by Joanna Sims
“I needed to get a jump on the day.” He gazed at her bare arms with a frown. “Do you have sunscreen on? It doesn’t look like you spend much time out in the sun.”
Jordan glanced at her arms with a laugh. “This skin doesn’t usually see much daylight, I’ve gotta admit. But I put sunscreen on. I just couldn’t reach my back.”
Ian held out his hand. “Here, let me have it and I’ll get your back for you. I don’t want you burned for the shoot.”
She handed him the coconut-scented lotion and turned away from him.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically as his hands glided across her skin. “I’m sweaty from my run.”
“That’s okay.” She sighed as he began to rub the lotion onto her shoulders with his strong fingers. She actually liked the natural masculine scent of his body as it mingled with the fragrance of coconut. Even without his cologne, even with sweat clinging to his warm skin, Ian smelled good. She enjoyed the feel of his fingers as they glided across her back. It made her wonder what it would feel like to have him touch her in slightly more private places. But Ian didn’t linger on the task, and when he was finished, he quickly stepped away from her. He hadn’t turned the event into a sexual innuendo, and yet the brief encounter had felt intimate.
“Thank you,” Jordan said as she watched him wipe the residual lotion onto his torso.
“Not a problem.” He walked over to the umbrella attached to her lounge chair and opened it. “We have to protect that beautiful skin of yours.”
Ian slipped his tank top off his shoulder, shook it out and then slipped it on over his head.
“We’re meeting in the hotel conference room today at noon,” he told her. “The client will bring the merchandise, and then we’ll get started.”
Jordan’s stomach lurched at the thought of actually having to model in front of a crowd. “Did it ever occur to you that you made a mistake bringing me here? What if I can’t do this?”
“You can do it.”
“How can you be so sure about that? You had to clear the studio just to get a good shot of me the other day. We aren’t going to be alone this time.”
“No,” Ian agreed. “We’re not. So you’re going to have to block everyone out, Jordan.”
“How do you propose I do that?” Her nerves made the question sound snappier than she had intended.
“You focus on me,” he said in a calm, reassuring voice. “When you’re in front of my camera, I should be your whole world. Remember that and you’ll be fine,” Ian declared confidently. “Listen. I’ve got to get going. Quit stressing about the shoot today. I’ve got your back.”
“Okay.” Jordan nodded. There was an assurance in his voice that she wanted to believe.
“I’ll see you at the meeting...twelve sharp,” he called over his shoulder as he headed back to the hotel.
Jordan sketched on the beach until the sun started to feel too hot. She packed up her stuff and then headed to the outdoor café to grab some breakfast. Then she went back to the room to get cleaned up for the meeting. Her roommate had arrived and was coming out of the bathroom when Jordan walked through the door.
“Hi, there. I was wondering when you were going to show up.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Ivory Wallace.”
Jordan smiled at her. The model was six feet tall, rail thin, with milk-chocolate skin; she wore her inky-black curls in a freestyle afro. She had a toothy white smile and spoke with a heavy British accent.
“Jordan.”
“Pleased to meet’cha. Where’s home base for you?”
“San Diego. California.”
“That’s lucky. I’d like a nice, warm place to live,” Ivory said as she flipped on an electric razor to dry shave her legs. “I live in Boston. Followed my boyfriend there. I can’t stand it, though. Wicked cold in the winter.”
“My brother and his wife live in Boston.”
“It’s nice if you don’t mind freezing your butt off part of the year, I suppose. Not my cup of tea.” Ivory dropped the razor on the dresser, then fished in her oversize Gucci bag and pulled out a bottle of lotion. “Did you arrive last night?”
“I flew in with Ian.”
Ivory looked up from the task of putting lotion on her legs. “You’re joking, of course.”
Jordan shook her head. “No. We flew in yesterday. Why?”
“Ian never lets the models fly with him.” Ivory snapped the lid on her lotion bottle and tossed it into the bag. “I wouldn’t go spreading that around, love. Jealousy is an ugly emotion.”
Jordan’s brow crinkled as she thought about what Ivory had just told her. It had never once occurred to her that Ian flying her to Curaçao on his jet was anything out of character for him. It made her wonder why he’d bent the rule for her.
“Thank God I got you as a roommate instead of one of the other two booked for this job. Total mean girls. You seem like a decent sort. Normal.” Ivory leaned forward and checked her makeup in the mirror.
“How long have you been modeling?” Jordan asked as she riffled through her suitcase to find something suitable to wear for the meeting.
“For about five years now. It pays my tuition and keeps the lights on.” Ivory sprayed her wrists with a vanilla-scented perfume. “God knows I can’t count on my boyfriend to pay his share, the lazy baggage.”
“Why don’t you dump him, then?” Jordan asked.
“Now why would I go and do that?” Ivory slipped on a pair of sandals that complimented her Bohemian style maxidress. “He’s a fantastic cook and he’s great in bed.” She slid on some chunky wooden bangles, then checked out her reflection before she turned to Jordan with her hands on her hips. “So. Are we going to this sodding meeting or what?”
After Jordan changed her clothes and freshened up, they headed downstairs. The crew that Ian had assembled was small but efficient; they were his personal team and they all knew how he liked his shoots managed. She recognized Violet Rios and one of models from his studio, but the rest were unfamiliar faces. Clint, Ian’s assistant, was always strategically situated directly to his right.
During the meeting, Ian was focused, professional and direct. He laid out the plan for the shoot that would unfold over the next couple days. The Ian from the night before, the one who had held her in his arms and looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world, had disappeared.
Near the end of the meeting, the client arrived. Mrs. Lucca Vanderhoff, a young widow at forty-two, looked like a Brazilian version of Marilyn Monroe with her curvaceous figure, ruby-red lips, bronzed skin and long sable hair.
“Sweetness!” Lucca swept into the room, followed by a man who looked like a sumo wrestler squeezed into a navy blue pin-striped suit. “I’m so happy to see you!”
She air-kissed Ian on both sides of his face before he introduced her to everyone assembled.
“For Elite Jewelers this year, it’s all about our fancy diamonds set in platinum.” Lucca addressed the group enthusiastically. “We have the best selection of colored diamonds in the Caribbean and we have loyal customers from all over the world who depend on the quality of our diamonds and the craftsmanship of our custom designs. It is very important to me that this campaign is a reflection of our reputation and the Elite brand.”
During her speech, Lucca stopped in front of Jordan. “Ian. I really like this new girl. With those eyes, I want her in the blue diamonds. But that hair is not for the Elite customer. You will be changing it, won’t you?”
Jordan immediately bristled at the thought of this stranger demanding that she change her hair. Her hair!
Ian addressed Brando, his lead hairstylist. “Can you fix it?”
The man put his thumbs together and visually framed in her face with his hands. “I can fix anything, honey.”
The meeting was adjourned and th
e crew quickly dispersed to get prepared for the first shoot. Jordan hung back and waited impatiently for several minutes while Lucca yapped about her new location.
“Excuse me.” Jordan tried to interrupt the conversation as politely as she could. “Ian, I really need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “It really can’t.”
“She’s feisty.” Lucca smiled at her. “I like that.... Sweetness?” She turned back to Ian and again air-kissed his cheeks. “Take care of your girl. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”
When Lucca was out of earshot, Jordan asked in a harsh whisper, “What was that? Don’t you think you should consult with me about changing something that happens to be attached to my head?”
“No.”
“No?” Her voice cracked on the question.
“No,” Ian repeated impatiently. “The client wants it changed, so we change it. That’s how this business works.”
“But that’s not how I work,” Jordan said. “I don’t want to change my hair, Ian. I have it this way because I like it this way.”
He breathed in quickly and then blew out his breath with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t really care whether or not you want to change your hair, Jordan. The only thing I care about right now is getting the shot and making this client happy.”
Something in his tone made Jordan pause. She had known him for only a short time, but she could tell that something just wasn’t right with him. On closer inspection, she saw that he appeared to be fatigued. Tense. Agitated. In fact, now that she looked back on the meeting, she realized that he had been squinting and rubbing his eyes the entire time.
Jordan forced herself to measure her words instead of just blurting out the first thing that popped into her brain. She felt tuned in to Ian’s frequency in a way she had never felt with anyone other than her twin, and her gut was telling her that she needed to calm down and reconsider the situation. Honestly...did she really care about her hair, or was she just ticked off because she didn’t like anyone dictating to her?
“All right,” she said in resignation. “Have at it.”
She could tell by Ian’s expression that he was surprised she had given in so easily; he had obviously been bracing for a fight. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time this afternoon.
“Jordan.” The intimate quality in his voice as he said her name struck a chord with her. “Your face and your eyes are the main event here, okay? It’s not going to matter one way or the other what we do with your hair.”
“If you say so,” she said grudgingly.
His expression was serious as he asked, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Jordan looked up into his face. “Actually, I do.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Because I wouldn’t let anyone touch your hair if I thought they were going to screw it up.”
“All right.” She nodded. After a short lull, she asked quietly, “Are you okay? You seem a little off to me.”
“I’m fine. When I’m on a shoot, I’m just really focused on the task at hand. So don’t take offense, all right?”
“Okay. I won’t,” Jordan said. One of the assistants poked her head in the door and waved at her. “It looks like they’re ready for me.”
“I’ll see you on set.” Ian slipped on his sunglasses. “And don’t worry. You’re in good hands with Brando.”
* * *
“Embrace it and make it your own, honey.” This was what Brando Kid, hairstylist and self-proclaimed diva, said to her as he finished precision-cutting her bangs.
Jordan leaned forward and studied her reflection. She now had a deep auburn pixie cut reminiscent of Twiggy in the 1960s. She had seen the look before on models featured in high-fashion magazines, but had never imagined having this type of cut herself. She reached up and touched her hair. “Uh...wow. That’s crazy short.”
“It’s flawless.” Brando pursed his lips as he smoothed his pink-and-purple plaid silk shirt down over his bulky frame. “And don’t get it twisted, okay? Let’s not forget all that nastiness you had going on up in here.” He swirled his finger over her head. “I had to strip you all the way down and then color you all the way back up. Girl...if it weren’t for my God-given talent you could’ve ended up as bald as a baby’s behind.”
Ivory walked through the door of the room Ian had rented to prep the models and stopped behind Jordan’s chair. She leaned over so Jordan could see her reflection next to her own.
“It’s brilliant. You look like a proper model now.”
“Amen and hallelujah.” Brando snapped his fingers before he went back to cleaning his scissors.
Jordan shook her head slightly and ran her hand over her shorn hair. Her eyes looked huge compared to the rest of her features now. She looked weird. Almost alienlike.
“I suppose,” she said to Ivory skeptically. “I wonder if redheads have more fun.”
Ivory gave her a broad smile and put her hands on Jordan’s shoulders. “Well, I hope for your sake that it’s true. Ian’s in rare form today—just a friendly warning.”
Jordan didn’t have much time to think about Ian’s bad mood. She was herded from Brando’s chair to the next “phase” of her preparation. By the time she landed in wardrobe she had been tugged on, poked, prodded and pulled to the point that she thought she might just stand in the middle of the room and scream her fool head off. She was not a girlie girl like her sister, always in the mood for a mani-pedi; the last thing Jordan wanted was to have a bunch of annoying strangers fuss over her and primp her as if she was a pampered poodle on Rodeo Drive. Wardrobe dressed her in an overpriced designer one-piece bathing suit and she was then ushered out to the set, feeling more ridiculous and conspicuous than she ever had in her life.
Jordan walked out to the pool and felt her hollow stomach crumple inward. A large crowd of onlookers had gathered at the edge, and there were several hotel patrons watching the spectacle of the photo shoot from their balconies. She forced herself to lift her chin and square her shoulders in an attempt to hide her nerves. Her eyes swept the scene in front of her and located Ian. The moment she saw him, she felt a rush of relief. He was the safety float to which she would cling in order to keep herself from mentally drowning in fear.
When he spotted her, he waved her over to him.
“The hair works,” he said. She could tell by the tension in his mouth and clipped way he was speaking that his mood had only deteriorated since the meeting.
Jordan self-consciously reached up and touched the hair on the back of her head. Before she could respond, Lucca and her sumo wrestler appeared with the briefcase.
“Open the case,” the woman said to her companion as she inspected Jordan. “Delish!” she exclaimed with a smile. “The hair is a million times better. And now you have two eyebrows instead of one giant caterpillar crawling across your forehead!”
The sumo wrestler opened the briefcase and Jordan was immediately drawn to the one-of-a-kind, custom-crafted, diamond-encrusted jewelry held within. Large, heavy, exquisite pieces sparkled in the Caribbean sun; they had to be worth a fortune. Even though she was a tomboy to the core, when it came to jewelry, she was 100 percent female.
Lucca selected a two-carat, cushion-cut blue diamond surrounded by brilliant-cut white diamonds set in scrolled platinum. With a smile, she slipped the ring onto Jordan’s finger. The shank was thick, but Jordan found that the weighty blue gem fit her as if it had been made with her in mind.
“A perfect fit, yes?” Lucca asked.
“Yes,” Jordan responded, but didn’t take her eyes off the piece. “This has to be the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. How much would something like this set me back?”
“This is a one-of-a-kind custom piece and it is a bargain at seventy-fiv
e thousand dollars.”
Jordan laughed in disbelief. “Uh...wow! That’s crazy.”
Lucca handed her a pair of matching earrings and said in a serious tone, “Not crazy if a man has the good sense to spoil the woman he loves.”
Jordan smiled at the ring on her finger. “Well, then I obviously need to raise my standards, because I feel spoiled if someone takes me to the Old Spaghetti Factory for dinner.”
“A woman should never allow herself to be spoiled so easily,” the Brazilian replied with a cluck of her tongue.
Jordan raised her eyebrows. “Okay, you may have a point...but have you tasted their Garlic Mizithra? That cheese is to die for.”
“No.” She wrinkled her nose as if she had just smelled something bad.
“Well, let me just tell you, it’s incredible. Pasta covered with Mizithra cheese, browned butter, garlic and sautéed mushrooms. If you ever find yourself in an Old Spaghetti Factory, you’ve gotta try it—I promise you it’s worth the extra time on the treadmill.”
Impatient to get started, Ian interrupted the conversation. “Are we gossiping or shooting?”
Lucca smiled up at Jordan as if they were confidantes. “Men. So easily frustrated.”
Several people assisted Jordan into the pool so the top half of her body remained dry. Her hair and makeup were touched up. They took a couple test shots to check the lighting and then Ian was kneeling in front of her by the edge of the pool.
“Remember to focus on me and forget about everything else. Keep your face soft and the emotion in your eyes. You’ll be fine.”
It was obvious to her that she needed to play out a fantasy in her head in order to give him the emotion he wanted. So she decided to imagine that Ian was the man who had given her this ring, because that was a fantasy she could believe in. Seeing him today only confirmed her feelings from the night before—she loved him. She was in love with him. And as Ian picked up his camera and she trained her eyes on him, Jordan was surprised to discover that her nerves had melted away. This time it was easy to drown out the movement and the noise around her and focus all her attention, all her energy, on him. She did her best to emote with her eyes, and all she could do was hope that, when all was said and done, she wouldn’t end up looking nauseous or nuts.