Luca Dilorio begins his freshman year at Cornell, while his boyfriend, Chyna Davidson, embarks on a modeling career based out of Manhattan, New York. Although Luca is only a five-hour drive away, he may as well be on another planet. Having watched Chyna’s back for years, Luca struggles with the separation. His new roommate, Zeb Araneda, lends an ear, and a solid friendship is born, but it doesn’t keep Luca from worrying.
Chyna learns to navigate the ups and downs of the modeling industry on his own. However, this proves difficult with Luca micromanaging everything, from Chyna’s diet to his choice in a roommate. After rejecting several candidates, Chyna and Luca decide on fellow model, Alex Boulet, who turns out to be perfect in more ways than one.
An unexpected appearance raises a multitude of concerns, and the entire family—Lil, Grier, Clark, Jody, and Chip—descend upon the young couple to offer their help. Will Luca and Chyna weather the storm or succumb to pressure from multiple fronts?
Chapter One
Lowering his camera, Ian Carmichael squinted across the divide of harsh lights and eviscerated me with one question. “Do you always look like this, or did someone come in your mouth without your permission?”
Stunned by the unexpected attack, I struggled to catch my breath while deliberating my next move. I could throat punch the asshole—and get on the blacklist—or choose the high road and keep my dignity intact.
“Don’t just stand there, Red. Answer me when I ask you something.”
My pulse sped up, and I was tempted to walk out the door, but that would only prove I was an incompetent newbie. I decided to tough it out, but not until I had my say.
“First off, my name is Chyna Davidson, not Red, and you might consider rephrasing your question.”
Instead of backing down, Ian challenged. “What the hell kind of name is Chyna anyway?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but my mother was a fan of Wilson Phillips.”
“Who?”
“Forget it.” Clueless motherfucker.
“Listen up, kiddo. Once you’ve attained supermodel status, you can patent that insouciance, but at the moment, you’re nothing but a wannabe. Start making love to my camera or find another career.”
“Sorry?”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ian roared. “Pretend I’m your boyfriend and you’re craving some attention.”
Ooh, that did it. Yelling had never worked with me, and unfiltered words projected out of my mouth like vomit. “Dude, I have a boyfriend, and he gives me plenty of attention. And just so we’re clear, I’m not your bitch, so get over yourself. Fame doesn’t give you the right to be a first-class prick. You. Chose. Me. Stop acting like a bully and tell me what to do without insulting me.”
“Give me a goddamn break.” Ian turned his back and reached for one of several bottles of water he kept on the table piled high with camera lenses and filters. He drained the liquid in a few gulps while I stared at his backside, which, I had to admit, filled his faded jeans rather nicely. The world-renowned photographer, who’d begged for a fresh face to represent Armani’s next spring collection, knew damn well what he was getting when he requested my presence. I never said I was experienced, and instead of treating me with compassion, he was being an utter jerk.
Ian hollered for Melinda, my agent, who appeared at his side within seconds. She and her husband, Dan, owned Elite Plus, the Chicago-based agency who’d first discovered me.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, rubbing Ian’s back gently.
“Do something with your boy or get me a replacement.”
Hell no. I gnawed at my lower lip, terrified by the prospect of being fired on my first day of work. Ian was the most famous photog in Manhattan, the best of the best, or so I’d been told, and he wasn’t too hard on the eyes if one was into silver foxes, which I wasn’t, but that was beside the point. Making a good impression was the right move if I hoped to conquer the fashion world, but so far, this meeting had been a disaster. Ian tossed the empty bottle into a recycling bin and continued to glare at Melinda.
“I’m aware you have a deadline,” she conceded softly, “but honestly, Ian, a little sugar would go a long way to make this easier on our collective nerves. You wouldn’t have asked for Chyna if you didn’t believe he had potential.”
“I don’t have time to babysit,” he snapped.
“No one’s asking you to feed and burp the guy,” Melinda argued. “Chyna’s a natural, but he doesn’t know you or what you’re hoping to achieve. You’d get a lot more cooperation if you encouraged rather than criticized.”
“My God, woman! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since anyone asked me to adjust my attitude? I’m not the one with a problem. It’s your brat who needs a swift kick in the ass.”
I could feel my anger—and humiliation—rising again. My hands curled into fists as I got ready to punch Ian’s lights out.
“You’re the one acting like a diva,” Melinda shot back. “Chyna’s a hard worker with a lot of potential star power. It’s up to you to unleash the magic, not snuff it out with your craptastic posturing.”
Ian’s mouth gaped. I wondered how long it would take security to escort us out of the studio, and I was surprised—honestly flabbergasted—when it didn’t happen.
“Okay,” Ian agreed, backing down. “I’m willing to give this another chance, but I want to see more sass and less pouting.”
Nodding, Melinda acknowledged his request with a curt “Got it.”
She covered the short distance between us in a few determined strides, and I braced for whatever was coming next. Mel was fired up, willing to go the extra mile to ensure my success, but the responsibility now rested squarely on my shoulders. If I didn’t live up to her hype, I might as well pack it up.
My family would probably be relieved if I walked away, but Mel’s reputation was on the line, and I owed her big-time. When I walked into Elite Plus four years ago, I’d been passing for female, due in part to being born intersex, but mainly because of my mother’s irrational desire to have a daughter. Against all medical advice, and despite my fully formed male genitalia, she’d been raising me as a girl. Mel had seen through the charade and gently coaxed me into becoming my authentic self. She was more than my agent—she was my mentor and best friend. I couldn’t let her down after she’d put her reputation on the line for me.
“What an asshole,” I muttered. “He’s obviously too full of himself to mentor anyone.”
“I won’t deny it,” Mel whispered, “but Ian’s very much in demand. You’re lucky to be here.”
“Seriously?”
“Hon, you’ll have to trust me on this.”
“Any suggestions?”