by H. M. Ward
Cole looks up at me from a manila file folder on his lap. “Miss Lamore. Good to see you.” His gaze slips over my body, taking in my formal attire. “For future reference, casual clothing works best here. Crawling around during shoots in a pencil skirt isn’t ideal. I would have mentioned it the other day, but your outfit kind of shocked the hell out of me.”
The corner of my lips pull up and I laugh. I didn’t know what to expect today, but this surprises me. “That was my intention.”
“Ah, well. It worked. I’ve never seen anyone show up to an interview dressed like a giant Skittle.” He looks me square in the face and grins. “I was hoping you weren’t insane. Good to see you can dress yourself.” He’s teasing me. It makes me smile and relax a little bit.
I step closer to the desk, half listening while looking at the books that line the walls. “Har. Har. Very funny. So tell me. Why is this place empty?” I can’t address him with revere, not after the way we met.
He looks up from the papers in his hands. They look like bills. There are numbers across the sheets, dates, and dollar signs. “What do you mean?”
“No one is here, except for Amazon Barbie at the front desk. Where is everyone? I would have thought Le Femme had at least twenty employees on any given day, running around half clothed—or half naked, depending on how you look at it.” Was I joking? Where’d the light teasing tone come from? What the hell is wrong with me?
I blink hard, trying to find my brain and make it work while I scan the spines on the bookcase. It’s filled with art books about Romanticism. My mind tries to make sense of that. The Romantics are known for their somber sublime works. Looking at those pieces of art make the viewer feel a sense of loss and uncertainty. Cole’s work makes people want the girl in the shot, or her underwear. I don’t turn to look at him as I ask. I don’t want him to notice my shock.
I feel his eyes on my back when he answers, “Miss Todd is the receptionist. She’s here weekdays. Everyone else is already out on the Island. We’re keeping a skeleton crew here for the week. Guess who’s on skeleton staff?”
I whip my head around, and my hair flies over my shoulders. What? Is he serious? I’m alone with him here for a week? “There’s no one else here? For a week? Why?” My mouth is hanging open. It won’t close and I have no idea why.
He chuckles and puts the papers next to him. Leaning forward on the desk, he puts a hand on either side of his hips. The effect makes his arms look perfect.
“Is that a problem, Miss Lamore?”
I shake my head. It feels like it’s full of rocks. “No, it’s just—”
“Just what?”
I shrug, “I thought that someone else would be in charge of me, I mean my internship.”
He looks me over once and says, “Well, like it or not, I’m the boss of you this week. We have a shoot later today, and then three more later in the week. I want you to assist, and then I want you to second shoot on Friday’s session.”
I can’t swallow. My mouth goes dry. I don’t think I heard him right. Did he say shoot? I cock my head and stare at him like he’s crazy, “Excuse me? Did you say you want me to shoot a real session in less than a week? I’ve never done this before!”
He blows off my high-pitched protest with a wave of his hand, “You’ll be fine.” He slides off his desk, shoves the papers in his drawer and it finally sinks in. What he said about everyone else being out on Long Island finally sinks in.
“Why is the staff out East? Is there something going on?” Truth be told, I had no idea what was going on. For all I knew it was a company retreat.
He shakes his head, “Not really. Just an expansion.”
My mouth forms an O but I don’t say anything else. Damn. A second studio on Long Island. Unless he stuck the new studio in the ‘hood, Cole was paying more in rent each month than I could earn in a year.
He looks up at me. His dark hair curls slightly as it hangs over his forehead. He pushes it back. “Ready?”
I answer straight-faced, totally dead pan, “Ready as I’ll ever be. Show me to the naked girls.”
Cole nearly chokes, and then laughingly scoffs at me, “Why do all you feminists think I shoot naked women?”
I follow him down the hallway. We are headed towards a million dollar shooting room. Curiosity alone makes me want to see it. “Because you do,” I answer bluntly.
Cole turns and looks at me over his shoulder, “They’re wearing more clothes than most women wear at the beach. That’s hardly fair.”
“Life’s not fair, dude. Get over it.”
He stops in his tracks and turns in slow motion. His dark brows are lifting into his hairline. “Dude? Seriously? You called me dude?” He looks shocked and can’t hide the smile that’s running across his lips.
Not realizing that I said it, I try to cover my tracks, “No, I—”
“Said dude. You called me dude.” His eyes are so blue. The way he looks at me makes my heart race. The grin on his face makes the corners of his eyes crinkle a little bit. The expression he’s making is cute and confused. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter, “Would you prefer something else?” My lips twist into a smile. I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter that I wanted to torment him yesterday. This side of him makes me want to tease him more.
His eyes sweep over me before returning to my face. He laughs, “You’re so young. You have no idea—”
I nod once, the smile fading from my lips. Completely serious, I look him in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. From now on, I’ll refrain from calling you dude.” He looks at me. I nod, and after a moment, I add in my most respectful voice, “Old dude or geezer would be way better.” Our eyes remain locked. My lips twitch as I try not to laugh. I have no idea why I’m teasing him again.
He huffs, rolling his eyes, “You’re such a child.” Running his fingers through his hair he mutters, “I’m getting too old for this crap.”
“Mmmm,” I answer, “Then you shouldn’t have hired the chick dressed like a circus clown.”
CHAPTER 11
The studio is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It has everything I want in my own shooting room and more. Cole shows me around quickly and tells me to ditch my jacket and heels. We’re shooting for the rest of the afternoon. A model is due in at any moment. While we are waiting for her, I slip off my shoes and kick them under a table. That leaves me barefoot in a black pencil skirt with a sleeveless blouse.
I feel underdressed now, but barely process it because I’m too captivated by the shooting room, especially the sets. The walls are lined with them. There are four total—one white, one black, one pink, and one gray. Each set has its own feel and different items. They are all posh feeling with lots of different textures. The white set’s easily my favorite. White flocked wall paper surrounds a white velvet chaise that has a fuzzy white throw over the arm. Bleached wood floors give it just a little bit of warmth so it doesn’t feel sterile.
Cole speaks as he moves about the room, explaining how the shoot will go and what to expect. “Never touch the model without asking. Never say anything inappropriate,” Cole glances at me like he isn’t sure if I can control my mouth. “Those are the only two rules that you need to know for today.”
I nod, “What am I going to do? I thought that I’d be getting coffee or something.”
My gaze is on a rack of wardrobe, if you could call panty and bra sets wardrobe. They are the things we’re shooting today. Honestly, they’re cute. And one is insanely sexy. It is a white shelf bra with a matching lace G-string. It is the kind of thing I would want to wear, but it wouldn’t look good on me. I have too many curves for that kind of skimpy thing. I rub the lace with my thumb, feeling how soft it is.
Cole stops moving, watching me for a moment before saying, “Maybe if you were at Sottero. At Le Femme, you work. If you don’t work, you don’t get paid.”
Dropping the bra, I turn sharply.
“I get paid?”
He nods and looks at me surprised, “What’d you think, you were working for free?”
“Well,” my eyes are wide and I’m still shocked, thinking he’s dicking with me, “yeah. Internships aren’t paid.”
He shrugs, “This one is. You get about $2200 per week, take home, after taxes. Miss Todd can give you the exact amount.”
“Holy shit!” the words fly out of my mouth. My jaw is hanging open. I quickly slap my palms over my face and shut the gaping hole to keep anything else from flying out.
Cole looks at me like I’m crazy. He shakes his head and lifts his camera off a shelf. Selecting a lens, he puts it on and adjusts the settings. “How did you not know it was paid?” He shakes his head. “You’re going to learn so much more here than you would anywhere else.
“Lesson 1: Never work for free. Some new photographers think you have to, that you can build your client list by offering free sessions. Don’t do it.”
“Why not?” I ask, still shocked that I’m getting paid and really happy about it.
He looks over his shoulder at me, “Because free is never free. It always costs something. Money. Time. Reputation. Those are things that you need to work hard to control. Giving them away for free screws with perceived value, and your worth as an artist.”
I’m staring at the side of his face, shocked. Cole shoots girls in their underwear. What does he know about marketing and business practices? He sells sex, and sex sells itself. Cole notices me staring at him. He glances up and opens his mouth to say something, but the intercom buzzes. The model is in the building and on her way back. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips.
CHAPTER 12
For the next three hours Cole is serious. He tells me what to do and I do it. I’m standing, bending, kneeling and doing the assistant’s job. At one point I have to reset the model’s hair. She moved and it’s no longer in place. It’s when she’s wearing that shelf bra. Her perfectly man-made boobs fill the thing up. To make the ad compliant with the company’s guidelines, there can’t be any nipples showing. Cole was right. Most of the shoot hasn’t felt weird, not once I realized that she is covered. The only thing that’s awkward is this.
“I’m sorry, Cole,” Angela says, her sultry voice matches her curvaceous body. I’m slightly envious, but she’s too tall. In real life it must be hard to find someone to kiss without bending down. That sucks for a girl.
“It’s not a problem,” he says. “Miss Lamore will reset your hair. Don’t move. Everything else is still perfect.” Cole gestures for me. I step onto the set of the white room, and he says, “Take that strand of curls and drape it over her breast. Ask her before you touch her. Company policy.”
I feel stupid. She’s leaning backward over the chase. Her hair is spilling all around her and I’m asking to move a strand over her boob. I ask, and do as I’m told. She smiles at me and grants permission. I take the lock and drape it across her flesh, but I can’t see if it covered her properly from the angle Cole is shooting.
“Is that okay?” I ask and step back.
“No, I can still see her. Use more strands,” he replies. He’s looking at his camera and adjusting settings. “Make sure I can’t see anything through the center of the curl.”
I ask the model if I can touch her again and move more curls. Her hair doesn’t want to stay. It slides off her breast and I’m starting to make it frizz. The hairstylist is standing in the corner with her arms folded over her chest. The make-up artist is watching from her chair on the other side of the room. No doubt they both think I’m going to screw this up. How hard can it be to get some hair to stay? She has enough of it and it’s insanely long. I try again, but the curls slide off. I’m starting to get bent out of shape. I’m blushing horribly, touching some girl’s breast and I still can’t do it. I refuse to ask Cole for help, but he’s already next to me.
From over my shoulder, he says, “Hook the edge of the curl on her nipple. The one curl will hold and then you can place another over it.”
I freeze when I hear him speak, and shiver. The way he says it, like he uses the word nipple frequently, shoots up warning flags in my mind. His proximity puts me off kilter. I feel his eyes on my back, waiting for me to do it. Suddenly I wonder if I can do this job, and everything it entails. Being comfortable around bodies changing in the gym is one thing, touching to make the poses right is another.
I swallow hard, my fingers hovering above the curl. Cole seems annoyed—or disappointed—and says, “Come on, Anna. This is the last set for today. Once we shoot this, we’re done.” He hoovers, waiting for me.
My hand is shaking for some reason. It might have something to do with Cole being so close. It might have to do with paying such careful attention to someone else’s nipples. Irritated with myself, I blow out a huff of air between my lips and take the curl.
I chose this. I passed up Sottero. This was my choice.
I do as he says and the curl stays. I beam like an idiot, and then quickly drape the other locks in place. They all hold. I step back into Cole, smashing his toes with my bare feet. He’s not wearing shoes either. Cole steadies me, his warm hands on my elbows.
From behind my shoulders, he says, “Don’t be shy when you’re shooting. It makes your job harder. You could have used fashion tape to hold the hair in place, but we don’t want to do anything we don’t have to. Tape in hair sucks. The temperature in the room is warm, but it’s still chilly enough—for obvious reasons. I thought you’d be okay with this kind of stuff.” His hands slip away from my elbows and he passes in front of me. The sound of the shutter snapping fills my ears. He’s so at ease, moving, speaking, and acting like this woman is anyone else and not a nearly-naked super-model.
I don’t answer.
I didn’t want this job, but I chose it. This wasn’t my career goal, but here I am. I’m perplexed because this shoot isn’t what I thought it would be. I moved at ease through the room, right up until this last part. And the only reason I hesitated was because of Cole. It wasn’t like I didn’t notice the half nude person in the room, it’s that I wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought I’d be.
And Cole, he was nothing like I thought he’d be. I expected him to be sleazy, touchy, and filled with innuendo. As the shoot progressed, I don’t know if he even realized the woman he was shooting wasn’t clothed. This was second nature to him. It’s like he is a fish and this scandalous world of his is water. He doesn’t notice it, and he moves through it with ease.
Today I learned that Cole Stevens isn’t the photographer I thought he was, and neither am I.
CHAPTER 13
Edward’s arm is draped across my shoulder. We are walking down the street to the steady hum of car engines. The buildings glow against the inky sky. The diner was packed after work. We met there, shared a meal, and are walking back to my place. By the time I finished with work, I was starving.
Edward squeezes my shoulder, and grins down at me, “So, tell me how today went. What do you do all day? How’s working with your boss?” We didn’t talk about work at dinner, instead I put it off. He lifts his chin and we stop at a corner, waiting for the light to change. A car horn blares behind us. When the light changes, we walk in the mass of people.
I say, “Well, it turns out my boss is Cole Stevens.”
Edward gasps, “No way.” He knows who Cole is. Everyone knows who Cole is, so that isn’t surprising. But, like me, Edward assumed someone else would be overseeing the internship.
Nodding, I say, “Yeah. It turns out that he’s in charge of my internship. I stay here with him to do some shoots in the city this week, and then the rest of the summer, I’ll be out East on Long Island somewhere. I probably should have asked where.” My voice trails off.
I grew up out there. In the back of my mind, I’m hoping that the new studio is near enough to my parent’s house to commute. Housing arrangements would be an issue, paid or not. Renting something short term on Long Island was expensive.
<
br /> His shoulders sag and Edward stops walking, “No. The whole summer? Are you serious?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize exactly what this internship included until today, but it’s only a few weeks.” He still looks crestfallen. I add, “And it’s not like I’m that far away. I’m sure we can get together a few times a week.”
He’s smiling at me again. Pulling me close, we stop on the sidewalk. People walk past us, some bumping into me, but I don’t care. In the moment, there is only Edward and me. He lowers his lips to mine and that familiar light feeling floats through my stomach. Gently, he pushes my hair away from my cheek.
He breaks the kiss, and breathes deeply. A rush of warm breath flows from his lips as he breathes, “Oh God, I want you. When you kiss me like that, I can’t think. You’re amazing.” His fingers tangle in my hair. I look up into his cool eyes. The way he looks at me makes me squirm. Someone bumps my elbow. It brings attention back to where we are.
“We’d better get home so I can make you think even less,” I try not to giggle. I try to be sexy, but I laugh softly anyway. Taking his hand in mine, we walk faster down the street.
____
By the time we plow through the apartment door, his hands are all over me. One is pushing up my skirt, my leg is hiked up and wrapped around his hips, while he cups the curve of my ass. We don’t break the kiss. I’m so hot. It feels like every inch of me is on fire. I want him. I need him. The place between my legs is throbbing. Feeling his lips there is what I want, but I’m too afraid to ask. I want him to do it, I want him to take me—and not ask permission—to have me how he wants. But Edward won’t do that. He’s too cautious, that carnal part of him seems buried too deep. I wonder if I’ll ever get at the part of him that’s wild and dauntless. The part of Edward that’s more animal than man, the part that wants me in every way. I tell myself that every relationship has problems and that we can learn to deal with them.
