Unconditional Hate

Ch. 2 | Annoying encounter.

River

"Perfect!" Elijah, my personal photographer and my assistant, snapped a pic as I posed sideways to the camera. I was shirtless. A black leather coat clung to me. My abs gleamed as did the structure of revealed flesh under my belly button. 

I placed my thumbs on the waistband of the jet-black pants leaving the rest of my fingers dangling as I turned to the camera in my model's face.

"Yeah! You look spectacular!" Elijah shouts as I hear snapping sounds. "Give me a smirk." He requested.

I smirk. Nothing ever felt more satisfying than being encouraged. I've always been a guy who loves to receive compliments. I maintain my everything. My body. My diet. My skin. My hair. All of it. Receiving a compliment proves that people do notice it and it makes my adrenaline boost.

"You did amazing!" Elijah said as he guided me to the monitor that displayed my model self in black and white. 

Chiselled cheekbones, rigid nose, glossy skin, slender grey eyes. If that's not perfect I don't know what is. 

"Let's take five..." Elijah settled down as he scrolled through the various similar shots of mine. "come back changed into the other outfit."

"You got it." I replied.

Elijah is the only photographer I trusted to get the best out of me. He's been my assistant for four years now and he was there with me through difficulties while my father enjoyed the luxuries of being a CEO. Enzo Romano owned La Voga, and I am the brand ambassador of it. Weird. I know.

When my success hit the sky last year, thanks to Elijah, Enzo thought it would be "an honour" as he implied, to be the brand ambassador for his company. I denied the offer at first, but Elijah had insisted that I accept it as it paid more than the other offers I'd got. So I had no choice.

Enzo never bothered to look at me twice before last year and now that I was famous I was useful to him.

He's a shitty father that I've not even once looked up to. He was never around while I grew up and I never wanted him to. The thought of him at home had disgusted me because whenever he was around he reeked of alcohol and threw tantrums. That is the prior reason to why I don't drink alcohol. It makes my blood boil. I don't despise everyone that drinks. Just him.

Whenever I had asked him to accompany me for an event he'd always had contracts to sign or big galas to attend. It had been so frequent that at some point I had stopped asking him, instead I used tell everyone that I didn't have a dad. Everyone knew I was lying, but they didn't say it out loud. They knew I was the son of The Enzo Romano. He'd always been famous and I had to suffer the consequences of it. It was unfair, but so is life.

Eighty shoots and three outfit changes later I found myself at the most hottest club of New york. Neon nights. Ethan and I had planned for a night out clubbing, but as always the bastard was late. By the time he'd arrived, I had already downed two Moscows, non-alcoholic obviously and had gotten invited by three girls to their houses for the night, but I had to kindly decline. Not because I didn't want to but because I couldn't, thanks to my loyal personality. I couldn't just ditch on Ethan after making plans with him. Aren't I such a great friend?

"Get a habit of arriving on time," I growled at the sight of Ethan. "You're always late for fuck's sake!"

"New york traffic y'know." He settled beside me and requested the bartender for a scotch. Two minutes later the bartender was back with a glass of scotch half filled with ice.

"Knowing you..." I turn to the bartender and ordered a kombucha. "you were probably slacking off at the agency and hitting up on some bitch." 

Ethan and I modelled in the same agency, but rarely met each other as we both had busy schedules. Also because he was the hot topic of our agency and was packed up with photo ops.