Page 434 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I felt more like myself too, which made the shoot so much less stressful than it felt a mere fifteen minutes ago. Vincent continued giving us directions, and I pretended to be at ease as Chadwick wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me in close.
The more times the camera flashed, the more comfortable I became. Soon I was taking my own creative liberties as Vincent encouraged us to have fun and experiment. I plucked a Christmas ornament off the tree and dangled it in front of Chadwick’s face. He snatched it out of my hand and held it up over my head, just out of reach. As I laughed and tried to reach for it the camera clicked and flashed, and Vincent praised us.
Alana and Ivana watched the whole thing with envy burning in their blue gazes.
“I think we have more than enough to choose from here,” Vincent announced. “Wardrobe change, people. Let’s move.”
Chadwick and I were broken up and whisked away to change into our costumes. We returned less at ease. He still looked good in his Naughty Santa velvet suit, but I felt like a mall elf in my little costume with the red and white striped leggings, the red tutu, and the sparkly gold shirt.
“Loosen up,” Vincent barked at us. “You both look like you have sticks up your butts. Chadwick, lose the tension in your shoulders. And Ms. Miller, you’re not making me believe that you’re an elf.”
“Because I’m not an elf,” I mumbled.
“Yes you are,” Vincent insisted. “You are both the embodiment of Christmas at Bamford’s. You have to capture the spirit and the magic of the season. You have to win over your customers who might be looking to shop elsewhere. Now take a breath, shake it off, and do better.”
“Ouch,” Chadwick muttered under his breath.
I gave him a pat on the chest with the back of my hand. “I guess you’re not the golden child in Vincent’s eyes. It’s kind of refreshing.”
He chuckled. “I never should have let you change clothes.”
“No takesies backsies.”
The camera continued flashing, and as the minutes passed, I became more comfortable. We made it through the shoot in one piece and tucked ourselves in close to the Christmas tree as Vincent’s crew came in and started taking down all the set equipment and lugged it out into the hall and the elevator.
While we waited, my phone chirped. I’d tucked it in the back of my tutu and pulled it out of the waistband to find a text message lighting up the screen from a phone number that wasn’t in my contacts.
I frowned.
“Something wrong?” Chadwick asked as he hovered over my right shoulder.
“I don’t think so.” I opened the text and read the message. The further I read, the more creased my forehead became with confusion.
Hey there Tinsely, my name is Armie Bishop. My father is good friends with Alastair, who passed your number along to me the other night when I expressed interest in getting to know you. Let me take you out for dinner on Friday night. 7pm? I’ll send a car for you. Looking forward to hearing back, take care.
“Armie Bishop,” I wondered aloud. Who was Armie Bishop?
Chadwick snorted. “You’ve got a real Casanova on your hands, huh?”
“A real Casanova wouldn’t send an out of the blue text message telling me he’s taking me out for dinner. He’d call and ask, not tell.” My thumbs flew over my keyboard, and I read aloud as I typed out the message. “Hello Armie, I think I should be flattered. Unfortunately, I must decline. I have too much on my plate right now to date. Thank you for understanding and Merry Christmas.”
Chadwick grinned like a twelve-year-old winning his first football game with his crush in the stands. “Well said. What do you say we go wash this makeup off?”
CHAPTER 12
CHADWICK
In the employee bathroom, I watched Tinsely open a small pouch bag and withdraw several cotton pads and a small bottle of clear liquid. She squirted it onto one of the round pads and handed it to me, clearly expecting me to know what to do with it.
She did the same to a second pad before wiping it over her eyes and rubbing away makeup that continued to darken and smudge on her skin the more she wiped. I followed suit, dragging makeup off my cheeks and using up almost two pads to get the job done while Tinsely had to use several more. Her lipstick smeared all over the place, but she cleaned it up promptly before using a hot face cloth to wipe the remainder away.
She met my eye in the mirror and arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.”
She handed me an extra face cloth. I soaked it in hot water, wrung it out, and wiped it over my face. It felt like a relief to wash all that shit off my skin. I scratched at my stubble as my face dried. Meanwhile, Tinsely pumped lotion onto her fingers, dabbed it on her cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin, and massaged it into her skin with her eyes closed.
Her face immediately took on a dewy luster and a smile curled her lips as tension left her shoulders.
