I was in the midst of clicking through some of the digital shots I’d taken when I sensed a commotion behind me.
Nothing big, just some gossiping and giggles—but enough that I could hear it over the music. Break was just about over, but though the crew had started meandering back to set, my models seemed to have lost track of time. Which happened. No big deal. I’d go wrangle them.
But as I turned the corner around the wardrobe rack, I saw exactly what was causing the delay on my shoot.
Ford Malone. Eyes twinkling, dimples dimpling, his shirt sleeves rolled up to just exactly the right spot where his muscular forearms were gorgeously on display. Damn him.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. The man loved models, after all.
And they loved him.
It was obvious he was flirting up a storm with all of my talent. And my hair and makeup techs. And my food fluffer. Clearly everyone was so drawn to his charisma, they’d completely forgotten they were supposed to beat work. I’d never seen so many batting eyelashes.
I wasn’t surprised, but Iwasannoyed. Not at my people. At Ford. Shoots like this were my sanctuary—the one place I should have been safe from my obsession with him. Not today.
“I need everyone back to set now,” I said, after clearing my throat loudly.
Ford lifted a hand in greeting, but I ignored it and turned to Katya, who was still staring at him with longing in her big blue eyes. Then he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and I felt my stomach clench.
“Katya! Now,” I barked, making her jump a little. Then I turned my gaze to Ford, glaring at him. “I don’t recall inviting you here.”
Turning on my heel to go, I caught him smirking at my rebuke. God, he was infuriating. I wondered how he’d even found out where I was shooting today.
I took a few more pictures, but as much as I tried to get back in the groove, I soon had to admit that my mojo was gone. Things were feeling a bit too forced, the talent was acting less natural, and it seemed like the whole vibe had shifted. Probably due to that smoldering-hot faux-boyfriend of mine, watching intently from the side. Thankfully, I already had what I needed.
“We’re done,” I told Katya, releasing her. “Great work.” Then I called wrap for everyone else and thanked them profusely for their time and energy, like I always did.
As the women disappeared to change and get on their way, I started packing up my equipment, purposefully ignoring Ford. But of course he strolled right over to me, all cocky-like.
“What the hell are you even doing here?” I snapped. I had the right. It was my work place, after all. And he hadn’t told me he was coming, nor had I invited him.
If my attitude bothered Ford, he didn’t show it. Instead, he just grinned at me. That stupid, handsome, perfect grin that made me forget what I was even pissed about to begin with.
“I came to take you to dinner,” he said. “Please tell me you’re free.”
He had always been charming, but I’d rarely had that charm directed so completely at me and me alone. It was unnerving. I couldn’t resist it.
Even knowing full well that this was all pretend, that he never would have stopped by out of the blue if we weren’t involved in these fake dating shenanigans. But who cared what the reason was? He was here, and he wanted to take me out.
“I’m not dressed for dinner,” I said, gesturing at my ripped-knee jeans and combat boots.
“Then we’ll make a quick stop at your place. I’ll walk Munch while you get ready,” Ford said, taking my hand. “Say yes.”
Sparks spread up my arm instantly, and I wondered if he could feel my pulse racing.
Trying to act nonchalant, and fighting off the warm fuzzies that I got whenever Ford used his nickname for my dog, I said, “Yeah, I guess I could make it work. But look, you really can’t be flirting with other people if we’re going to sell this. You had those models eating out of your hand, and half my crew to boot. Next time, try to act like you’re not interested.”
His smile grew—and this time my knees really did go weak. And other parts of me seemed to be waking up. I flushed as I remembered what I’d done, alone in my bedroom, the extended fantasy I’d played out about our last interaction.
“See? I knew you were gonna be my girlfriend,” he said.
God help me.
Emzee
Chapter 7
One thing I’d been groomed for from a very young age was how to be a good dinner party guest. Which, it turned out, was really going to save my bacon—because as it happened, I’d need every ounce of poise and manners and all those lists of innocuous discussion topics at my disposal to get through my first Official Girlfriend Event: dinner with the Malones.
