone, and I haven’t… okay maybe I have dated a younger model or two.”

  “If you call robbing the cradle dating.” The man had a thing for younger women. That was fine, I had a thing for younger men. We’d had this convo more than once in the opposite direction.

  “It’s actually why I called, love.”

  “To rob my cradle?”

  He cleared his throat, nervous-like. “I know this is a long shot, but do you have a job booked for next week?”

  The shot wasn’t as long as he thought. The jobs were coming fewer and farther between than they used to. I certainly wasn’t ready to retire at thirty-three, but I wasn’t being booked like I used to. “You’re in luck, I’m free. You got something for me?”

  “Kind of. I’m calling in a favor Dans. Can you fly out to Costa Rica Monday morning? Stay at least three days?”

  “Are you kidding me? Costa Rica? Please. I’d take that job for free. You’re shooting? Who’s it for?” I’d worked with Grant a few times over the years, but he did mostly the kind of high-fashion that didn’t include plus-size.

  “Actually. It would be for free. I can’t pay you and I can’t guarantee the photos will even make it into Sports magazine.”

  Umm. Grant and his family were kazillionaires. Maybe this was for charity. “A. Sports magazine doesn’t do plus size models in swimsuits or otherwise, and B. Why can’t you pay?”

  “Here’s the favor part. I’m doing a proposal to dear old dad that this year we do an all bodies swimsuit edition, but I’ve got to foot the bill myself. I’ll cover flights and hotel, but, I’m beg, borrowing, and stealing models.”

  That I could get down with. Too few magazines believed that all bodies were beautiful and my heart pitter pattered at the fact that Grant wanted to do something about it.

  “Your dad will never go for it. I love him, Grant, but he isn’t exactly known for proponenting realistic standards of beauty. I mean, look at step-monster, what, number three was it? She was more silicone than the valley.”

  “I know, I know. But, I’m taking over G-Media at the new year and if I could get him to agree to this new look now, it will be a thousand percent easier to get the board behind me in January when I make more changes to the magazines. And it was number four.”

  Holy news flash. “Wait, what? You’re taking over Granted Media? When did this happen?”

  “My father asked me to become the new CEO starting in January.” His tone was that of a kid who had to come in for dinner right in the middle of an exciting game of kiss the girls.

  “The billionaire playboy settles down and takes an office, huh?” Grant’s father had been trying to control him, and failing since we were in school together. What I didn’t understand was why he was giving in now.

  “I have to. It’s all hush hush for the moment, but dad had a series of what they’re calling mini-strokes this year and he decided to step down.” Grant’s face through the phone was sad and resigned.

  That boy had a myriad of conflicting emotions about this situation that I could see written all over him like a giant neon sign saying – ask me about my guilt.

  None of his girlfriends would see that. Only the ca-ching of cashing in on their billionaire CEO boyfriends moneybags who could advance their careers.

  Grant had called me out on questionable career choices. That’s what friends were for.

  “Do you want the job?” I asked.

  It would be a serious cramp in his wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am lifestyle. But it also meant he’d be moving to town. Granted Media’s HQ was within walking distance from my loft.

  He was my second best friend in the whole world, but partly because we only saw each other a few times a year. He was separate from my everyday life, and I liked it that way. A girl had to keep some mystery about her, even from her friends.

  “Yes. Maybe. Kind of.” He swiped a hand over his face and then grinned sideways at me through the phone. “Can we save that conversation for later? For example, on a beach in Costa Rica with a fruity drink in hand?”

  I was totally down for the gig, paid or not. What better way to take a vacation than at a tropical resort, where there were no BDSM clubs or subs or Doms in sight or Dommes for that matter. Fun times with Grant were an added bonus. Maybe I could work out my feelings about him moving to my neck of the woods while we were at it.

  “I’m not letting you off the hook, but yes. What’s up with the change to using diverse models? That’s so not Granted.” I never ever thought I’d work for any of their magazines. They weren’t really my people. By which I meant humans with an actual body fat percentage.

  “But, it needs to be. We’re behind the times and the circulation is showing it. Only about half the magazines have a strong online presence and the look of every one of the print rags is outdated. I don’t want to see the business my grandfather built dissolve because a bunch of old fuddy-duddies still think Twiggy is in.”

  “Did you just say fuddy-duddies?” He was either acting nine years old or seventy-nine. That or he was already turning into one of those corporate politically correct types. God, I hoped not. I liked the don’t-do-anything-I-wouldn’t-do-and-I’ve-done-a-shit-ton guy I’d had a crush on in college way more

/>   “Better than dirty bastards. They’re slow to change their underpants, much less the magazine. I want to start with Sports and transition all the magazines into something current.”

  “You’re saying L’eau isn’t going to feature the heroin chic models that make a size zero look baggy anymore?” Not bitter at all. Nooooo.

  “I’m saying that I’ve got a chance to bring the antiquated ideals in both body and business the board of Granted Media has been operating on since the 70s into the modern world. I’m not saying it will happen overnight.”

  Ooh. He already sounded like the sexy CEO from all my naughty romance novels.

  “Even your porno mags?” That would be the day.

  “Ahem, they are men’s magazines, and they have great articles, I’ll have you know.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Oh, yes, because everyone reads them for the articles.”

  “Not to mention the tits and ass.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “You’ve got great tits.” His eyes dropped to the front of my shirt.

  I couldn’t decide whether to preen or tell him to fuck off. I went with ignore it. “I’ll be there for you, you know I will. When and where?”

  “Check your email. I sent a link to your e-ticket to San Jose and hotel reservation in Montezuma. We’ll be shooting on Tortuga Island.”

  I popped up the email app and scrolled through the junk mail to Grant’s message. “This says the ticket was purchased yesterday.”

  “I told you I knew you’d say yes.”

  Of course I would. It was Grant. “And what if I hadn’t?”

  “Blackmail of old pictures of you with green goo on your face and curlers in your hair from fifteen years ago posted on every social media site in the world.”

  “You do not have those in digital.”

  “I do now.”

  A message popped up on my screen with a picture icon. I clicked to enlarge and… “Eek.”

  He had a screenshot of ten minutes ago next to a scan of a picture from our sophomore year. Same green goo.

  “See you Monday, love?”

  “I’ll be there with bells and whistles on.”

  “Hopefully less than that.” Grant winked.

  He meant the swimsuits from the designers, right? No way he was asking me to take my clothes off for him. Nuh-uh. Of course not. He was in a mood from the pressure of having to take over and pretending everything was sweetness and light. That’s why I was getting this weird vibe from him.

  We clicked off and I began mentally packing. I wouldn’t need much for the island. A swimsuit, a sundress, some capris, lots and lots and lots of sunscreen. I had plenty of freckles as it was, and I was not going to come home with a burn.

  This was exactly what I needed. Talk about perfect timing. A few days in the sun and surf would get my mind off power relationships.

  I didn’t need them when it came to Grant.

  Warm Tropical Island, My Ass

  My teeth chattered from sitting in the cool ocean water for hours. Tortuga Island could suck it. Nobody said anything about intermittent drizzles and windburn. The tropical storm heading toward Central America was ruining my working vacation.

  Okay, not really, because I had no doubt these pictures would be the best of my career so far. I thought Grant was putting together a few friends and he’d been doing most of the camera and grunt work himself.

  This was not even close.

  There was a full crew, a truckload of equipment, and three photoshoots going on simultaneously. It had to be costing him, well, more money than I’d earned this year.

  “One sec, while I get another reflector over here.” The camera woman signaled to one of the crew on the beach. She was a serious pro. Great direction, lots of shots, no nonsense.

  Most cameramen I’d worked with were entitled evil bastards. Except the one Grant had gotten for my shoot turned out to be a woman. She hadn’t sneered or voiced a single fatty comment like some whispers I’d heard from others in the industry. I was by far the biggest model in this spread and proud of it. Didn’t mean anyone else had to or did like it. They usually didn’t.

  Yesterday’s travel, late night arrival plus today’s photoshoot, with its four a.m. call had brutalized my jet-lagged not-a-morning-person brain and if they didn’t feed me at least a burger and fries after making me splash around in the cold surf for eleventy-hundred hours I might turn into a serious cranky-pants diva or maybe simply die of starvation.

  That would make a great cover shot. I imagined my boobs and belly bobbing in the waves as I washed out to sea. The headline would read: Plus-Size Model Dies For Her Art.

  My body would be flown back home and my parents could cry over my coffin that they told me and told me and told me not to try and become a model. Thankfully, Nessie would be a wise best friend and hide my vibrator collection before packing up my meager belongings and donating them to a couture thrift store.

  “All right, Dani, that works better. Now the light is near on perfect, let’s get those sunrise shots for the cover.” The photographer’s voice pulled me back from wondering if my wake could be held at Devils and Angels, how many members would come, and how anyone would explain to Grant why the sex club was mourning my passing.

  Time to push my boobs up and give a sultry smile one more time while sand crawled up into my suit and other places. If the direction had been coming from Grant, I could hit him over the head with his seven-thousand-dollar camera.

  “Push your boobs up a bit and give me a real sultry smile,” she called.

  Nailed it.

  I pushed my well-endowed ass back down into the cold water and sand, turned my head to look over my shoulder, and put on my best come-hither look.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Hold that pose. Good, now from the other side.” The camera clicked and I followed every direction to dip my chin, arch my back, and let the camera make love to me.

  I guess I could hold off on dying of hypothermia and actually get the shot instead of destroying thousands of dollars of photography equipment and all of my working relationships.

  The photographer came alongside of me sludging through the water. “Now lift your legs so I can see that surf splashing around your toes.”

  Thank goodness I took a shit-ton of yoga. Good for contorted positions while modeling…and bonus points in bed.

  I posed, the camera clicked, and the sand and seaweed crept.

  “Yep, just like that. Now roll over and push yourself up on the rock with your arms, right leg bent at the knee, toes pointed.” She danced around me, crouching and probably getting as much sand and water in her pants as I had.

  I got into position and was in the iconic scene from The Little Mermaid. My hair matched but that girl needed to gain a few pounds to have my curves.

  “Perfect, Dani, now whip your hair up like you’re a mermaid looking for her prince.”

  I almost snort-laughed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Awesome.” She snapped a couple of candid pictures of me laughing. “The sun is going to be exactly where I want it in about one minute so let’s do that motion a couple times to make sure I get the shot Cochran wants.”

  I had to hope Grant’s plan to show up to the first day of work with Sports Magazine’s next cover and half the editorial wowed his father and the board. Sports was in every newsstand in America and would get me the reach of a whole damn new audience.

  While I had a lot of fun kinking it up at the club, I wasn’t willing to do it for Granted’s uber popular men’s magazine, and until today that was the only way I was getting into their book. The only team sport I was into was threesomes, or foursomes, or any other a-lot-somes.

  I flipped my hair over my head a dozen times. Working my muscles almost to the point of cramping. The cold water didn’t help. But, I couldn’t wait to see the shots and fought through the twinges of pain.

  “I think we’ve got it.” She stood and dropped her camera arm to her
side nodding. “Great work. You made my job damn easy this morning. Now if only we would all get paid for it.”

  I got up and wiped as much sand off my bikini and thighs as I could before I walked over and shook her hand. The leftover grains could torture me later. “Thanks. You’re pretty badass yourself. Grant was lucky to find you.”

  She laughed a whole lot like a female Snidely Whiplash. “You know it. Now if he can get me in past the good ole boys club at Granted we’ll all be lucky.”

  Maybe she did have a touch of evil photographer in her. Plus, she was pretty. Grant talked her up when he said he told me late last night on the phone he was going to be shooting in another location and wouldn’t be doing my shots. How long had they been sleeping together?

  I had zero evidence, only a gut feeling that they were getting it on. Except the way she smiled when she talked about him reminded me of myself back in the day. A niggle of something tinged with green swirled around behind my chest. I’d given up jealousy a long damn time ago, so I didn’t know what in the world this was.

  Regardless, I crossed my fingers I’d get to work with her again. I’d get my agent to contact her to get some shots for my look book.

  Being able to add cover shots from the first ever all-bodies swimsuit edition of the men’s sports magazine would make the whole photoshoot more than worth it. Pay or not, I was making out good on Grant’s little venture.

  If they went with Grant’s proposal it meant much needed money and a major boost to my career. Which would be sweet. Plus, body positivity in mainstream media? Hell, yeah. A reality check filled with red-eye flights, chilly hurricane weather, and seaweed up my bum. Priceless.

  That is if Grant could sell it. If the board were giggly female models, no problem. But, he was payrolling this whole photoshoot on his own dime, not the company’s, it obviously meant a lot to him to make it work. Four models, half a dozen crew and the equipment alone had to run him at least twenty-five large. Plus, all the travel expenses. Even if we were only here for three nights.

  I walked up the beach to the tent to wash off, warm up, and change my clothes. I rarely had jobs outside of a studio and had never gotten the chance to go on a beach shoot, not that I’d get to do any sunbathing or anything. But having the butt-crack of dawn call gave me plenty of time to check out the seafood and a waterfall my fans on social media told me to visit later this afternoon. That is if the weather held.