Page 74 of His Choice

“Clara, if he and I begin a relationship, I promise that I will do my best to make him happy. And don’t worry. I understand part of that is ensuring he spends quality time with you as often as you both wish—to whatever extent you want me there or not.”

She contemplated that. “If you make Daddy content as I believe you would, he’d want you there almost all the time. And I would be more than fine with that.”

Clara and I spoke a bit more about the college and her studies before disconnecting. I was happy I had a chance to meet her. She had me picturing an actual future with her and Brighton.

* * * *

I had told Brighton that he could use my office to review the package that had been mailed to him at my address from a men’s fitness magazine. It contained the proofs from his latest photoshoot, and they wanted him to select the ones he liked best and weigh in on the cover choice.

Even though it was my house, I knocked on the door frame before entering the room. He looked up from my desk chair, offering me a warm smile in greeting.

“After a while, all the pictures begin to look the same,” he said, holding a few in his hand as he glanced at several more scattered on the desktop. “The degree of difference from shot to shot is sometimes as little as my head turned one millimeter more to the right than it was in the prior photo.”

“May I see them?” I wasn’t sure if that would be intrusive, but I imagined the images were beautiful.

“Please,” he replied, beckoning me over. “I would welcome your opinion.”

I shut the door behind me, then walked to the desk, pulling the guest chair to it so I could retrieve photos from the pile. Some were black and white, others in color. All of them were stunning. While I had already seen Brighton shirtless, the poses and lighting made his body look even more spectacular. Many of the shots were taken of him wearing only gym shorts or briefs.

“Wow. These are amazing.”

He grinned. “Thank you. All the credit to the photographer and the hair and makeup team.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. The hot guy who’s the subject of the photos doesn’t deserve any of the credit. Come on, Brighton. You’re the reason these are fantastic. God, look at you.” I shuffled through more of the photos, then glanced his way when I realized he had gone quiet. “What?”

He glanced down at his lap. “I’m used to my agent telling me that I might need to start thinking about my next career move because there isn’t a huge demand for men my age. It threw me to have a younger man—an incredibly handsome one—tell me that I look fantastic.”

“Hmm. And here I just told Clara that you carry yourself with confidence,” I teased.

Brighton chuckled. “It’s all an act. Is there really anyone who doesn’t have doubts and insecurities about themselves? If you find me that person, I’ll bet you a thousand pounds that they’re a narcissistic sociopath.”

“Perhaps that’s true.”

He shrugged. “I’m not wallowing in a non-sensical self-loathing or feigning modesty. I know I’m attractive, Cliff. I’ve made millions off my appearance. And I’m grateful because, other than the effort I put into a fitness and skincare routine, I’m just damned lucky to have inherited these genes. But looks diminish, and mine aren’t what they used to be. When your appearance is what pays the bills, the fading is a little more troubling than it might be for others.”

“If you’ve made millions, then you don’t need to worry about paying the bills,” I pointed out. “I know good investment planners if you need one. And if you used to be even better looking, then you must have been a god when you were younger.”

“You mean like you are now?” He grinned. “I should hook you up with my agent.”

“No, thank you,” I replied. “I have enough on my plate without trying to model now, too. But thank you for the compliment.”

Brighton leaned back in the chair. “It’s my honest assessment. And I’d be very jealous of the photographer who’d get to snap similar photos of you—in a pair of briefs, that is.”

I flushed at that. “You have that male model body. Agencies don’t hire guys built like me. I’m too muscular. I’ve thought about ratcheting it back at the gym.”

Brighton seemed surprised by that. “Oh, please don’t. The only thing more gorgeous than your physique is your face.”

I grinned before staring down at one of his photos. “I’m pretty sure I’m looking at something more stunning right now.”

Brighton leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Agree to disagree. So, tell me about your conversation with Clara.”

“She’s wonderful,” I said. “It was very easy to talk to her. She loves her daddy.”

Brighton beamed. “I love her more, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. I’m delighted the two of you hit it off.”

“I believe we did. I’d enjoy hanging out with her…with both of you.”

He stood and rounded the desk, then knelt by my chair. “I would like that. And I’d love to hear more about the conversation…later.”