“I did,” she says almost against her will. “I like strong heroines who stand up for themselves. I just don’t like all the obstacles in their paths.” After a beat, she confesses, “I want to jump into the TV and yell at all those stupid men on their behalf.”
“It’s a good thing you were born in this time then,” I tell her.
“It’s a good thing for stupid men,” she clarifies.
When she gets up, I sit down on the edge of the sofa with my legs spread wide open. Putting my elbows on my knees, I focus all my attention on Finley. Once I’m good and smoldering, I tell her, “All of the servants had the day off and I had to dress myself. Not only that, but I had to peel my own grapes.” With a wink, I add, “I’m beat.”
Finley snorts. “I think maybe this might be the look that comes most naturally to you.”
“You’re teasing, right?” Sometimes, I can’t tell with her. She’s got such a great poker face, I briefly wonder if she plays cards.
Without answering my question, Finley turns and walks off set before lifting her camera to her face.
I do my best to channel my inner spoiled nobility. Finley gives me positive feedback, but it’s minimal.Nice. Good. You’ve got it.I finally break down and say, “I have to be doing better than I did during our first session.”
She glares at me. “Nothing will ever be worse than that.”
“And yet, you cheered me on then and told me how great I was doing. Why aren’t you doing that now that I’m killing it?”
“I’m worried that overly positive reinforcement may make you a worse model.” She concludes, “And I never want to see that cross-eyed pirate again.”
I guess I can’t blame her. But even so, I say, “I’ve already proven I’m a great cop, a sizzling construction worker, and asexy duke. I think you can go ahead and tell me what an amazing model I am.” I sit expectantly like a dog waiting for a treat.
Finley’s expression turns from cool boredom to a smirk. “You’re doing great, Thomas. Really. In fact, I’m proud of you.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I just can’t tell with her.
“I’m not.” She walks right over to me and says, “You are an amazing model. I didn’t tell you because, well …” She takes a deep breath before saying, “I’m still mad at you for those pirate shots. I spent days thinking I was the worst photographer in the world.”
“You’re a great photographer,” I tell her enthusiastically. “Seriously, you saw the stuff we shot today. I can’t wait to show my parents.”
A brilliant smile appears on Finley’s face and her cheeks flush. “Thank you, Thomas. That’s very nice of you to say.”
“You see how good a little praise feels?” I respond.
Her head bobs up and down several times. “You are a smoking hot cop, a sizzling construction worker, and the snootiest duke I’ve ever met. Nice work.”
“Was that so hard?” I ask with a laugh.
“No, it wasn’t.”
I feel like we’ve finally surpassed our obstacles and we can start fresh. “How about if I take you out to dinner to celebrate our successful partnership?” I ask.
Finley, who has walked over to her laptop, suddenly stops moving. Hands in mid-air, she asks, “You want to have dinner with me?”
“Yeah, you know, to thank you for today.” I give her my best “I’m a good guy” expression.
“You know I’m charging you for these pictures, right?”
“Of course you are, but I’m also celebrating the fact that I have a new friend and a fake girlfriend when I need one. Beingthat both of those people are you, I figured I owed you a little extra something.”
Finley’s eyes move from the left to the right like she’s looking for the closest exit. But instead of running, she says, “You really do owe me. But you should know, I’m hungry. And being that we’re friends and nothing more, I’m not going to eat delicately in front of you.”
“I’m glad,” I tell her. “I hate dining with women who don’t know how to enjoy a good meal. My mom is always counting calories, and she feels guilty about enjoying her food. It makes me crazy.”
“It must be a generational thing,” Finley says. “My mom is pretty reserved when it comes to eating in front of other people.” She adds, “When she and my dad go out, she always asks for a doggy bag at the beginning of the meal. She puts half her food into it before she even starts.”
“That’s awful,” I tell her.
