Away with the Faeries (Get Your Rocks Off Book 1)

by Sam Hall

  “No, no, no,” I said, backing away, as if putting distance between myself and the dress would make my wishes come true. Jen protested, and Marlow’s eyes glittered as I went, like a cat’s would right before they pounced on a mouse. The two of them kept on coming, holding the garment out like some kind of high couture poltergeist, ready to swallow me up and spit me out fashionable. I aimed to back out the door, past the very hot models and all the way to my car, but I hit something very hard.

  “Ow!” I said, turning to see I’d bumped into Mark, and he was looking at the whole room like it was some kind of horrific car crash. “Oh shit, sorry.” I turned back to my two pursuers. “No, Jen.”

  “Yes, Ki—” Jen said.

  “Miss Rutherglen—” Mark rumbled.

  “No, Jen. No, no, no.”

  “OK, y’all need to stop right now.” Everyone’s eyes snapped to Marlow, who held the garments out with barely contained irritation. “You, tall, dark and handsome. You work for the fabulous Miss Jennifer, yes?” Mark nodded. “You want to protect her and all of the many strange and splendiferous people who will be attending the launch?” The nod grew more curt. “Then put the damn kilt on. We did quite a bit of consultation with your firm back in town. These have pockets and capacity for carrying concealed weapons. We even designed some inserts—” Marlow’s voice was cut off by Mark snatching the offending garment from him and striding off through another set of doors to what I assumed were the changing rooms.

  “It’s seriously comfortable,” Paulie said as his boss stormed past. He flexed his very manly thighs, something that caught my eyes, as if to demonstrate.

  “Now, Kira, I believe?” Those implacable green eyes came to rest on me and then slid down, taking in the well-worn state of my favourite t-shirt, my broken in jeans, and the Converse with the holes on the side in one long look. “You like this whole grunge thing, right?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it grunge.”

  “Well, what do you call it? Young mum who’s just done the school run? Mid term university student living in a squat?” Marlow took a step forward, the dress and his tall frame entering my personal bubble at a rapid rate, but I didn’t step back, despite everything in me screaming that I should. He cocked his head slightly, his eyes heavily hooded as he kept me quiet and still with just his gaze. “Fairy tales are full of very nice little girls who get made over into princesses by their fairy godmothers. Well, sweetheart, that’s me. Destiny is calling, there’s a whole world out there, and it’s gonna see you looking fabulous.” His arm gestured to some mythical place I could almost see if I stared long enough. “But you are not going to the ball dressed as a hobo. Put the damn dress on. I’ve been dealing with divas all bloody day, and it’s only just gone ten am. If it looks horrible, if you really can’t bear to wear it, I’ll find something else.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the racks, as if it was no big deal.

  “But, lovely, this dress is made for you. Nice arse, tiny waist, an embarrassment of riches in the tit department, and of course, enough wobble to make you unduly terrified of being seen and every man in the place wanting to bury his face in the place that’s softest and sweetest. This,” he thrust the dress in my face, “will accentuate what you think we want to see, and smooth what you think we don’t. The boning has some flex in it, so you’ll still be able to get into strange poses to take your shots. I particularly want to see it when you’re bending down.” His eyes slid over the soft cotton of my shirt. “We’ll tailor it to your height so you’re not in any danger of tripping over it, and I’ll even let you wear flats as a compromise. Deal?”

  He held out a long-fingered hand, and I found myself taking it on automatic. The palm was pulled away and the dress thrust into my limp fingers before I had time to think. “Go now,” he said, patting me on the arse. “Show me further evidence of my sartorial genius.”

  He collapsed down onto a couch, and intricate tattoos were revealed as he rested his arm above his head.

  “He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Jen enthused, escorting me to the other room, her arm linked in mine. “You should see what he’s got for me to wear!”

  Well, damn.

  With the eternal ‘look at all sides’ shuffle that we women seemed to have to do when trying on a dress, I saw the fucking bastard was right. I admit, spending most of my time either traipsing around taking weird photos or hours touching the shots up in front of my Mac Pro, I didn’t spend a lot dressing up. Like ever. There was never a need, or rather, I didn’t see there as one. Tinder and dating was out. I’d known every guy in town since pre-school, which inspired more sisterly than romantic feelings. Jen tried to get me to go to the parties held at Rutherglen, but that was too much the other way. I saw many a gorgeous creature at those I had attended, but that just made me feel invisible. I saw them, but they didn’t see me, something I could only relieve when I got my camera out.

  Well, that wouldn’t happen in this dress. Whether they wanted to or not, people would notice me, because it did everything Marlow had promised it would. My body looked lush, the green somehow accentuating that. The corset turned my normal curves into something almost obscene. I reached into the bodice, trying to push my tits down, but it wasn’t having any of that. There was barely enough room for what I had as it was. I huffed, letting out a long breath with my hands on my hips, and watched the weird juxtaposition between frustrated me and my now sex pot looking body in the mirror.

  “Ki?” Jen asked, her voice muffled by the door.

  Mirror me shook her head, a resigned expression on her face.

  “Coming,” I said, and opened the door.

  “Oh, Ki!”

  Jen’s hands went to her face, her big blue eyes going wide, then shiny as she took me in. She took a deep breath in, no doubt a torrent of best friend reassurance coming my way, but the other door opposite mine opened.

  Damnnn…

  This dress was no longer a problem. I couldn’t feel it or my face as acres of lovely brown male flesh appeared in the doorway. Mark damned near filled it, the great mountain of a man, and I felt the need to ask for abseiling rope and those spiked shoes, because I wanted to climb every inch. I followed a lot of fitness models and photographers on Instagram because market research and everything, and that kind of lean, well-defined muscular body always seemed to have more in common with Ancient Greek art than real life men. Boys in Gisbourne drank beer and worked on cars, resulting in a much less godlike appearance. But gods didn’t stare at my tits like they were luscious fruit and he was dying for a taste…did they?

  Jen’s smile widened as she took the both of us in, her gaze flicking from one to the other as the silence dragged on, and Mark’s abdomen flexed as his breath came more rapidly. It took a knowing chuckle from her to snap us out of the spell. Mark visibly shook himself, scraping his tawny brown hair back from his face, which just made the muscles along his ribs pop and his bicep look like it was as big as my head.

  “You look lovely, miss,” he said finally, and it took me a whole lot longer to respond.

  “Now, let me take a look. Twirl, both of you,” Marlow commanded from the couch. His smile was lazy as we strode forward. Well, Mark did. I shuffled, terrified I’d trip on the skirt of the dress.

  “Mmm, I’m getting a distinct Outlander vibe here,” the man said, pointing a finger at Mark. “Like he’s all ready to spank you while calling you Sassenach.” Mark snorted at that, shooting Paulie a dark look when he started to laugh. “Alright, you two can retreat back into your off the rack disasters. I’m convinced this is the costume for them, yes?”

  “Of course, darling,” Jen said, throwing herself down beside him.

  “Very well, begone manly beasts. We’re all very appreciative of the time you’ve been doing CrossFit, but it’s the pièce de résistance now. Sweetheart, did I or did I not call it?”

  “You did,” Jen said with a nod. “No one’s putting this Baby in the corner.”

  “Well, they m
ight, to have their wicked way with you or to hide you from the many, many suitors that will be flocking to your side.” Both Jen and Marlow’s eyes flicked to where Mark still stood, an almost inaudible grunt drawing their eyes. “Yes, love, this is it. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

  “You OK, boss?”

  Mark shook his head when he noticed, turning quickly to leave the room with Paulie hot on his heels.

  “I don’t need to be the belle, I need to take photos of the legitimate belles. How do I do that with…this out on display?”

  “Women are able to do things and have their tits out,” Marlow said with a tut. “They do it all the time.”

  “You go native,” Jen said. “War photographers do it, investigative journalists do it. I don’t have a problem with your usual kit.” Marlow snorted at that. “But you’re going to stick out like dog’s balls wearing it. Go glam, blend in, catch people when their defences are down, and capture the real them. That’s what Dad’s looking for.”

  “Except for the sex and drugs and…what?”

  “Not that kind of photoshoot,” Jen said with a smirk.

  “What, so you want me to catch everyone…going for it?” I blinked as both their smiles widened. “Exactly what kind of photoshoot is this?”

  “I told you the brief, and I meant every word. This will be beautiful, decadent, unfettered, and sometimes, downright debauched. Think Annie Leibovitz and the Stones in ’75, think Cocksucker Blues.”

  “Think Snoop’s porn videos,” Marlow said with a grin.

  “Or Rammstein’s,” Jen’s nose wrinkled, “though with considerably less dad bod. Madonna’s sex book!”

  “You want me to shoot porn shots?”

  “No, I want you to shoot this like any other documentary photographer would. Shoot what you see, what’s there. Make it beautiful, luscious, sweet, but don’t balk from anything else. Don’t self-censor. Daddy’s embarking on something brand new. Everyone knows what A-listers get up to, and people comb the tabloids for tiny scraps of evidence. Well, we’re going to give it to them. The more…adult images will be behind a paywall, to protect minors and to give value to it. No one desires something that’s free. But for the first time ever, people will have unfettered access to those they worship, and you’re going to be the means to give it to them.”

  “We’ll wait outside, Miss Rutherglen,” Mark said as he re-entered the room. Paulie’s eyes raked up my well-dressed form, but Mark only paused for a second, nodding to each of us and then leaving, his colleague in tow.

  “You’re overthinking it,” Marlow pronounced with a shake of his head. He rolled to his feet in a well-practised move, then retrieved two things from the racks. The first he presented with a flourish, smiling when my lips parted, because there he held a pair of green sequined Chuck Taylor’s. “See, no need to worry about falling over. Now, let’s see if this helps.”

  Marlow dropped the shoes into my limp hands, produced a mask with the other hand, and then moved in closer to put it on me. It was stiff and a little uncomfortable in the way the material refused to mould to my face. My vision was slightly impaired by the elongated holes cut within it, but I saw the moment he gestured to Jen to retrieve my camera from the change room clear enough. Something settled inside me when she placed it in my hand, then she sat back on the couch in an elegant sprawl as I lifted it. I turned it on and looked down the barrel, the sounds around me dropping away as I focussed the lens, composed the shot, and then…

  Click.

  Jen turned to look at the camera, not me, a kind of indolent challenge now burning in those familiar blue eyes.

  Click.

  The artificial light bleached her to the bone, her eyes bright as stars. Those terribly red lips curved further into a kind of silent mirth, looking all the while like a little girl caught doing something oh so naughty. Then her gaze flicked up.

  Click.

  “I’ve been dealing with prima donnas and hotties all bloody morning,” Marlow said as I shifted the viewfinder around to catch him in it. His fingers went to the hem of his shirt.

  Click.

  Then he smiled, something entirely devilish. His head was thrown back as he removed it with a quick movement, and he was lying down on the couch in the next moment, his body very close to Jen’s. She looked down at his very nice bare chest with interest.

  Click.

  He wasn’t as bulky as Paulie or Mark, but the guy obviously kept himself in good shape. Jen put out a finger and trailed the weird tattoos he had inscribed on his ribs.

  I zoomed in.

  Click.

  “Mmm…” one or both of them said. I zoomed back out again, catching the moment they leant into each other, her red lips almost against his.

  Click.

  Then they laughed. All tension left their bodies as they flopped back on the couch, relaxed now, looking more like siblings than potential lovers.

  “And that’s how it’s done,” Jen said. “Let’s take a look at what you’ve got.”

  I felt kinda light headed when Marlow got to his feet and removed the mask, my eyes blinking in the light. He rubbed my arm for a second and then took the camera from me, passing it to Jen. Her smile widened when she saw what was on the viewfinder, sharing the images with Marlow when he joined her. His smile mimicked hers, and then they both turned to look at me.

  Was this what the night was going to be like? Me feeling really uncomfortable, trussed up like a chicken, while beautiful people looked at me with sly smiles? My fingers itched for my camera, a symbol, an acknowledgement of my purpose.

  “So what do you think?” Jen said to Marlow.

  He just smiled. “She’s perfect.”

  “You hear that?” she asked me. “This was your audition. Marlow is the creative director of the whole event.”

  “Yes, and you’ve given me nowhere near enough time to complete it. Alright, sweetheart, jump up on the box for me, will you? I need to stare way too long at those nicely turned ankles while I hem your dress up.”

  Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the room in a bit of a daze.

  The process had been made more complex by the many ruffles of fabric in the skirt. Each one had to be hemmed separately to keep the fluttery effect intact. It had been weird, standing on the podium as Jen chattered to me about all the different guests. Little was required of me but to nod along and give appropriately enthusiastic responses.

  “Stay still for this,” Marlow had said, his hand going to my knee. My eyes instantly jerked down to see two green eyes looking up at me as he’d put a few pins in his mouth and went to work, pinning up the falls of fabric closer to my waistline. The dress actually had a massive split in it running up the centre of the dress, and only the plentiful ruffles were enough to preserve my modesty. This would not be a granny pants night. Even Spanx would be out of the question.

  “Don’t worry,” he’d said in a low voice. “We’ll have something pretty for you to wear tomorrow night.”

  “How did you…?”

  He’d shrugged and said, “It’s what I’d be thinking if I had to wear something like this.”

  5

  “OK, so now the traumatic stuff has been done, come and look.”

  I loved Jen. She barrelled through life like it was one long adventure, even if she felt somewhat hampered by being tucked away in Gisbourne, but today she was next level. She fairly glowed with excitement as she led me past the reflection pool into the main house proper. The place was teaming with staff as well, but they all melted away as we entered. Well, that and because Mark loomed behind us.

  I refused to make eye contact with him when we exited the room. I didn’t normally much anyway, torn between wanting to treat him like an actual human being and the fact that he was hot. But now, Marlow’s pronunciation that he’d looked like Jamie Fraser in Outlander positively burned in my brain. I was a hot-blooded heterosexual girl, I’d seen Sam Heughan in all his considerable glory on the show, and the comparisons weren’t
completely accurate—I think Mark might have been taller and bigger—but now that I’d been up close and personal with Mark’s manly, manly body, I knew a date with a certain battery operated boyfriend was on the table tonight. But right now, I wanted to pretend that being near him, Marlow, and all those mostly naked guys wasn’t giving me a full on moisty. Of course, when was what I wanted ever on the cards?

  “Darling!” Mr. Rutherglen turned from the caterers he was talking to and smiled when he saw us coming over.

  Mr. Rutherglen—call me Dave—was a straight up DILF. He had that kind of big broad body that screamed competence. Like he could fix your bike tyre, your car, and help you develop a stocks portfolio. Unlike his daughter, he had a shock of dark hair that was beginning to grey and a beard with a bit of salt and pepper in it.

  His arm went around Jen’s shoulders, pulling her in tight for a hug before he looked across her head at me.

  “Our little Kira, all grown up and an excellent photographer as well! You’ve kept that quiet. Could’ve used you on the latest Changelings promo shoot. The boys can be a little difficult, and we ended up having two different photographers up and quit in rapid succession. So, you’re all ready for the briefing?”

  “Um…yes, of course, Mr. Rutherglen.”

  “Mr… Come on, call me Dave. Well, ladies come through here into the media room. We’re just about to start the presentation.”

  Dave put his arms around the both of us and steered us into a room packed with media, and people in suits sporting microphones watched as we passed. More casually dressed camera people turned their devices our way, tracking our movement as we were deposited into empty seats in the front row. Dave stepped up to the podium positioned next to a large screen and smiled.

  “I’d like to thank everyone for coming today for the pre-launch of our upcoming mega tour, The Carnival.”

  He gestured to the screen, and sure enough, a beautifully animated logo expanded in the presentation. Evoking old school tattoos and seedy but somehow sexy carnies, cartoon figures emerged from behind the text, beckoning the viewer closer.