"No," he says quickly. "It's not  p**n , it's… erotic art."

"Uh-huh. Erotic art. So what exactly do you guys want me for? Just so we're clear."

"Pictures."

"Of me naked?"

"No… I mean… well, somewhat naked, yes. We're not doing c**k shots or shit like that, Rook. It's tasteful nudes and stuff."

I laugh as I stand up. "OK, I'm probably gonna have to leave. I mean, I'm not against doing some pictures, even some racy ones, but I need to think about it and see how much money it pays and I'm not comfortable doing that here. So I'm gonna go back to the shelter for a while and you guys call me if—"

"Absolutely not, Rook! You're not going to a f**king homeless shelter. We're having dinner with Antoine and Elise in an hour to sort it all out, you can't leave before you at least get all the details."

I hesitate because I don't want to go back to the shelter, I mean, I would almost rather sleep anywhere else but there, so I hesitate.

"Just go take a shower, put on your own clothes, and let's have dinner, OK?"

I am seriously starving and my rumbling stomach wins the night. I can at least hear them out. "OK." He sighs with relief. "I would like to take a shower, actually."

His eyes light up. "That's the best news I've heard all day. Follow me, I'll introduce you to the beast."

I follow him into the bathroom off the hallway and he's not kidding. The shower is a beast. It's a massive work of tiled art with more knobs and shower heads than I can even imagine are necessary.

He sees me eyeing them suspiciously. "Don't even ask, Rook. I have no idea what they all do. But if you press this button here"—he points to something that looks like a security system control panel—"then they all come on at once and I'll just warn you now, that shit is better than sex."

"Oh," I moan, "that's too bad. I totally thought the only way I'd feel better tonight was if I could just get me some sex, but now that I have this here shower, I guess I'm good."

"You're OK, then?" He takes my joking as a good sign, but honestly, it's my default setting. When I get nervous and I'm not in danger of getting my face punched in, I tend to turn into a smart-ass.

"I'm really not, but I'm trying real hard, Ronin."

He walks over to me, doesn't touch me, but gets close enough so that we don't need to touch to understand what's going on. I can feel his presence, like his body has an electric field around it and I've suddenly found myself inside. I have to look up at him because now that we're standing right up next to each other I realize how tall he is. At least five inches taller than me and I'm five nine.

"Just give us a chance, OK? If you don't want the job I'll understand. But this day should not have happened this way."

He watches me intently but I'm not capable of talking about this right now. I need some space. "Can you go get me some clothes from the apartment? I'll even let you pick them."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just turn on the shower for you." He messes with the control panel and water starts spraying out in all directions. I smile a thank you and he leaves, closing the door behind him.

When I looking the bathroom mirror I was right about the make-up—it is totally smeared under my eyes. The beastly shower feels better than ever right now. My body is tired and not eating right is not helping. I hope they are having something good for dinner because if it's some French shit, I might scream and throw a fit until they feed me a burger or take me to the baseball stadium for a hot dog.

When I'm done I wrap the towel around me and open the door cautiously, I can hear Ronin talking on the phone. I listen for a few seconds, but it's all in French and I only catch the name Clare. There's a small pile of clothes on the floor in front of the bathroom and I grab them and disappear back inside. He picked me out a very sweet white bra and panty set, some pink capris, a pink tank top, and a white cotton button-up sweater. I slip on my beat-up old Converse because they're all I have. When I look in the mirror my long black hair contrasts with the cute outfit and I suddenly feel like biker Gidget.

He was so right last night—I'm no Gidget. I'm definitely a tragic if ever there was one.

Ronin is sitting on his couch watching sports when I come back out.

"Feel better?"

I nod. "Yeah, I do."

He gets up, takes my hand, and then we walk down the hallway towards the stairs. It's so quiet compared to earlier I almost don't recognize the studio as we walk past and continue down the hall. Ronin punches in a code, opens the door and waves me in first.

Antoine and Elise are nowhere to be found, so I take a moment to study the apartment. It's like stepping back into the Roaring Twenties. The whole inside looks like something off The Great Gatsby movie set, it's all curves and contrasts—art deco from top to bottom. The furniture is ultra-modern but old and stylish at the same time. The chairs and couches have high curved backs, and the black piping on the cushions perfectly sets off the white fabric.

The far side of the room is one giant circular window that has pocket glass doors to allow access to the terrace. This is where the voices are coming from and Ronin leads me through the portal-like door. Exiting onto the terrace is like stepping into another world. There are twinkling white lights strung everywhere and the terrace itself is massive. Like bigger than the first floor of the house I lived in back in Chicago. It's furnished like the inside, except with weatherproof fabrics.