Shut Up and Model for Me (22 page)

I shudder involuntarily. “I’m not a Ma’am, but what do you want?”

She snaps her gum. “Are we gonna have to, like, fuck on camera right now, or what?”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, spinning on my heel without answering. Jaime’s laughter trickles across the room like liquid fire.

Brunette gum-snapper asked if she’d have to fuck on camera, and now this room is set up like a porno.

The sheets are red and satiny, and there’s a huge fuzzy heart pillow in the middle of the bed. Gag me. On top of it, the room is way darker than it needs to be, giving the whole space this gross seventies feel. I’m surprised they haven’t ripped out the flooring and put in shag carpet.

“What is going on with this lighting?” I say out loud to no one in particular. Not a soul responds to me, although there are a couple of women in dress suits glaring at me as they clench iPads in their hands. I walk over to a guy adjusting a light and say, “Hey, you, the lighting is way too dark in here. You’re going to make even the skinniest girl look lumpy, and all of the shadows really awkward.”

He waves his hand at me in dismissal. “Don’t talk to me, I just take orders.”

I groan, looking around for anyone that will listen. It takes a whole fifteen minutes for the word to finally get around to Dwain that Britain is unhappy, and I really think he hates me now.

I win on the lighting and get the Amora workers to amp it a bit, but unfortunately, Dwain won’t budge on the fuzzy red pillow that I find pedophilic and not sexy at all.

The chairs that we will watch the auditions from are lined up on the side of the wall like a jury. I sit in the very back corner, Delilah right next to me, and Adam next to her. The rest of the models fill up the back row. They all have their arms crossed and look either pissed, uncomfortable, or scared.

“This isn’t fun,” Delilah whispers to me. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’m in trouble.”

“I know what you mean,” I answer.

“When you said we were going national, I didn’t think they’d be taking over like this.”

I didn’t either, did I? Maybe I didn’t care to even think about it. The money was so good that I subconsciously knew if they took over, it wouldn’t matter. Now, looking at my models and how petrified they all seem, not thinking about it was a mistake.

How can I fix this?

I lower my head and close my eyes, thinking quickly. Pulling a small notebook from my pocket and the pen from behind my ear, I write each sample model’s name on a separate sheet of paper. Then, starting with Delilah, I give them each a theme, and write,
no matter what the photographer tells you, stick to this
. I hand Delilah the stack and mutter, “Pass them down.”

She finds hers and passes the stack. She reads the paper, arches her eyebrow, and looks at me. “For real?” she says. “What’s the point?”

“I know what’s good for EPE,” I whisper, nodding to the associate ushering the first female model into the room. “They don’t.”

“I got you,” says Adam. He must have overheard me. I should probably whisper softer considering A.J’s cronies are sitting right in front of me.

“Miss McCulley, would you be so kind as to select a sample model for this young lady?”

Wow, first time I’ve been asked to do anything. It’s actually a bit shocking.

The girl is very slight in frame with no ass or boobs. She almost looks like she’s twelve. Knowing Amora Acquisitions, they’ll probably want to hire her. My mind is twisting perversely. Adam is our tallest, broadest guy. I’m thinking the juxtaposition will make for a great photo. Plus, I gave him
hunter with his prey
for the theme.

“All right, big guy. Go get ‘em.”

“Sweet.” Adam jumps to his feet and Delilah rolls her eyes, brushing red curls off her shoulders.

The girl is beautiful and doe-eyed and looks absolutely petrified. She fits Adam’s theme perfectly, which is kind of disgusting. She might even be shivering. When she sees Adam, she looks like she’s about to cry, which is funny considering how gorgeous Adam is.

The photographer, a tall, skinny, white, and incredibly city-chic-cliché looking guy, cocks his head to the side and says in a tenor voice, “Okay, I want you two to pose like both of you are made of the most delectable dessert and you want to eat each other up.”

I—without even attempting to hide my actions—slap my hand to my forehead.

Miguel, my model on the end, busts up laughing, and the Amora assistant in front of him shoots him a dirty look. Ella in the middle mutters, “Why don’t they just pose normally—like they want to fuck each other,” and that leaves all of my models in hysterics. I can’t help but crack a smile.

Dwain turns in his seat and barks, “Get them under control.” I shrug in response. This is way too much fun.

Adam catches my eye and winks at me. The girl crawls onto the bed and he follows her. As the photographer is finding his position, Adam slinks his arms around her waist and whispers something into her ear.

Whatever he says, it works. When the photographer begins, she crawls away and he grasps her foot, pulling her back to him. Her body glides against the satin sheets and he pins her hips to the mattress.

“Less aggressive, boy,” Dwain says.

Boy? He didn’t even take the time to learn my models’ names?

Adam doesn’t act like Dwain’s command fazes him at all. The way he arches his back makes him look like a cat, his hands stiff and clawed around the model’s hips. She twists her body around and it’s a beautiful shot that the photographer isn’t taking advantage of.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, and Delilah nudges me in the arm.

The Amora Acquisitions team write furiously on their iPads. None of them look very enthused. Adam wraps his arms around the models’ torso and pulls her up until they’re both kneeling and facing the camera, her back pressed to his chest. He drags his bared teeth across her earlobe, runs his hands up her ribcage, links his fingers beneath her bandeau, and tugs down until her breasts are exposed.

Leave it to Adam to be ballsy with a girl he’s never met before.

It’s like it doesn’t even cross his mind that there are twenty people watching him, half of them typing on their iPads like scientists at a research exhibit. Not hiding behind the lens makes me feel naked and exposed to the situation, an ache building between my legs. Everything that’s happening in this room is incredibly voyeuristic and weirdly fucking hot.

The female model releases a small gasp, and Adam whispers something else in her ear. I can tell by the way Delilah is so stiff that she’s not too happy. Considering how loose Adam always acts, it’s hard to remember that they’re constantly on-again off-again.

With stiff, crooked fingers, Adam runs his claw-like hands right over the girl’s breasts, and she closes her eyes and arches her back like she enjoys the sting of it. Another perfect shot, but the dumbass photographer is, again, shooting from the wrong angle. I ball my hands into fists. I wish I could use this, just like I used Dallas’s audition. The only difference is that I’m going to have to reshoot this entire session.

I grunt in frustration, but none of the Amora assistants seem to notice.

Even worse than shooting from the wrong angles is when the photographer decides to end early, even when the auditioning model is so willing to continue. He shouldn’t have, considering the next string of models either act like or express that they don’t want to take their clothes off. One of them, as Ella is hanging all over him and trying to portray the weightless theme that I gave her, blatantly says, “This is making me uncomfortable.”

“Hold up, hold up,” I yell as I stand. The photographer purses his lips and drops his camera, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with the model or with me. “Do you know what
East Park Exposed
is?”

The guy shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“And this is making you uncomfortable? Neither of you are naked yet.”

“I don’t know, I just…”

“What do you think we do, Photoshop your nipples on?”

Delilah snickers.

I get another wave of nasty looks from the Amora crew and finally crack. “Stop looking at me like that! You know I’m right!”

After the slew of uncomfortable candidates, there’s a slew of generic candidates. My own professional models look like broken toy soldiers as they attempt to play sexy with them. Now I don’t know if it’s the photographer or simply a string of bad luck. Finally, a crew member calls number sixteen, and I smack Delilah on the knee.

“You’re up.”

Jaime walks into the room.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Delilah breathes.

Adam grunts uncomfortably next to her.

I grab her shoulder to gain her attention. “I need you to screw this up,” I mutter.

“What?” she hisses. “Are you fucking insane? He’s
gorgeous
.”

“I know him, and he’s an ass to work with. Just do as I say.”

She groans and stands, trudging to Jaime and holding out her hand. “I’m Delilah.”

“Jaime.”

Delilah gapes at him, and then she slowly turns toward me.

Oh,
fuck
.

I’d forgotten that I spilled my secrets to Delilah and Evan one night when the three of us were drunk at the house. We were talking about dumb high school perceptions and decisions, and what we would tell our teenage selves if we could.

And I drunkenly said,
I’d tell my teenage self to stop fantasizing about Jaime eating you out, because he’s an asshole and will never do anything other than tease you.

Delilah and Evan responded with a chorus of,
Oooooh, Jaime!
That’s when I told them about my brother’s douchebag best friend.

Delilah’s eyes hold a deviant glint as she connects the dots. She wouldn’t.

She would.

I’m so screwed.

As the photographer finds an angle, Delilah whispers into Jaime’s ear her plans. He nods.

Before the photographer has even begun shooting, Jaime has swung Delilah up into the air. She wraps her legs around his waist and presses her forehead to his.

“Move onto the bed,” Dwain orders, but Jaime doesn’t listen to him.

And then they’re kissing.

Several of the models hoot and holler. “Yeah, baby!” Miguel yells.

Crazy that a simple kiss can spark such a reaction from a room of soft-core porn stars.

But it’s not just a simple kiss. Delilah drags her teeth across Jaime’s lower lip. He unhooks her bra seamlessly without stumbling once. She arches her back, letting one hand drop and clutching his neck with the other. It’s like her creamy porcelain skin is spilling off and over him. It’s such a goddamn perfect shot despite my reservations with Jaime, and I swear if the photographer doesn’t catch it, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.

Suddenly, a feeling I’ve never experienced during a photo shoot swells in my gut—jealousy.

I shove my fists into my stomach, as if that will stop it. What the fuck is my problem?

The way she gyrates her body against his makes me sick, even though they’re perfect together. There’s no way Jaime won’t make the cut, so I better get used to the thought of him.

Existing in my business, my job.

Existing in my life again.

She presses herself to his body. His tongue glides up her neck and he nips at her jaw.

Then his eyes break away from her, and he finds me in the dark sea of observers and models.

Chapter Four

Evan

Summer passes by as I sit in my room, studying my ass off.

It’s the perfect way to tune the world out and prepare for Harvard all at once. I go through all of my old textbooks, read through the chapters, and complete the study guides. Not everyone gets such an amazing opportunity like me to attend one of the best schools in the world. I need to grab it by the balls and take charge.

I have little control in the rest of my life. Like my love life.

And being sucked into EPE again.

When I’m not studying, I’m working out. It took me only two months to let go completely, and I can’t believe how out-of-shape I got. I loathe the gym, so I do my cardio elsewhere, jogging through the neighborhood when it’s cool enough outside. And I go swimming.

I love swimming. I love how the water fills my ears and the entire world is silent. It’s like I can almost feel my brain taking a break.

When it’s finally time to say goodbye to California for the year, it’s less hard than I thought. I’m getting over the heartbreak of Dallas, and I know I’ll be seeing Britain and Delilah in a couple of weeks anyway.

The only hard goodbye is Mom.

My mother is a smart woman. When explaining my breakup with Dallas, she waves her hand in front of her face. “You’ll get over him the moment you enter that sea of East Coast boys. I promise you.”

And that is literally the end of the conversation.

She makes me vegan potpie the day before my flight leaves. We stay up all night to watch crappy soap operas and I fall asleep on the couch. When she shakes me awake, it is 3:30 in the morning. She tells me my flight leaves in three hours and I burst into tears, pulling her into a hug.

^^^^^

Nothing says boring like a United flight across the continental U.S. I order two vodka sodas on the rocks over the course of the trip and barely keep my buzz from it.

I don’t get nervous until I’m in the airport and have to find my way to the train that will take me to Cambridge. With a little help from airport security, I manage to buy a ticket from an automated machine and locate the train station outside the airport. I’ve already downloaded maps of Harvard onto my phone, and it shouldn’t take long at all to walk from the train stop to campus. I already did the college dorm thing when I was a freshman. I’m a pro at this.

So why is my heart pounding?

Because you’re away from home, Evan. You’re alone.

I take in deep breaths through my nose. The train slows, and I get off at my stop. This isn’t Cali. Only the middle of September here and it feels like January back home. I pull my sweater tighter around me as I lug my massive rolling suitcase behind me with my other hand. Setting my GPS, I follow the streets to the most prestigious university in the U.S.