“Who was the young man from this morning?” I ask, more curious about the reason behind him addressing me, rather than his identity.
That pretty face is strangely familiar, though my focus lingers on the embarrassing interaction. I’ve never met that man before, have I?
He smelled especially nice, but I can’t point out what perfume he uses. It was a mix of…rum spice, I think, and maybe musk?
For some reason, it sank into every parcel of me. Would it be odd to ask him for his perfume brand if we were to ever meet again?
Either way, he’s handsome, and his handshake emanated confidence and reliance. He must be extremely well off for someone so young. I’d say he’s in his twenties at most, and yet, the watch he was wearing would have cost me an organ.
Dixon looks back at me in disbelief, standing near the door frame. “You don’t know who that is? You’re really impossible.” He shakes his head. “You uncultured swine. Do I have to teach you everything?”
How am I supposed to remember every face and name I come across? What’s the point anyway?
The easiest and quickest way to disappointment is expectations. If I let myself expect a good outcome or be happier than necessary, everything always goes wrong. Therefore, I try to keep my excitement in check, rather than ruin it all for something as fleeting as joy. I don’t bother remembering people, because if I get ahead of myself and attribute them a meaning in my head, I’ll end up disappointed.
“He’s the youngest son of the Lacroix conglomerate. They’re basically French royalty,” he says, mimicking a dramatic reverence. “Handsome, rich, and powerful. You don’t want to get on their bad side.”
Andrew stimulated a strange protective side of me. He looked so young and walked with his head up high, as if he ran the world with the pressure and weight of a golden crown on his head.
I had to restrain myself from patting his wavy chestnut hair. I know, that’s kind of weird, but he looked so excited with so much…lifebrimming in his eyes. Maybe it’s because it projected me into a time when I, too, smiled as if nothing could ever tear me down.
I glance at my arm and the scar shooting through my skin like a spear. I can barely remember my life since that day. Everything is a blur. If I try to remember, all I see is a blank canvas and crimson paint splattered all over.
“How’re you feeling? Nervous? It’s your first photo shoot after all, but you’ll be fine. You’re a hot dude.” He gives me two thumbs up, and for some reason, it makes me snort. “You’ll manage.”
“You’re so weird, man, but thanks. I appreciate it.” I lean back in the chair and instantly jump up when a redheaded woman waltzes in searching for us.
She’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sage green crop top. Her curly hair is displayed in a bun on top of her head, a few strands framing her round face.
She nods at us to follow her. “I’m Liliana. I’ll be the one to make sure you’re ready for the shoot,aight?” she says, her southern accent thick on her tongue.
I nod as she leads us to a room where three people are readily waiting with makeup and hair products. I suck in a sharp breath, suddenly realizing how nervous I actually am. The idea of being pampered and scrutinized by strangers, as well as a bunch of cameras, makes my stomach churn.
I want to bolt out of here and just hide under a rock. Not only would I burden my coworkers if I did, but it would also stain the reputation of the company. So, I just smile politely and let the tanned man in a white tank top sit me down in a black leather chair.
He smiles at me through the mirror and puts both hands on my shoulders. “You’re in good hands, honey,” he assures, the pitch of his voice higher than I expected.
A woman with a short, blonde bob and black roots plops down on the makeup counter, making her velvet purple skirt ride up her thighs. She chews on her gum and stares down at me. “You got a pretty face, not gonna lie. Teddy, what do you think?”
A short, curvy Black woman with pretty dark curls pops out of nowhere. She slides her hands through my hair and in a couple of seconds seems to have made a great decision. “Mhm.”
“I’m Samantha,” the blonde woman says, popping a bubble. “That’s Teddy, and he’s Nolan. We’re gonna take care of your make-up and hair. We prepared some outfits we thought were appropriate for the shoot, so go ahead and pick something out among them.”
She gestures at the clothing rack, fluttering her lashes. Her features remind me of Jobyna Ralston, but with smoky eyeshadow.
“Thank you.”
Samantha jumps off the counter and urges me to pick something out. “Look, there’s a small changing room right behind that wall. You can get dressed there. Privacy and all.” She clasps her hands together and groans as though something terrible happened. “Nolan, tell me you brought my new brushes!”
Dixon glances at me and shrugs. “I’ll see you in the studio.”
“I may or may not have forgotten them?” Nolan starts, trying to ease her as she slowly turns into a furious mutant. “I’ll go get them! Don’t yell, please. You know Teddy doesn’t like that.”
Samanatha glances at Teddy, who’s organizing some tools and not paying attention to the discussion at hand, then back at Nolan’s apologetic face, and through gritted teeth, says, “Go get them.Now.”
I’m still standing near the clothing rack, staring at them without a clue about fashion. What if I pick something and it turns out to be the wrong choice? Do they expect me to follow a specific theme?
Nolan rushes out of the room, and Samantha sits back down on the counter.
