When I got to the studio, I half expected it to be locked again, but they were open and the place was bustling with activity inside. Everything looked high-end and everyone seemed so professional, unlike most of my modeling jobs for Mick's business partners. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or even more anxious because of it.
Then, Margie greeted me and my fears melted away. She was so friendly and accommodating, she made me feel like a star. Plus, Ethan was nowhere in sight.
"Can I get you anything? Sparkling water, a latte, or something to eat? Do you want me to read you the L.A. Times while you're in the salon chair?" Margie talked fast and moved even faster.
"Just some flat water would be great, and perhaps some music to listen to. Something upbeat," I said, and within moments, my desires were granted. It was an amazing feeling to be so indulged and I reveled in it. The studio hairdresser styled my long, blonde tresses into fabulously thick waves that curled around my face, framing it perfectly. Somehow she managed to give my normally thin strands endless volume, making my hair sexy and lush, while still appearing soft and having the lightness to flow in the wind. It was amazing.
The make-up artist gave me a smoky-eye look in more natural shades of dark brown that was quite alluring, while keeping my lips such a soft shade of pink they appeared natural with just a hint of glossy shine. The overall affect was sexy without being slutty, intimate without being intimidating.
"What do you think, Mr. Colson?" I heard Margie ask. I looked up into the mirror to see Ethan standing in the back of the room.
"Perfect. Every man will want her. Now get her to wardrobe. The lighting team is almost done setting up, and I want to keep on schedule." He strode from the room without saying a word to me or even making eye contact.
He looked sexy as ever in a dark gray suit the same shade as his incredible eyes, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. But he was a stalker and a sicko. I could never forget how he had barged into my apartment and assaulted my fiancé; even if he was trying to protect me, it was barbaric (although incredibly chivalrous). Then there was the way he tried to buy me as a prostitute — or was that Mick who had tried to sell me and Ethan just happened to be his intended client?
I couldn't tell anymore, but all I knew for sure was that I needed to push my animal instincts aside and focus on the fact that I was supposed to be mad at Ethan. My loyalty lay with my fiancé, I couldn't let myself have feelings for any other man, even one who made me feel alive for the first time in years the way that Ethan did whenever we were together.
"Are you all right, Miss Brandt?" Margie looked at me with a concern, and I saw from my reflection that my cheeks had become flushed.
"I'm fine. It must be all that aerosol from the hairspray," I lied, and Margie turned on a fan to clear the room.
I followed her to the wardrobe room where the seamstress was hand-tailoring a riding suit just for me. Skintight leather pants in royal blue with white stars decorating them and a red and white striped top, mimicking the American flag. The top half of the leather jumpsuit was left completely open, displaying my naked breasts for all the world to see, and I instantly blushed.
"This isn't that kind of magazine," I objected.
"Don't worry, Miss Brandt. Once we get you positioned up on the bike, we'll adjust the top of the suit so your nipples aren't showing. We want it to be clear to the audience that you're naked without actually exposing anything that will alarm the censors. You need to look sexy and alluring, without crossing the line into pornographic."
I recognized the speaker as being Keith Wilkes, the director of marketing for Speed Motorcycles. He'd interviewed me twice before the final meeting when Ethan actually hired me.
Laughing light-heartedly to mask my shyness, I said, "This feels borderline pornographic right now."
"We can remove all non-essential personal from the room during the shoot, but it's really important to Ethan that as much of your breasts be exposed as possible for the cover. It's why he hired you."
"I bet it is," I muttered under my breath.
Keith cleared the room while Margie fetched me some more ice for my water. I knew from experience that those studio lights could get hot, and being dressed from head to toe in skin-tight leather was only going to make it worse.
Keith guided me to the green screen stage where the new All-American motorcycle was standing, looking sleek and modern, while still holding on to a retro vibe. It was perfect. I started to pose with the bike like I'd seen other models do, but Keith stopped me instantly.
"No, straddle the bike like you're actually riding it. We'll cue the fans and it will look like you're actually cruising down the highway with the wind in your hair.
I straddled the bike, and a half dozen assistants started buzzing around me like butterflies, straightening my clothes, arranging my hair, and adjusting the folds of the top half of my riding suit to cover my nipples while still exposing the majority of my breasts. It was awkward and embarrassing, and I felt incredibly self-conscious. As Keith cued the fans, I was blasted by wind and a series of harsh lights suddenly turned on all around me, blinding me.
"Okay, kid. Now smile for the camera and try to look natural. Let's see that happy, carefree, all-American look that got you the job." Keith tried to be encouraging, but what he asked of me was impossible. How could I look casual and care-free when I felt completely ill-at-ease?
Keith did everything he could to get the look he wanted, making changes to the lighting, adjusting the fans, changing the position of the bike, the angels of the cameras, and the way I was sitting. In the end, it became clear that this just plain wasn't going to work.
"Stop. Let's all take a break. Margie, get Kayla some water. Crew, take 15. We may need to just wrap for the day and start again with a new model tomorrow." Keith sounded as frustrated as I felt. I hated to disappoint him, but I didn't know what else I could do. It looked like I was going to lose my big break, not because of Ethan, but because of myself. Perhaps Mick was right: maybe I was too uptight to make it in this business.
"Thank you, Margie." I took the bottle of ice-cold water gratefully from the hand holding it out to me, but as I took a swallow my eyes flew open wide to realize it wasn't Margie who had handed it to me. "Ethan? What are you doing here?"
"I own the company. I can go where I want," he said with an easy smirk that let me know he was teasing.
I had to remind myself not to fall prey to his charms and forced my face into an angry scowl when I really wanted to smile. "I told you that if you bothered me with your stalking again, I would call the police. I'm here professionally, that's all. Now please remove yourself from where I'm working."
"You won't be working at all if Keith has his way. Let me help you. I know you can do this."
"You don't know me," I argued, but inside, I was desperate for help and grateful to him for offering.