by Iris Blaire
Money does weird things to people.
"Holy shit balls of fire," Evan murmurs when I turn into the house's driveway. We can just barely make out the house from behind the gate, but it's enough to spark a reaction.
I roll down my window and press the button on the box in front of me.
"Is that Britain?" It’s Micah's voice.
Jaime chuckles next to me, and since I know the reason he is chuckling, I smack him with the back of my hand.
"Yeah," I say. "Everyone's here."
The gate begins to swing open. I drive through, and the cab behind me follows.
It’s like the first time I saw Veda Manor, although this house looks entirely different. I can't help but be perplexed at the monstrosity of a building and the strange architecture I'm going to somehow incorporate into my shoot. Everything about Micah's Beach house is completely modern. Strange angles, curved glass walls, triangle roofs.
I park my car in the circular driveway. As the cab pulls up and the models unload their luggage, Micah walks down the cement steps leading from the house to greet us. I try to flatten my sea-swept hair, not knowing why I feel the need to look put together in front of him. Maybe because I'm his fakey-fake girlfriend.
He holds his arms out, and when I hug him, he squeezes me for just a little too long. I wrangle myself away and when I turn around, Jaime looks all sorts of smug with himself.
This might be worse than him actually being angry about the whole girlfriend arrangement.
"Welcome, welcome,” he says. "There are seven rooms.”
"That's more than enough space," I say.
"Good. After tonight, I'll be staying with my parents for the next couple of weeks, so I’ll be out of your way, don't worry." He tosses me another shit-eating grin, and I try my hardest not to grimace.
"Do you have the release forms for the house?" I ask. All legal crap that my publisher made sure I dealt with.
"They're inside. Come in, and your models can choose the bedrooms they want on the ocean wing. My room is on the other side of the house. Should you need a place to stay—I'm kidding, of course," he says quickly before I even have a chance to register that he might be hitting on me.
I hear Jaime snort behind me.
The inside of the house is everything I expected it to be from looking at the outside, and maybe even more. I mean, there's a fountain in the foyer.
A motherfucking fountain.
"I call dibs on fucking someone in that," Ella murmurs. I shoot her a glare, but luckily, Micah doesn't act like he hears her. Or maybe he doesn't care. The majority of the walls are glass from top to bottom, and other than the sand-colored beams holding everything place, there is nothing but the ocean sunset surrounding us. Dark water and orange and pink light. Goddamn, I could easily get used to this.
"Everyone can find their rooms, and Britain, you can follow me into..." Micah's eyes rest on Cam and Jaime for the first time. "Gentlemen," he says with intrigue.
"Sup," says Cam.
"Haven't seen you in a while, Mr. Rivera."
Jaime slaps on this wide-eyed, crooked expression, I'm guessing to make Micah feel like an idiot. "Oh, you know, I've been busy." He then nods toward me, a nod Micah will see as referring to modeling for me and not a nod referring to screwing me. I know Jaime is aware of the double meaning.
Micah eyes Jaime up and down before turning and motioning for me to follow him into the dining room. When he's out of ear's reach and Cam is exploring to room behind the fountain, Jaime mutters, "He's so gay."
I scoff. "Is not. If he was gay he wouldn't wrangle me into being his fake girlfriend."
"Says you. You're his beard and he was totally making eyes with me just now."
"He's not gay," I stress again. "He was flirty with me at the luncheon. He can't settle down because he likes screwing around with women too much. You said so yourself that he's probably going to try and get into my pants.”
"Uh huh," he says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll see how long he resists keeping his hands off me."
I gape at him. "You can't be serious."
"What?" he asks innocently. "If you get to play fake girlfriend, I should be able to have some fun too."
I roll my eyes. "I hate you," I say, turning to follow Micah into the dining room.
"You love me," Jaime calls.
Micah has the contracts laid across the tabletop when I arrive. He hands me a pen and I read all of it carefully, taking a photo of each page and immediately sending it to my publisher. Amora Acquisitions dealt with all the release forms for me in Boston, and I never had to worry about this stuff prior to that because I always shot in my studio.
"I feel like a big girl now," I say out loud, sliding the pen across the table.
"Pleasure doing business with you," Micah says suavely. "Feel free to begin your... procedures tonight. I expect you're aware of the benefit dinner next week."
"I'll be your arm candy, no worries," I say dryly.
He walks to the arch leading to his private wing of the house. "I'll be through here, if you'd like some company tonight." He winks and then disappears through the arch.
I can't stop the guffaw escaping my mouth.
Gay. Jaime thinks he knows men soooooooooooooo well.
///
My first mode of business is holding a welcome meeting for all of my models, despite the fact that they've already been welcomed to Malibu by my parents with food and booze. But now we have to get serious. They're here and I have a beautiful house to work with and still no theme for the storybook.
I sit in a white leather chair with my back to the window showcasing the ocean while all of my models sit cross-legged or sprawled out on the floor in front of me. It's like some fucked-up kindergarten class re-enactment.
"I don't get why you aren't just having us pose and then figure out the story later," says Ella. "Isn't that what you did with Dallas and Evan last year?"
The rest of my models hum in agreement. Dallas and Evan high-five.
"Hey now," says Adam, motioning to Delilah. "Give us some credit. We were a part of that issue too."
I snap my fingers. "Focus. I don't have time to fuck around with a bunch of random shoots in the hopes that something sticks. Andrea is flying in tomorrow. By that time, we need to have come up with a decent plot for the storybook. This is all due in two weeks. My ideas are shit, Andrea's ideas have been better, but nothing has stuck. Start throwing stuff out."
Everyone thinks for a moment. Chloe giggles at whatever pops into her head, then quickly covers her mouth.
"Spit it out," I tell her.
"No!" she squeals. I forgot how shy she is. Probably the most naive and innocent out of all my models.
"Strip club," says Adam.
I roll my eyes. "Too much development."
"And too boring," says Evan. "Since we have this house to work with... heirs and heiresses?" She wrinkles her nose, like she hates her own idea.
"Don't make me vomit, Rylan," I tease.
"We could use the beach!" says Delilah.
"The thing with the beach is finding one with enough privacy, which in Malibu, is next to impossible."
Dallas snaps his fingers. "Got it," he says with a dumb grin.
I raise my eyebrow.
"What your parents said earlier got me thinking. We want to keep the young vibe for the storybooks that we had with EPE in order to keep our audience, right?"
I cross my arms. "Go on."
"Frats and Sororities."
I open my mouth to shoot down the idea, then snap it shut again, thinking. Murmuring fills the room.
"That's not half bad," says Evan, planting a reward kiss on Dallas's cheek.
"College kids are horny as hell," I muse. "Can you imagine all the weird sexual shit that goes on in those houses across the country that's totally off the record? Weird, illegal hazing rituals and party games?" I point to Dallas. "Remind me to keep you around for brainstorming."
; "But that isn't making the best use of the house," Delilah argues. "Sorority and fraternity houses are fucking disgusting. Trust me, I've spent way too many mornings waking up hungover in them after some insane party. It's a really good idea for a later storybook, but it's not taking advantage of this place." She motions to the space around her.
The room falls silent, and everyone starts looking around the living room, out the large glass windows to the ocean, and behind us, to the massive marble fountain inside.
I groan. Delilah's right. We need to make use of this house. But I have no idea how.
"Fine," I growl. Ella is right too. Maybe I should just shoot until something sticks.
And I know who my go-to couple is.
///
I try for something simple. A bedroom scene with a room facing the ocean. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to catch the last light of twilight, but I'm not holding my breath.
It doesn't really matter, because every time Dallas and Evan pose together, no one is paying attention to the setting.
While Evan and Dallas should still be in makeup, someone knocks on the door to the room. I open it to peek out, but Jaime’s quick, slipping inside and pushing me up against the wall. His mouth is at my throat, tongue gliding up my neck.
"What... you think you can just... come in here whenever you want... and sex me up?" I gasp.
He chuckles and drags his teeth across my earlobe. My legs give out, but he holds me up. "No, but I think if you didn't want me to, you'd tell me."
"Fuck you," I mutter.
He kisses my lips chastely right when Evan knocks, and Jaime pulls back as she and Dallas enter the room.
Jaime shakes his head. "Britain McCulley... business as usual."
"Damn straight."
"Here to watch?" Evan drawls, eyeing Jaime up and down.
Jaime grins like a cheshire cat. "As always."
The first and only time I ever photographed Evan and Dallas having actual sex, Jaime was in the room with me. I wonder if it's going to become a thing, like some weird foursome.
"Okay, so Evan's going to play the virgin character."
"Again?" she groans.
Dallas smiles, amused at her whining. Evan gets stuck as the virginal character in almost all of her shoots. Fans love when she plays that role. She hates it. I know she wants Delilah's shoots. Fans love Delilah portraying a sex goddess. It must be the red hair.
Poor Rylan Willow can't shake her good-girl persona.
Evan rolls her eyes when she realizes I'm being serious. "I'm so tired of being a cliché."
I hold up a finger. "First of all, in case you've forgotten your professor-student shoot, readers love clichés." I add a second finger. "And second, the two of you have created a brand with yourselves, and it's what readers are expecting. I can't let them down.”
"She has a point," says Dallas. I think he just wants to get to the screwing.
Jaime helps me fine tune the lighting as Dallas and Evan set up the bed. To be honest, the scene is corny as all hell, but Dallas and Evan always find a way to make it work. Evan sprawls out across the silk comforter, dressed in only a sheer tank top and panties. I wish Andrea were already here so she could outline while I shoot, like we usually do. I throw a notebook toward Jaime. "Keep notes."
He stares at it like I just tossed him an alligator. "The fuck?"
"Keep notes. Like what they do. Things you would... I don't know, put into a story. The way Evan sounds or the motions Dallas makes."
He raises an eyebrow slowly. "You want me to study their fucking and take notes."
"Is that a problem?" I challenge.
He narrows his eyes. I know he won't give in. "Not at all. Just making sure we're on the same page."
I turn back to the models and relay what I want them to do. Evan rolls her eyes an uncountable amount of times, but doesn't argue. We're a team, and this is a job, regardless of how unvirginal she is in real life.
If more people know about mine and Evan's relationship, they'd think we were so weird. Maybe even disturbing. I mean, I make a living seeing my BFF in vulnerable and naked positions, and I enjoy it.
People need to take a chill pill when it comes to sex.
Dallas disrupts Evan from her innocent lounging and begins to strip her slowly. And she, like she hasn't been living with him for the past year and screwing him every morning, becomes drunk by his touch. He nibbles at her neck and she coyly succumbs, and Dallas tugs off the rest of her clothes.
"See, this is artful," Jaime remarks. I glance at him, and he has his pencil pressed to his lip thoughtfully. "If you went with the whole sorority-fraternity thing, a frat boy wouldn't be so subtle. He'd be douchier. Less sexy."
"Are you calling me sexy?" Dallas asks.
"Focus," I order.
"He has a point," Evan says, gasping in between her words as Dallas slips a hand between her legs.
I let them keep working, moving around the bed to change up my angles. "You're stereotyping frat boys. I'm sure some are sexy."
Sexy, yes. Dallas sexy, not so sure. There's a reason I hired him. There's also the fact that he's intelligent, educated, and knows how to treat a girl right. Guys like that rarely exist in undergrad.
But if the fantasy is played out, and the fantasy sells, maybe more guys will strive to be that way.
"What's so funny?" Evan asks. They're both totally naked now, sprawled out on the bed. Evan must have caught my smile and thought she was doing something wrong.
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just striving to change the world through porn is all."
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I arrive back home with Cam, the house is silent. It's nearly midnight and I know Mom and Dad must be asleep.
I check my email before heading to bed. I have a message from my publicist gushing about interest we've received so far from the media.
You could potentially be a game-changer in this industry, the email says. A game-changer. I should be proud of myself, but there is something about working while I'm at home that's making me feel uneasy. As a person, I evolved. Women are afraid to admit a love for something like sex. They're worried about guys taking advantage of them or calling them whores. I had a fair share of that when I went to college, right when I began figuring out who I really was.
I lost my virginity in high school, but I was secretive about it. I avoided being called a whore or a slut. Hell, I even managed avoiding being called a bitch.
There's a thread on me in this forum online. I found it by Googling myself once when I was drunk. It was some men's rights forum... I should have known not to step into Trollsville.
I read her Huffington Post interview. This dumb slut thinks she can just walk in and get famous off an industry because she's a woman. Have you seen her softcore garbage? The only place a bitch belongs in porn is when she's being bent over and fucked on screen. Maybe McCulley needs to be shown her place.
I hold my head high and pretend people aren't saying these kinds of things about me, because it'll only affect my work if I dwell on it. Sometimes that nagging voice makes itself known—you could have avoided this. Remember those days when you weren't called a slut or a bitch? Remember when you were insecure with yourself and kept up the good girl image because you were so afraid of being disowned by anyone because you loved sex?
I read the end of the email. Here are the interviews I have lined up. It's followed by a list of high-traffic blogs and a sprinkling of news sites.
Slut or not, this is who I am.
I slide my phone from my pocket and pull up my message thread with Jaime.
I miss you, I type, and hover over the send button. The epiphany finally hits me that I'm afraid of him. Afraid this gentle, sexy, open-minded Jaime is just a lie and he's the unchanged boy I grew up with, a boy who really has a stream of thoughts similar to that forum post running through his head.
I delete the message. Then I trudge to my bed and belly flop onto my mattress, falling asleep with my clothes on.
>
///
When Jaime and Cam are invited to go golfing with my Dad, I know Jaime is getting onto really good terms with my parents.
Definitely better terms than he was on, even before the internship.
It seems that he's on better terms with Cam too. As they're packing their gear into Dad's Escalade, I hear them bantering like they used to in high school as I sit at the kitchen island and eat a late breakfast.
They start talking about girls, and I hear Cam list off the names of my models. He's asking Jaime who he thinks is hot as they walk into the kitchen.
Jaime and I make eye contact.
"I don't pick favorites," says Jaime. "Britain is the one who gets to be choosy with her models."
"They all know how to work with what they have." I slowly scrape my spoon along the edge of my yogurt bowl.
"You have to think one is hotter than the rest,” Cam says.
I slow-blink, and my eyes meet Jaime's again. He leans against the island and says. "I do think one is hotter than the rest," and nods toward me. My heart nearly stops in my chest as I think he's actually outing me and him to Cam before he tacks on, "Britain knows."
I exhale, attempting to cover my brief moment of terror with an indifferent shrug. "During his audition he won us over when Delilah worked him."
"I worked her," Jaime counters, and then smirks. "But yes, Delilah is a gorgeous woman."
"Eh," Cam says loudly, pulling orange juice from the fridge. "She's okay. Don't have a thing for redheads, really."
Jaime actually looks kind of irritated. "If you're seriously judging a girl's modeling by the color of her hair then you're doing it wrong. Jesus."
I snort my laughter, and quickly cover my mouth with the hand not holding my spoon.
Cam spins, his eyes darting between me and Jaime, looking suspicious. "Did Britain actually laugh at your joke? Wow... it's like the world has flipped on its axis. It's like bears no longer shit in the woods."
