by Sharan Daire
In two or three years, maybe. Not at the beginning of my career. Even I, the king of “I can do anything I set my mind to,” hadn’t dared dream of such a big success so quickly.
“That’s like next month, isn’t it?” I finally asked. “I couldn’t get a spot this late.”
Paolo nodded. “True, true. But I have many friends who would willingly do a favor for me. Of course, it is quite expensive, and there’s not much time to prepare, but if you can swing the investment, I think we could get a brief spot to show two or three of your gowns.”
“The investment isn’t a problem.”
Nodding, he grinned sheepishly. “I thought not, especially when you agreed to double my fee to get me here so quickly. Though now, I can see why and can only express my gratitude that you selected me to launch Ms. Kent’s career. I hope you have a very good contract, because there will be many other designers interested once they see our work.”
“I have the very best attorney.” I gave him a shark’s smile. “I don’t have any concerns in that regard.”
“Then shall I make some calls? See if I can secure a spot?”
I hesitated. Shelby had been a nervous wreck this morning, and that was only meeting a professional photographer. She’d never experienced a fashion show. So to drag her off to New York City, to the biggest and most important fashion show in America… With only a month or so to prepare…
When she might be pregnant…
I blew out a sigh, shaking my head. All this stress wouldn’t be good for her or a baby. “Let’s start with a photoshoot, see how she feels. I’ll talk to her tonight and sound her out.”
Paolo’s shoulders drooped a bit but he nodded. “Of course, of course. I understand. But if you’re interested, the sooner I start calling, the better.”
Opening the door, I waved him through and then followed back into the workroom. “Got it. Let’s see how today goes first.”
The absolute stricken look of panic on her face stopped in my tracks like a two-by-four. She hadn’t heard the conversation. Surely. But to be safe, I quickly added, “Only if you want to, Shelby. I won’t push you.”
She blinked, looking from me to the photographer and back. “He didn’t quit?”
“Quit?” Paolo’s voice rose an octave. “Why would I quit when I have the chance to shoot a goddess?”
SHELBY
I thought I’d gotten used to living in LaLa Land where everyone was super nice, I didn’t have to worry about a single thing, and I had loving, gorgeous men eager to help me in any way possible.
But I was definitely sliding back over the rainbow now.
Bewildered, I looked around the room. As if I would actually see someone else here to take my place.
Everett pressed a cup of water into my hand. “Here, sweetheart. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Did you eat this morning?” Chris barked, marching over like a formidable drill sergeant.
I thought they were overacting, but my head did feel like it was going to float away like a balloon. Or maybe it’d just pop with a loud bang, and I’d wake up from this dream, standing in the diner with grease all down my apron and scalding hot plates in my hands, while some asshole customer complained his eggs were too runny.
“Yes,” Everett replied, squatting down beside me. “I made sure she had a good breakfast.”
I forced a smile, grateful that I was already sitting while Carsen touched up my makeup. “I’m fine. I just thought…”
Chris scowled at me, arms crossed over his chest. “You thought Paolo was quitting because of you. When he was actually asking if you’d consider walking in a major fashion show next month.”
I choked on the water, spilling a little down the front of the dress. Everett caught the glass before I could drop it. “What?”
“New York Fashion Week is next month,” Paolo said. “I’m sure I could pull a few strings and get you a spot.”
My ears roared. My head really did feel like it detached from my body and started drifting away into nothingness.
I wasn’t sure how many minutes passed, but I realized I was slumped over against Everett’s chest. Though Chris was down beside us, my face cupped in his big palms while he fiercely whispered curses at me.
“Motherfucker. Don’t you dare pass out, Shelby Anderson Harris Blakely. I’ll fucking carry you all the way home and put you straight in fucking bed. You won’t get up for a month.”
“New York?” I whispered. “Is he serious?”
“No,” Chris said furiously, though his grip softened on my face. “Just forget about that, alright? We’re only going to do the photos. But not today. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” To prove my point, I sat back up. My cheeks heated and my fingers trembled as I picked the water glass back up. I made myself drink the whole thing, just to prove I could. Everett silently poured me another glass, but I didn’t pick it up right away.
Everyone was staring at me, making me shrink a little more with embarrassment. “Sorry. I never do that.”
“Mmm hmm,” Chris drawled out, giving me a speculative look.
I knew what he was thinking. Maybe. Though I’d never felt faint with my other two pregnancies.
“For that very reason, I told him no for now. It’s too much stress.”
My face was so hot. Fuck it. I picked up the cup and pressed the cool glass to my cheek. “New York? You can’t be serious.”
Paolo had no idea what our underlying concern was, but he was evidently a smart man and didn’t ask questions. “There’s nothing quite as spectacular as launching a new line at New York Fashion Week. If the designs can hold up to the best of the best, then the line will be an immediate success.”
Chris had been trying to launch his line for a while now. Hadn’t he said something about smaller shows before? New York would be a major win for his line. But if I was his only model…
I moved the cup to my other cheek. I thought Chris’ designs were gorgeous, but what did a single mom waitress know about fashion? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought a nice dress, but it sure hadn’t been a fancy label from an exclusive store. Probably a Wal-Mart special.
“You think Red Velvet Angel could hold up in New York?” Everett asked.
Chris scowled at him. “Traitor.”
“Hey, I think everything you do is the bomb, and our Shelby is the most gorgeous woman in the world, but I might be a tad biased.”
“If everything in the line is done to the level of this gown,” Paolo said, sweeping his hand at me. “Even two or three gowns like this will cause a sensation.”
“But it’s not just the gowns,” Chris said softly, drawing my gaze. “It’s you, Shelby.”
Paolo nodded. “This face. This body. Forgive me for being indelicate, Ms. Kent, but you make the gown what it is. You elevate it from bella to magnifico.”
“The dress was made for you, babe.”
I set the glass down and met Chris’ gaze. “But you hadn’t even met me yet.”
“It was still made for you. But we’re not even going to consider New York right now. Next year or even the year after will be plenty soon enough.”
I couldn’t help but frown. A year or two of his designs languishing in obscurity, when he could get them into a big-time fashion show now…
I gave myself a mental shake. Was I actually considering it? Me? The woman who practically wiped out a few minutes ago because my heel slipped and joked about breaking a leg?
“When is it?” Everett asked. “Could Chris even get a spot? I thought it was by invitation only.”
“Next month,” Paolo replied. “It’s not invitation exactly, but it’s so costly that only very serious designers can afford to go without sponsors and assistance.”
“There aren’t any spots available,” Chris said dismissively, pushing up to his feet. “So we’re not going to worry about it.”
I focused on Paolo, trying to read his face. There was a way to go,
or we wouldn’t be talking about it right now. Chris would shut down the idea without even talking about it, for fear that it’d be too much for me to take on right now.
And sure, he was probably right. Even if I wasn’t pregnant, I was a complete amateur. I’d only just started to get accustomed to the idea of taking sexy photos with the guys. Having a stranger step in to take photos had made me a nervous wreck this morning before the big New York news.
But if Chris had the chance to go to the biggest show in the States, I wanted him to have that opportunity. I certainly didn’t want to be the only reason he couldn’t go. I didn’t want to ever hold him back.
Paolo noticed my attention and read the question in my eyes. “I have designer contacts who’d basically sell five or ten minutes of their slot as a favor to me. If Mr. Blakely can swing the cost, I can secure a spot. I’m confident in that.”
Chris scowled at him, but Everett only shrugged. “Money’s not going to be an issue. Accommodations might be tricky. All the best hotels will already be booked, but I bet we could find something nice.”
“We’re not going to talk about this anymore.” Chris’ voice rang with determination. “I’m supposed to meet the architect at Canyon Rock in an hour. I’ll drive Shelby back so she can rest. Paolo, we’ll start tomorrow.”
“No.” I said it softly, but Chris’ gaze snapped to my face. “I’m dressed. My makeup is perfect. Let’s not waste a day. I’m perfectly fine. I was just a little shocked by the news, and I didn’t eat enough this morning. I was too nervous.”
He bent down and seized my chin, his fingers digging into my skin. “If you faint again, we’re calling this whole thing off. You hear me? I won’t risk your health for a few fucking photos. We can do this another day.”
“I hear you loud and clear.” I laughed a little and he released me, though his narrowed gaze still watched my every move for any betraying hint of weakness or illness. “I’m fine. Really. I want to try.”
I wanted to ask Paolo more about what fashion week would entail, and maybe even get particulars about why he thought Chris’ line would do so well, but Chris watched my every move like a hawk. Maybe Paolo sensed that it would be in his best interests to snag Chris’ attention with his photography lessons—to avoid having the whole thing canceled because he thought I looked too pale or tired.
Yes, I was tired. But only because I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, and not because of too many football metaphors. No one had even hinted that we should get down and dirty because they knew how nervous I was. Though maybe a nice long session flattened between Chris and Everett, or Kaleb and Derek… Or Chris and Derek…
Le sigh. Such a wonderful decision to have to make.
For the next hour, I pretty much sat and tried to look pretty without trying too hard while Paolo basically told Chris everything he’d done so far was wrong. They adjusted the lights. The set. Touched up my makeup for the second or third time while I waited, because the lights definitely made me sweat.
Paolo had him take a few shots and critiqued everything from how he was holding the camera to how close he was and a bunch of technical jargon about shutter and aperture that I didn’t understand. To his credit, Chris endured the harsh critiques with only a grimace.
But then he firmly set his camera down on the worktable and waved a hand toward me. “I’ve taken my best shot. Now I want to see what the master can do.”
7
Shelby
It’d become our new tradition to share dinner up at the lodge, since it’d been the guys’ meeting and hang-out place for the last few years anyway. Especially with the renovation going on at Canyon Rock, it was quieter, and we did all the photoshoots and fashion work here anyway.
We were far from formal, though. I was propped up on the giant sectional in Chris’ private living quarters with a guy on either side of me acting as pillows. Which was laughable, honestly, because they were all rock-hard muscle. I was partially in Everett’s lap, my head resting against a pillow braced against his left arm. Kaleb sat beside him with my legs in his lap on top of a sack of pillows.
I had another flatter pillow in my lap with a plate of food before me. Derek had run back to the kitchen to see about dessert, though I wasn’t really sure I had much room for anything else.
I tried not to read anything into the lack of appetite, but it was difficult. It could be a general symptom of all the stress I’d been under today. Though I’d definitely lost a few pounds with both kids early in those pregnancies. I hadn’t had a ton of morning sickness—but I’d developed sensitivity to odors and even textures. Normally my favorite smell in the world—freshly brewed coffee—had turned my stomach so much I hadn’t even been tempted to try and drink any.
Of course, working at a greasy spoon had been incredibly difficult those first few months. All those strong odors had almost done me in.
The kids had already eaten and were playing a video game. The guys kept cheering them on and sometimes taking turns, helping them get through difficult spots in the levels. Such a simple thing, but they had so much patience with my kids. Even more, they were loving it. All of them.
It made my eyes burn with tears.
Chris finally came in from the workroom with a couple of papers in his hands. Not papers, I realized as he came closer to me. They were photographs.
Silently, he held out one to me. It was a super close full-color shot of my face, what Paolo had called a beauty shot. Holy shit. I knew it was my face—but my brain didn’t want to recognize it as me.
Everett blew out a low whistle of appreciation. “Absolutely stunning.”
I laughed awkwardly. “Carsen did a miracle with his makeup.”
Chris huffed out a disgusted sigh. “That’s all you, Shel. No filter. No touch ups. It’d look even better printed professionally—this was just off my printer.”
He held out another photo to me. It was the same general shot of my face, but everything else seemed different. More… more. My lips were slightly parted on a breath, softening my mouth. My eyes were slightly wider. The expression softer, more sparkling, as if someone had told a joke and I was getting ready to laugh. Though the sultriness of my lips made me think I was getting ready to kiss.
“That’s the difference a professional photographer makes,” Chris said softly. “That’s the kind of image I’ve been wanting to capture. I could see those moments, but by the time I pressed the button, it was over already. He anticipates the breath, that special moment, and captures it. Effortlessly. Needless to say, he’ll be doing all our photography work from now on.”
I touched my cheek, not surprised to feel heat blazing from my skin. “I’m just… Wow. I can’t believe that’s me. At all.”
Allie hopped up on the couch beside me. “You look like a movie star, Mommy.”
“She does,” Everett agreed. “Maybe Chris should get into directing movies or writing scripts next.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed, handing the two pictures back to Chris. “Think how good your dresses will look on a professional model.”
“No way. Not happening.” Chris tossed the pictures behind him on the ottoman. Picked up my pillow and plate to set them aside. Then took my hand and pulled me to my feet. Gripping my hand firmly, he strode into the bathroom, throwing open doors on the way.
Standing behind me, he wrapped his arms around me and held my gaze in the mirror. “You are a professional model. Right now. This may be your first gig, but I discovered you. I signed you to my line. I’m paying you a top-notch wage for your work. By definition, that makes you professional. But you still don’t see it, do you?
“Paolo Rossetti is one of the hottest, most sought after photographers on the planet. I had to pay an obscene amount of money to get him here just to look at you. I was fully prepared to pay him an equally obscene per diem, but do you know what arrangement we came to today?”
Silently, I shook my head. We’d only worked an hour after lunch and then he and Ever
ett had disappeared into the office with Paolo. I’d assumed they were trying to decide what to do about New York Fashion Week.
“He wanted to renegotiate our agreement so that he could own a portion of Red Velvet Angel. Because he thinks your modeling is going to put us on the top and that even owning five or ten percent will net him more than a flat fee. Even his outrageous fees. And you know what? I gave it to him, because in exchange, I locked him in as your photographer for a set number of days for the next twelve months, prioritizing our schedule against all of his other clients. He agreed, Shelby. Because that’s how much he wants to shoot you.”
“I’m not—”
Chris’ eyes narrowed to slits, his chin jutting out. “Don’t even say it. Who convinced you that you’re not drop-dead gorgeous? That dead-beat ex of yours? I’ll fucking end him.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head slightly. “He had a lot of faults, but he never made me feel ugly. I guess I grew up thinking…” I paused, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “Pretty was bad.”
He turned me around in his arms and picked me up, setting me on top of the vanity so we were more eye to eye. “Everything we are today was defined by our childhood. That’s one fucking nightmare I had to learn the hard way. I was never good enough for my father. Even today, if he were still alive, he’d be disgusted with what I’ve managed to do. Even though I somehow managed to sell all his businesses, start over again, and triple his net worth, I’d be a failure in his eyes. But that was his failure. Not mine. Who failed you, Shel?”
For a moment, I was a six-year-old kid again, crying on the porch as I watched my mother drive away with her new boyfriend. “My mom was so pretty. She walked into a room and everyone noticed. All the men wanted to date her. They flocked around her all the time, and she loved the attention. She was only fifteen when she had me.”
He nodded slightly, encouraging me to continue. It was hard, though.
“She left me,” I finally whispered, trying not to break down. “Granny raised me. Mom would come back every once in a while with a new boyfriend, driving a flashy new car. Wearing gorgeous new dresses and fancy heels. Beautiful jewels. Furs, sometimes. New designer bags. She always brought me a new doll or pretty dress like hers, but as I got older, I noticed the dresses never fit me. They were still little girl dresses. She didn’t know what size to get me, because she wasn’t there watching me grow up.
