Page 20 of Praise Me: Lumberjack
CHAPTER 9
Jenna
Iforgot this photo shoot was for bathing suits.
To be fair, they’re vintage-style with a twist and cover a lot more skin than some I’ve worn in the past. Still. When I walk onto set in a yellow-one piece that is demure in the front and a high-cut thong in back, Penn pushes off the tree he’s been leaning against, a thunderstorm rolling in across his features.
Yup. After an hour in the makeup trailer, I look a lot different than the Jenna who dropped Erin off at school to the deafening squeal of hundreds of kids. Now, my hair is teased into a windblown style, I’m sporting a smoky, purple cat eye and my body has been buffed to a shine. Oh, and I’m wearing white cowboy boots for some strange reason.
“Well halleluiah. Finally. The talent has arrived,” crows my manager…sarcastically? He’s had an irritated glint in his eye since I missed my call time and arrived hand-in-hand with Penn. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I murmur, planting my hands on the hood of the silver Mustang we’re using as a prop. “Can you give me some context?”
The photographer responds, instead of my manager. A different man from yesterday, this one sent fromVogue. “The idea behind the editorial is you’re a damsel in distress who took a wrong turn on the way to the beach and ended up with a broken-down car in the forest. We’ll add smoke coming from under the hood in post.”
“Got it.”
I take a deep breath through my nose and begin to emote, looking stunned, then frustrated. Scared by my unfamiliar surroundings. After I’ve run the gamut of emotions, I edge into model territory, leaving my expression rather bland, but striking interesting poses, hips angled, eyes distant, wrist cocked. Move. Shift. Angle. Repeat.
“Excellent, Jenna,” praises the photographer.
I know better than to look at Penn while I lay face down on the hood, pressing my cheek to the cool steel, my ass perked up in a teasing pose, but I do. I look at him and witness the lust pouring off his tensed frame. My whole sex contracts like it’s being squeezed in a fist. His fist.
“Wow. Perfect. You’re giving everything to the camera today, doll. Loving it,” the photographer says, lowering his camera. “I’ve gotten everything we need in the yellow suit. We’re ready for the next one.”
“Great,” I say, sliding off the car and landing on my feet.
The faster this photo shoot is over, the faster I can be alone with Penn.
That’s all I want.
“Actually, we’re thinking of going nude for the next series of shots,” Dustin drawls. As if anticipating my protest, he holds up a hand. “They’re going to be tasteful, not gratuitous.”
With a growing lump in my throat, I scan the immediate distance, counting at least fifteen men. “I’m not posing naked.”
“Oh really?” My manager strikes a domineering stance. “Is there any reason you don’t want to capitalize on your behavior last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he stresses, holding up his phone to present what looks like tabloid photos, holding it up for the whole crew to see, including Penn. “You already bucked your good girl image last night by engaging in public foreplay with a lumberjack many,manyyears your senior, before he carried you out of the bar like luggage. It’s all over the internet.”
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “I’d be seen with him any night of the week.”
“Isn’t that romantic?” Dustin says, followed by an eyeroll. “Lose the suit, Jenna.”
I shake my head. “I’ll wear another bathing suit, but I’m not going naked.”
“Let’s go, Jenna. PutHey Bettyfirmly in the rearview and pose with your tits out.”
One second, my manager is standing on his feet, the next he’s flat on his back, clutching a bloody nose and wailing like a baby.
“You had that coming for a damn long while,” Penn says, standing over him with a face teeming with fury. “The next one will knock you old cold, motherfucker.” Penn rests his king-sized boot on the man’s chest. “You don’t talk to her like that ever again. Is that fucking clear? If she says no, the answer is hell no.”
“All right!” my manager screeches, holding up his bloody hands. “Fine!”
Penn turns to the set, eyeballing everyone in attendance. “There’s no need for all of you idiots to be standing there looking at my girlfriend while she works.” His voice cracks like a whip. “Fuck off and find something else to do.”
“Yes, sir,” a couple of them say, everyone but the lighting guy and a personal assistant to the photographer scattering into the woods and beyond. My manager stays, too, dragging himself to a tree and propping his back against it while he feels for broken bones in his nose.
