by Cecy Robson
She pouts her lips, pressing the dog to her and speaking a sexy whisper that should be out-lawed in at least twenty states. “What’s wrong, Hale?” she asks, cuddling the dog closer so its white fur rubs against her long, bare neck. “Don’t you like dogs?”
“Sure.” Sorry. What was the question? Damn, it’s hot in here.
Tootles shakes out his hands. “Which bedroom gets the most light?”
I shrug. “They’re all pretty bright. Feel free to look around.”
And he does, taking off in a sprint up the stairs. “Yes, Stefan,” he says into the phone. “We need nudies.”
I’m barely aware of him rushing around upstairs and barely notice when he races down to check the other suite. Becca has my full attention, although she’s too busy pretending not to notice. She’s not wearing much makeup and the clothes she’s in make her look younger, softer, not like the PR princess ready to fling her tiara at anything that messes with her.
Tootles returns, appearing less anxious and more determined. “I think his suite works best. There’s more room to work. More light. We can get him naked and tuck the sheet around him at the waist. White works best and, bonus, there are already white sheets on the bed. I’m thinking, more romance, less color. Shades of gray or likely straight up black and bold whites.”
He hurries to me. But I’m not all that focused on him. I’m still stuck on Becca and “naked.” I don’t know what this photo shoot is all about, but so far, I’m all in.
Tootles presses his hands on his hips, eyeing me up and down. “I’m thinking your hands tucked behind your head like so.” He threads his fingers and demonstrates for me, thinking I’m not that bright and that the action may be too complex for me. Tootles doesn’t have a lot of faith in me. I almost laugh, waiting, just waiting, to prove him wrong.
“I want you to look away from the camera,” he instructs. “You’re awake. Your focus is on the window. Toward the light and the future.”
“Infinite,” Becca says. “That’s the title. Infinite possibilities. Infinite future.”
“Love it,” Tootles agrees.
Becca strokes the dog, sighing as if everything is falling exactly where it needs to. I don’t pay much attention to her actions, but I should. Every mild gesture and expression draws me to her beauty, reminding me how stunning she is no matter how much time has passed.
“I know we haven’t started yet, y’all,” she says. “But if we’re going in that direction, I think it should be the last shot for the Vogue spread.”
“Vogue?” I ask. “What happened to Forbes? Newsweek? Time?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” Becca tells me, using that same sinfully delicious purr. “I have all the major outlets covered.”
Tootles jumps in place, clapping. “Becca forbade me from telling you—”
“Tootles,” she warns.
“But I’m going to, anyway. This woman, right here, has used up every favor she has. You’re going to be everywhere, Hale. Every mag has an exclusive, releasing back to back. To give you an idea of all the awesomeness, you have Forbes in the winter issue followed by Vogue at the end of the year.” More jumping, more clapping. Tootles is beside himself. “It’s why I’m here. I know Vogue.”
Becca smiles. “Tootles interned at Vogue and has worked for the greatest in the business for years before branching out on his own. You’re looking at one of the hottest and most sought-after creative directors in the business.”
“Oh, stop it,” he says, turning to Becca. He eyes her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. “Hmm. Becca, I’m thinking you’ll have to get naked, too.”
And lose the purr in three . . . two . . . one . . .
“What?” she screeches, scaring the dogs.
I nod thoughtfully. “I like it,” I agree. “Fuck the linen pants.”
Tootles sucks his teeth. “I’m sorry, Hale. We’ll still do linen for Forbes. Becca’s right. You do need a little softening and nothing softens a man like linen and puppies.”
“I’ll bet,” I agree. “Now, getting back to me and Becca naked in bed…”
“This isn’t a good idea,” she says, speaking over me. “I mean, this is a very bad idea.”
“What’s wrong, Becks?” I ask. “Tootles here is a professional. Don’t you trust him?” I throw my hands up. “Don’t tell me you’re doubting a creative visionary with an unmatched reputation like Tootles?”
There was nothing better I could have said. Tootles places a very irate hand on his hip. “Is that what you’re saying, Becca?” he demands. “That you don’t trust me?”
“You know I do,” she answers Tootles, all the while glaring at me. “I just don’t know why I have to be in bed, naked with him.”
Even the dogs look at me when she says it. Another man, a less confident and more self-conscious man might take offense. Me? I can’t stop my grin. “You’re worried you might not be able to keep your hands to yourself or something?” I ask. Her face reddens. “Damn. You are, aren’t you? Hey, Tootles, mind if I get a few digital copies when you’re done? When I’m old and senile, I want to remember this day when you and Becca saved my very naked ass.”
Both ignore me. “Becca, precious, the shot? The one we agreed we loved? That’s the money shot. You yourself said it should be the very last image Vogue readers see when they page through Hale’s journey. He’s pondering his infinite future, remember? Career, life, and yes, marriage and family, too. We don’t need to show your face, but we do need to capture your vulnerability to reflect his. It will cement his strength, his hope, his return, understand?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you getting this, Becca?” I ask. “It all makes perfect sense to me.”
Becca loves animals. Loves them. But I think she might beat me with that dog in her arms before the day is through.
“You’ll lay across his chest,” Tootles continues. He plays with her hair. “We’ll cover your face. No one will know it’s you. But they will know the man holding you close.”
“Real close,” I agree.
Becca lowers the dog. I half expect her to order it to bite my ankles. She doesn’t, thank God. “I don’t know about this, Tootles,” she says. “It’s not that I doubt your vision. It’s just . . .”
Tootles sighs all dramatic-like. I can’t blame him and almost mirror the sentiment. “I understand. It’s a lot to ask someone to capture and portray another’s vulnerability.”
She places her hand on her chest. “Thank you. That means a great deal.”
“Wait, one damn minute,” I protest. “This is the best idea I’ve heard in days. Don’t I get a say?”
“Oh, we’re still doing it,” Tootles assures me. “Don’t you worry about that. My creativity will not be silenced.”
“Excuse me?” Becca asks. “You just told me you understand.”
“I understand your concerns and fear about participating,” he tells her. “But that’s the shot we need. Hale needs. The world needs.”
“Are you using the dogs for this?” Becca asks, confused.
“Not for something as delicate as this,” Tootles says.
“Then . . .” Becca asks. “Where exactly are you headed with this?”
Tootles chuckles. “You’re not the only one with connections, my dear. Suzi Watertower just finished a week-long shoot with David Gandy. She’s recovering in a luxury spa just a few miles from here. I’ll call her.”
He lifts his sparkly phone, scrolling through his contacts.
“Suzi Watertower?” Becca asks. “The super model?”
“That’ll work,” I add, ignoring the glower she pegs me with.
“I don’t think you should disturb her,” Becca interrupts. She sounds testy, despite her evidently deep concern for supermodel Suzi’s well-being. “Poor thing is recovering. Like you said.”
“Nonsense, dear,” Tootles says. “Suzi loves me. Besides, once she gets a look at
Hale, she’ll be more than happy to take your place in bed with him—”
Like a ninja, Becca snatches the phone from Tootles’ hand.
“I’ll do it,” Becca says, a little faster than even she expected. She clears her throat. “Let’s not bother Suzi. She, um . . . we might need your connections for something else during the campaign. Let’s not exhaust them this early.”
It’s then I know that God truly exists. Becca looks at me. “I’ll get naked with Hale.”
Chapter Ten
Becca
The crew Tootles brings on is small and among the best. Not just because of their skills, but because of their ability to be discreet. Their contract for this shoot, like most they’re solicited for, includes their silence. They’re kept from discussing any details about the shoots and are required to leave before the photography begins. Still, I’m not taking any chances. I made sure they signed NDAs ahead of time.
In addition to being a creative consultant, Tootles is a gifted photographer. He’s taught me all I know about taking the perfect shot, and what I’ll need to conduct the more intimate interviews with Hale. But for Vogue, Forbes—all the big names—I need better than me. I need Tootles.
Hale’s laughter booms from the bedroom, overpowering Tootles’ softer chuckle. Hale managed to charm Tootles with his kindness. I knew he would. Hale can recognize someone who’s had it rough, especially those who soared to success regardless of it.
Right now, I’m not loving their budding friendship. It works against me, instead of for me. I’m in a robe and nothing else for the love of all. How do I get myself in these dilemmas?
The manicurist buffs my nails with expertise. I was wearing pink and was hoping for something similar. Tootles has other plans. “No,” he says, hurrying in. “No color. French or nothing at all.”
“Nothing at all,” Hale echoes, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms. The dogs skip in behind him and spread out on the floor. After a few shots on the beach, a few more in front of the fireplace, he’s won them over, too. Bastard.
The team worked on Hale long before they ever thought to touch me. He wasn’t thrilled about receiving a new hairstyle and complained more than once. He’s not complaining now, giving his hair another pass with his hand.
The stylist trimmed the sides and mussed the top, leaving the impression of a good night with very little sleep for all the right reasons. I never pictured Hale like this. Never mind, I have. I’ve always loved how he looks. Even at his most angry, I enjoy everything that makes him Hale.
All those mushy thoughts aside, I love his hair. It amps up his sex appeal and makes him look more hero than heartbreak. Whatever the team did to his scruff managed to add another helping of sexy and brightened his smile.
Like me, Hale is in a robe. My guess is, there’s nothing beneath the cotton material. I try not to give it too much thought. Those thoughts eagerly appear when I’m around him and now even when I’m not, reminding me I’m no longer in control of my raging and lonely womanly parts.
Hale looks at Tootles, but that smug grin that casts a shimmer across his mesmerizing irises is all for me. “What do you think about a shot of Becca’s short nails dragging down my back?”
“Oh,” Tootles says over my very audible gasp. “That could be sexy.”
“I think you’re looking way too much into this vision,” I say, my face heating.
Tootles disagrees, of course. “No. I like where he’s going with this. Infinite, your title suggestion, not mine—”
“Which you love,” I remind him.
“Agreed,” he says. “It suggests all those long-term successes we want for Hale, including love.”
“Love?” I stammer.
This time when I turn back to Hale, all evidence of mischief is gone. Only tension remains between us, accelerating with every stunned blink of my eyes.
“What’s wrong, Becca?” he murmurs. “Don’t you want me to find love?”
With a heavy breath, my attention falls to my lap. “Of course, I do,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so sad.
Tootles’ tone softens. It’s not sympathy or understanding he feels for me. This is all about this shoot and how enraptured he’s become with it. “Infinite,” he says, repeating the word. “A long-term love affair with the one woman Hale will share his bed with, forever.”
God, if you’re listening, help me. I’m in trouble, serious trouble.
Tootles bends to look at me, appearing depressed. “Do you really think readers want Hale, their hero, in bed with a one-night stand when we’re using a title like Infinite?”
“Yeah. Do you?” Hale asks.
Again, I blush. This time with anger. I may have to kill them and find a remote place to bury the bodies. “What does forever have to do with short nails scraping down Hale’s bare back?” I ask.
“Passion,” Tootles says like it’s obvious.
“What he said,” Hale agrees.
“Becca,” Tootles says. “There’s a horrible theory that when people marry their initial passion dies.”
“Horrible theory,” Hale reiterates.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Tootles says.
“Nope, not even close,” Hale adds. “I say kill that awful theory.”
“Agreed,” Tootles says.
“Don’t you let that passion die,” Hale presses.
Tootles grins. “Not on my watch,” he assures him. “Now, about the nails. Let’s go a little shorter. We don’t want them long. Just long enough to tease her husband.”
“In bed,” Hale agrees. “Hey,” Hale interrupts when the stylist reaches for a straightener. “Don’t touch her hair. I like it how it is.”
The way he speaks, as well as how he eyes me, gives me tremendous pause. His irises shimmer, reflecting the heat streaming through my body.
“Excellent point. We don’t want the images to appear overly posed,” Tootles explains to the stylist, oblivious to the escalating tension spreading between me and Hale. “Same with the makeup. She shouldn’t look like she has any on.”
The make-up artist nods. “I’ll just touch her up a little so the sheets don’t wash her out.”
“Lovely,” Tootles confirms. “Hale and Becca will be the ultimate couple if it kills me.”
My shoulders slump. It may very well kill me.
“Props,” Tootles says, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “I need a ring.”
“A ring?” Hale and I say at once.
“Becca isn’t a one-night stand,” Tootles patiently reminds him. “There has to be a ring.” He shoves his hands on his hips. “Am I the only one committed to this campaign?”
“No,” Hale replies.
Nice. He can still talk. Good for him.
The dogs look expectantly up at Hale when he places his hands in the pockets of his robe. I used to own a lot of jewelry, mostly rings. But when I left my daddy and the life I’d experienced with him behind, the jewelry stayed with him. I’ve accumulated a few nice pieces throughout the years, mostly earrings and necklaces. I don’t wear anything on my hands. I don’t need any more memories of my time with my father or that stupid engagement ring I wore for show. That charade I had with Denver is over, regardless of what his daddy thinks, and so is a life that includes my father.
Fumbling of drawers ensues as Tootles looks through the accessories the team brought. “I need pretty. But not too sparkly,” he says, his idea getting the best of him. “We want the focus to be on the commitment, not the jewels.”
“I have something,” Hale offers, the way he says it drawing everyone’s attention.
Hale pays us no mind and disappears into the bedroom. I’m not certain what he’s up to. The only ring he ever wore was his high school football ring. But that’s not something I’ve seen in years and not something I imagine would fit with this shoot.
“Miss Shields,” the make-up artist says. “I need to finish up.”
<
br /> “Yes, of course,” I say, momentarily forgetting where I am and what’s at stake.
The soft makeup brush passes along my skin. I stare at my reflection. The blush is mild and I’m not certain it will do much in front of the camera, but my lashes are dark and long, which will be more than enough.
“Excellent,” Tootles says. “I think we’re ready.”
The team nods and begins gathering their equipment. They recognize it’s time to go and forget everything they saw.
“Found it,” Hale says from the doorway. “I just need a moment with Becca.”
Tootles starts to explain that they’re almost done, but like the rest of the team, he sees something different in Hale. No one moves, including me, our full attention on Hale and where he waits by the door.
The air changes in the room, growing somber to match Hale’s mood.
Tootles moves toward him slowly, his attention dropping to the small black box cupped in Hale’s hand. “Is that it?” Tootles asks. Hale gives a stiff nod. I can no longer see the box, but I hear the small creak it makes when it’s opened.
“It’s perfect.” Tootles glances back at me, although I’m unsure why. “I . . .”
“A few minutes,” Hale says. “That’s all I need.” He looks past the staff to where I’m sitting. I can’t move. I want to, but Hale’s mere force keeps me in place. My word, what’s happening here?
“Of course,” Tootles says, motioning to his team to hurry. “Let us know when you’re ready.”
I think I should rise from the portable makeup chair, meet Hale halfway, or at the very least assume a less submissive position. But although the shoot hasn’t started, the one where I’m to reflect the vulnerability Hale can’t outwardly demonstrate, I’m already unwillingly in character long before he kneels before me.
