Page 57 of Strut

I loved that he wanted to take care of me, but I’d been looking after myself in this crazy city for a year. I didn’t need his mothering even if it was kind of cute.

It had been another great week together and I was pinching myself. I’d all but moved into Hunter’s and it was gonna be hell shifting everything back to the model apartment if it came to that. Not that I thought it would. With Hunter’s lease extension confirmed, I couldn’t be happier. So far, so good. Those words bouncing on the end of my tongue were getting harder to hold back.

Hunter had kept me busy all week, in and out of bed, to keep my mind off the re-shoot, or so he’d said. On the weekend, we’d wandered The Met Cloisters and the Tenement Museum, and I’d had my usual bar shift Saturday night. On Sunday, he’d let me sleep late and then surprised me with brunch in bed.

The rest of the week had been busy with work. I’d checked in with Tim, disappointed to find he’d met up again with Miles, but since he sounded a lot brighter, I’d kept my mouth shut. I’d had a small editorial shoot, a runway event, and a ton of castings, but I’d managed to surprise Hunter with a Tuesday night candlelit carpet picnic on his lounge floor. We’d talked until midnight, but I still couldn’t get the words out to tell him what I was feeling. Would he run? God, I didn’t think so, but that didn’t stop me panicking whenever I thought about it.

The subway tunnel blurred out the window of the train as I thought, not for the first time, about the photos Hunter had taken of me. About how they’d exposed the very things I’d been trying to hide, even from myself.

I’d chewed over the image for hours, wondering if Hunter had recognised in the photo what I’d been so careful to try and hide? If he did, he never said. But Ihadn’tmissed what the image said about the man who’d taken it, and keeping a lid on that hope was taking all my strength.

The raw image of me sprawled on Hunter’s bed had a tender quality, an intimate touch. As if Hunter was spreading me like hot butter on his life before he took a bite, savouring the taste. Making it last. Like maybe he wanted me, really wanted me, like forever wanted me.

Like maybe, he loved me back. Like maybe I didn’t have to be so worried about telling him how I felt.

It was in every caress of his camera.

I just didn’t know ifheknew it.

I almost missed my stop, I was so caught up in the idea, but I came to my senses just in time to elbow my way to the doors just before they closed. Safe on the platform, I kicked myself for losing focus, and with my model bag in hand, I headed up the crowded stairwell thick with graffiti and popped out into sunshine and traffic. A quick check of my phone and I turned left for Darcy’s studio, putting in a quick call to Tim as I walked.

* * *

Security checked me in and I hit the stairwell for the couple of flights up to Darcy’s studio. There was no one at the front desk when I rang the bell, but a voice from the back called me to go through. I carried my bag down the wide short hall whose walls were covered with beautiful shots of famous models and magazine covers. It was a timely reminder of Darcy’s prestige in the industry and how damn lucky I was to get the opportunity to have him shoot me.

“Come in, come in.” Darcy waved me through the door and into a bright and spacious white-walled studio, one end of which was set up with racks of overhead lights, various tripods, umbrellas, polyboards, a chaise lounge, a Shaker-style chair, and a black velvet backdrop hung over a tall rack just off to the side. At the other end sat a desk covered in papers and laptops, a shelf full of cameras, various office cabinetry, a selection of furniture, rolls of flooring, stacks of backdrop options, bolts of material, and a wealth of other props.

Darcy was dressed in a bright red loose shirt over dark jeans, a great look on his towering muscular frame. His long chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he looked me over with that piercing hazel gaze and smiled. “Sorry about the lack of welcome out front. My receptionist finishes lunchtime on Friday, and I’ve given Gary the day off since we’re shooting a cover forInternational Fashion Quarterlyat Bow Bridge on Sunday. So, it’s just you and me. But I’m not expecting we’ll need too long, so I figured we could use this smaller studio and do without the extra help.”

So, it was just the two of us?Fuck.

He studied me for a moment, then added, “You should come watch on Sunday if you’ve got nothing better to do. We’re starting at one. I’m shooting Franco and Lucinda, amongst others.”

Two of the biggest names in the modelling world, andIFQwas one of the biggest fashion mags. In spite of Darcy, it could be interesting to watch. “Okay, I might just do that.”

He stared at me. “Good. Now, there’s a small makeup and changing area over there.” He waved a hand to a partly screened corner of the room. “You can do your own, right?”

I nodded.

“Great. Keep your makeup and hair clean and simple. Just smooth the tone. Ten minutes, no more. When you’re ready, we’ll start with the white T-shirt, black jeans, long black coat, and engineer boots. I dressed Ray the same this morning to get a good comparison.”

Oh.“So, Ray’s done his second shoot already?”

Darcy nodded. “It went very well. Let’s see what we can do to level the field.”

I took a breath and stamped down my nerves. “Bathroom?”

Darcy waved toward the door. “Just up the hall to the left.”

I followed his direction and found a small bathroom where I sat for a minute, more to think than anything else. So, Gary wasn’t here. Darcy’s receptionist wasn’t here. No stylists. Just Darcy and me. It was kind of low-key, but then Ray had already completed his, so I wasn’t sure why I was worried. Plus, I wasn’t some kid. Darcy might be a bit of a creep, but I’d fronted a fair few of those in my time in New York. It came with the territory.

Fuck it.This was my big break. I had this.

When I walked back into the studio, Darcy was scrolling through his laptop. He never even glanced up as I passed by on my way to the change area. I rounded the screen to find a makeup desk, a large full-length mirror, a rack of clothes, and my first look laid out on a blue couch. Behind the couch, a bed pressed up against the wall with an antique chest of drawers beside it, more backdrops, and other props strewn over top.

I took the full ten minutes to get my face and hair looking good, then stripped naked and checked myself out in the mirror front and back, making sure my skin passed camera muster everywhere it mattered with no stray bruises from a certain someone’s hands or mouth. Finally, I dressed like I did every fucking day of my life and headed out into the studio proper.

Darcy shot me in several different sets of clothes, from shorts to swimsuits, to lounging wear, to a layered copper evening shirt over black satin slacks. And to finish, he did a line of closeups and headshots, some including product placement approximating the campaign.

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