“I’m a Sinclair.” I narrow my eyes on him. “While I temporarily require your assistance, you should remember that my father is one of the most powerful men in the country. He could destroy your lives, reputations, and any future prospects in seconds.”
“Woah, no need to drone on.” Kyro rolls his eyes. “We get it, okay? No more comments to the media. We signed those contract thingies.”
“Good.” Relief washes over me. “Remember, today is simply a photo opportunity. All you need to do is keep your mouth shut, and try not to ruin anything.”
I don’t know where we’re heading, but I hope it’s not far as my nostrils are already burning from Tyler’s strong sterile odor. The twins smell even worse than usual. After their night out yesterday, they still reek of booze and horrendous BO.
To my surprise, we come to a stop at the SVU arts building. After the driver comes around to open the door, I recognize Lindsay—my father’s Head of PR— standing by the entrance, waving her arms. She’s worked for Dad for years and is the best in the business at spinning a story.
She only wears black, so everything matches, but she always looks like she got ready in a rush in the dark. Today, she wears vibrant pink glasses that make her look like an oversized bug.
She hurries over to greet me. “Finally! We got off the helicopter an hour ago. What took you so long?” She air-kisses my cheeks then pulls back to give me a once over. “Never mind, you’re here now. And it’s always a pleasure to see you.”
The Blandon Pack’s confidence seems to falter, each of them staying refreshingly quiet. Guess my pep talk worked.
“Follow me.” Lindsay leads us inside then jostles us through a sea of corridors while she discusses color schemes, makeup, and outfits. “It would have been better to shoot in New York, but it’d have taken too long. The SVU arts department has the best studio around here.” She pushes a door open with a flourish. “Here we are.”
The studio is a flurry of activity; an entire team is busy, constructing various props.
“Move that over there!” Lindsay points at a garish vase. “Get rid of the orange cushions. We want softer colors.”
She shoves me down into a chair. I can’t catch my breath before I’m attacked by a gaggle of hair and makeup artists brandishing brushes, curling irons, and mascara wands. In the chaos, I can’t see the Blandon Pack, but I can hear Kyro complaining, “Hey! Makeup is for girls.”
After getting ready in a whirlwind, Lindsay whisks me into an adjoining room to change. A demure dress, befitting my father’s taste, hangs in wait. It’s navy with a high neckline, long sleeves, and stops below the knee.
“After last night’s photos, we need to make you look a little more…” Lindsay drapes a string of pearls around my neck. “Polished.”
“Whatever you think.”
I’ll do anything for this to be over with as soon as possible.
When I return to the studio, the room has been transformed to resemble a drawing room in an old English manor house complete with a chintzy sofa, landscape paintings, bulky pieces of antique furniture, and frilly lamps. It looks ridiculous.
On the plus side, Tyler’s suit seems to fit for a change. However, his pale-blue shirt does nothing for his pasty skin tone, making him look even more washed out. Kyro and Shea are both caked in foundation to cover their dark circles. Thank fuck for airbrushing.
“Let’s go!” Lindsay claps her hands, making the photographers jump. “Kady, you sit in the middle there.”
“The middle?” Tyler looks up sharply. “But I’m the pack leader.”
“Kadence is a Sinclair.” Lindsay purses her lips. “And you.” She wrinkles her nose. “Well, you are a nobody.”
Tyler’s cheeks flush, Shea bares his teeth, and Kyro scowls at hearing a beta woman give him a dressing down.
“Come on, Tyler.” I pat the spot next to me. “Sit down, darling.”
Calling him anything other than a weasel is a challenge, but after promising to keep them in line, I want to avoid causing a scene in front of my dad’s employees.
Tyler reluctantly plops down next to me, gripping the arm of the chair tightly, his jaw ticking.
“You can sit on Kady’s other side, Kyro.” Lindsay beckons him over. “And your brother can stand behind.”
I stifle a cough from his overwhelming stench as Kyro drapes his arm around my shoulder.
Shea clicks his fingers. “Where’s the champagne?”
A few of the makeup artists snicker. Shea grins, mistaking their mockery for flattery. Doesn’t he know how to behave in public?
“He’s only joking,” I intervene. My smile is hard to hold. “Aren’t you, Shea?”
