‘New headshots. Now.’ I position him against the wall. ‘Stand still. I don’t think your face muscles are capable of smiling, but try not to look murderous.’
He glowers at the camera.
‘I saidnotmurderous.’
‘What do you want from me? This is my fucking face.’
‘Then make a better one.’ I reach to fix his hair without thinking. My fingers ghost over his forehead, and he stills. My pulse jumps, nerves flaring as I realise how close we are. His eyes lock on mine.
I snatch my hand back. ‘Your hair’s a mess.’
Mac clears his throat. ‘Ready when you are.’
I step back, head spinning.
What the fuck was that?
‘Right.’ It comes out steadier than I feel. ‘Five shots. Make them count.’
The camera clicks. Again. Again. Each shot capturing that rare curve of his mouth, that knowing glint in his eyes. He’s not looking at the lens – he’s looking through it. Straight at me.
I need to leave. Now.
But I can’t leave without him. Brodie still has my car keys.
Fuck.
Chapter5
Brodie
Ican’t believe she’s making me do this.
I can’t believe I fuckinglether.
It’s been ten days since the cooking show, and I’m still getting tagged in videos of me talking about Nonna’s sauce like a cheap Gordon Ramsay.
And now this.
Weans.
The children’s section of the Stirling library looks like a Crayola factory exploded. Shelves crammed with picture books, bean bags in shades that should be classified as visual assault, and walls plastered with cartoon frogs and worms with glasses perched on their non-existent noses.
A fucking nightmare.
And in the middle of it all? A plastic chair designed for someone a quarter of my size. Just waiting to collapse under me and humiliate me in front of twenty tiny humans.
‘This another sick joke?’ I level another of my death stares at Charlie, who leans against the wall looking far too pleased with herself.
Her black turtleneck hugs curves that have no business being that distracting in a children’s library. She’s always been classy – stunning, actually – and somehow that pisses me off more than the fact that I have to actively force myself to look anywhere else. I hate that I’m this easy to wind up.
‘Problem, MacRae?’ Her lips curl into that grin I want to wipe off her face. Preferably with my mouth. Which is a thought I need to delete from existence.
‘I’m not sitting on that.’ I gesture at the plastic chair. ‘It’ll snap like a twig.’
‘There’s a bean bag,’ Charlie says.
‘I’m not sitting on a fucking bean bag, either.’
