When I return to the room, Flynn isn’t talking to Keir or Sophia. In fact, I can’t see him anywhere.
‘Hey, lady,’ Paisley says, planting a smacker on my cheek. She holds a champagne flute in each hand, one of which she passes to me. ‘How’s your birthday so far?’
‘It’s not actually my birthday until tomorrow, and as you know, tomorrow I’m working.’
‘Bad planning, boss lady. Bad planning. You should’ve booked a spa day or a lazy brunch with good company.’
‘I’d have settled for waking to a certain man in my bed,’ I tell her.
‘Ohhh. Is it a tale I need to hear over coffee?’
‘We’ll catch up next week sometime, and I’ll fill you in on all the details.’
‘I’m gonna hold you to it,’ she replies, her eyes wide over her glass. ‘But I can’t believe that on a Sundayandyour birthday you’re off to do a shoot!’
‘Oh, you’re a photographer,’ Tate says, coming to a stop in front of us.
Shit. ‘Something like that,’ I answer, probably with a slightly pained expression because the truth is bound to come out.
‘That answers why your friends are all so attractive.’ Hmm. Yeah. I suppose he’s partially right. Thankfully, he doesn’t hang around, maybe due to the vibes Paisley was throwing out.
‘Awk-ward!’ Paisley sings.
‘Not nearly as awkward as it will be when he finds out I’m a certain type of photographer.’
‘And by that I suppose you mean an erotic cinematographer.’
I sigh. ‘People are so weird. Or is it me? Am I the weird one?’
‘Everyone watches porn in some form or another—look at your Aunt Camilla.’
I choose that moment to do just that. Dressed in a wide-legged pant suit, she’s channelling Bianca Jagger tonight and looks every inch as stylish. Of course, if I was to say this to her, she’d reply that Bianca is the copycat because she wore it first. Either way, I’m not sure she’s a good representative for “normal”, whatever that is, particularly as she’s currently being tended to by another of Fast Girls actors, Nathan Cox, who’s probably a third of her age. But she’s always been a little off the wall and is probably the only woman of her age and station who regularly quotes Anaïs Nin.
‘Everyone,’ Paisley repeats. ‘It’s just not everyone who’ll admit to it.’
‘But watching people’s faces as I tell them what I actually do; shock, horror, intrigue. And the questions? Eww.’
‘Ha, I’ll bet. But at least your job is more interesting than say, running a shop. Although with a shop you have regular hours.’
‘True,’ I agree. ‘But it is what it is.’ And what it is, is actually my own fault that I’m working on my birthday.
I’d cancelled last week’s shoot and barely left the house, opting for complete hibernation. My creativity shut off, and I just couldn’t contemplate spending my time around naked bodies. So while I’m glad I’d taken the time for a little reflective self-care, the flip side to that is I’m hustling now to make an upload deadline. If we don’t shoot tomorrow, I won’t get the filmed edited in time.
‘And the airline won’t reschedule the flights a second time.’
‘Where are you off to again?’
‘Barcelona.’
‘Home of the erotic museum.’
‘Darling, I think most European cities can claim that exact fame.’
‘Yes, but not many have theirs on the main tourist drag.’ True.Museu Eròtic de Barcelonais smack-bang in the middle ofLa Rambla,often complete with a Marilyn Monroe lookalike blowing kisses from the balcony to tempt people in. ‘And speaking of drag...’ Paisley raises her glass, toasting someone on the other side of the room.
‘Is that.. . Stephen?’
Stephen recently starred in a solo shoot, but the buff yet shy blond from the studio and the glamorously fierce-looking redhead at the other side of the room are the same person, but with two looks a million miles apart.
