His laugh stole into the remaining pockets of air in my chest. “Touché.”
Christian’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and the remnants of his laughter evaporated. Black swallowed amber, leaving nothing behind except promises of sin and dark pleasures.
Pinpricks of nervous energy buzzed beneath my skin. The memory of our almost kiss when I first moved in resurfaced, as it had a bad habit of doing since that night.
My nails sank into my knees, and I waited, not breathing, not moving, as Christian lowered his head—
“Mr. Harper, apologies for the interruption. But you wanted me to alert you fifteen minutes before landing.”
The attendant’s gentle voice sliced the moment into a thousand jagged pieces.
A cold wave of oxygen rushed back into my chest, followed by the acrid sting of disappointment when Christian drew back. Face blank, all traces of desire snuffed as if it’d never existed at all.
“Thank you, Portia.” Perfectly even, perfectly calm, unlike the erratic heartbeat thundering behind my ribcage.
Portia nodded. Her eyes flitted between us before she disappeared to another part of the jet.
Christian returned his attention to his computer, and we didn’t speak for the duration of the flight.
It was just as well.
I couldn’t have formed proper words had I tried. I was too unsettled by the knowledge that Christian Harper had been about to kiss me again…and that I’d desperately wanted him to.
* * *
As nervous asI was about the Delamonte shoot, I was grateful for the distraction from my tangled feelings toward Christian.
I wanted him, but I didn’t want to date him (or anyone else).
We lived together, but we barely knew each other.
The world thought we were dating, but we’d barely kissed.
The contradictions were enough to drive a girl mad.
Once I returned to D.C., I needed girl talk with Ava and Jules ASAP. I was too rusty in the boys department to sort through my mess on my own.
But, for now, I had something more urgent that required my attention: not screwing up the first Delamonte photoshoot of the most important brand deal of my life.
When Christian and I arrived at the studio, it was already bustling with activity. The photographer, makeup artist, hairstylist, and various assistants and Delamonte staff rushed around, steaming garments, and fussing over lighting and props. A pop song played in the background, but all commotion halted when I walked in.
Spiders of anxiety crawled over my skin.
I had no problem doing solo photoshoots or being on camera when I couldn’t see people watching me. Being the center of attention at an in-person shoot was an entirely different matter.
“Stella!” Luisa broke the silence and greeted me with effusive kisses on both cheeks. “You look wonderful. And Christian.” Her eyebrows climbed up her expertly Botoxed forehead. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m in the city for business. Besides…” Christian rested a hand on my lower back. “I couldn’t resist attending Stella’s first photoshoot.”
He looked and sounded so believable as a proud, doting boyfriend that I almost forgot we were pretending.
Almost.
“Huh.” Luisa eyed him with fascination. “Indeed.”
I was more surprised to see her on set than she was to see Christian. As the brand’s CEO, supervising photoshoots was below her pay grade.
She must’ve read the confusion on my face because her eyes twinkled with knowing. “I couldn’t resist dropping by as well. People say I’m micromanaging, but this campaign is my baby. I’m determined to make it the best one in Delamonte history, and you, my dear…” She patted my hand. “You’re going to help make that happen.”
The sandwich I ate for lunch churned in my stomach.
Right. No pressure at all.
Christian retreated to the back to take business calls while I sat through hair and makeup and met everyone on set, including Ricardo, the brand’s in-house photographer. He was a handsome man in his forties, with tanned skin and a flirtatious smile that he bestowed upon me before it faded.
I followed his suddenly wary gaze to where Christian stood by the exit, his phone to his ear but his attention fixed on us.
“Your boyfriend is an intense one, huh?” Ricardo let out a nervous chuckle before he cleared his throat. “No matter. Time to get started, darling. We have magic to make!”
He was charming enough to pull off such a cheesy line, and for the next hour, I tried my best to follow his guidance, posing and turning and contorting my body into strange, unnatural positions until sweat trickled down my spine.
The lights were insanely hot, and I pictured my makeup melting until I resembled a crazed clown.
Also, was it just me, or had Ricardo lost some of his enthusiasm? His encouraging shouts of “Gorgeous!” and “Beautiful!” had gradually tapered off into “Turn left” and “Too far left.” Soon, only the clicks and whirs of his camera filled the studio.
No one spoke, but the weight of their stares pressed against me like a second layer of clothing.
Self-doubt crept into the vacuum left in the wake of their silence.
Pretend you’re at home. Your camera is on a tripod facing you. You’ve perfected the settings and you’re ready to shoot. You’ve done this a thousand times, Stella…
“Lift your chin higher.” Ricardo’s instruction interrupted the fantasy I’d concocted of being alone. “Drop your hand…a little more…relax those shoulders…”
It wasn’t working.
He didn’t say it, but I could feel it. The thick, sour sting of disappointment tainting the air. The one I was so used to tasting whenever I went home.
I was finally working with my dream brand, and I was screwing it all up.
Tears gathered behind my eyes, but I set my jaw and blinked them back. I would not cry on set. I could hold myself together until the shoot was over.
Besides, this was only the first session. There were three more. I’ll practice before the next one and improve…if they kept me on.
The unforgiving fist of anxiety strangled my lungs.