Chapter Four

“Sara. Underwear. What’s my color scheme?”

I sigh. Boy. Note to self: don’t ever be late when Nina is doing your makeup. She goes all stylist-zilla.

“Color scheme is sexy,” Clara announces, walking into the room.

“Sexy isn’t a color scheme, it’s a state of mind. You’re here to observe, not dictate, so sit over there on that sofa and keep quiet,” Nina snaps, nodding at Sara.

A laugh bubbles in my chest, but I swallow it down. Since I signed with Sheila at the Stone Agency a few months ago, I’ve been thrust deeper into the modeling world. I’m quickly learning that modeling is much like being at high school: judgment, whispers, and bitchiness are the things you encounter most.

I sit silently and let Nina and Dean turn me from a hungover flop to a walking wet dream. It takes them twenty minutes, and I breathe a small sigh of relief when they step back from me.

“Change,” Nina orders, shoving a black set of underwear and matching stockings my way.

“Where?”

“Change in the middle of the room if you want, honey. I don’t care.” She rolls her eyes. “Bathroom—through there.”

I follow the direction her finger is pointing and strip off. “Robe!” I yell.

A floating hand passes one through the crack in the door.

“Thanks,” I tell the hand, slipping it over my shoulders. I dump my clothes on the sofa when I reenter the room, and Clara stands.

“Finally. We can get started.” She waves a hand over her shoulder for me to follow. I bite my tongue so it remains in my mouth and follow her upstairs.

The cottage is cute. Quaint. Yet oddly stylish.

Clara raps twice on the door and pushes it open. “ Ivan, are you ready? Our model is finally here.”

Oh, the urge to slap her…

“Yep. I’m ready.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I recognize that voice. No.

I look over Clara’s shoulder as the photographer, Ivan, gets up, and turns to me.

Oh, shit. That’s not Ivan.

It’s Mr. Tall, Dark, Handsome, and Oh So Englishman.