by Miles, Amy
He’s played on that asset for more years than he can count, and today he plans on milking it for all it’s worth.
The sound of a commotion up ahead convinces Slade to head toward the waiting area. When he arrived a little after nine this morning, the room had already been flooded with guys waiting for their time in the spotlight. He found it a bit odd that many of them decided to go shirtless despite the chilly temps outside, but Slade just shrugged it off. Whatever floats their boats.
His intent had been to arrive early, get a prime spot, and be out of here no later than noon. That plan backfired when he bumped into that girl on the street. That put him in a bad mood, and it hasn’t exactly improved any since arriving.
Noon comes and goes. So does two o’clock.
He grits his teeth as he scans the registration table. The line has dwindled slightly, but there must be at least fifty guys still hanging around the waiting room and ten more in line.
Doing a quick head count of the room, Slade realizes only two people have gone back since he left to cool off in the bathroom. Two. That is pathetic.
What is taking so bloody long? He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and groans. It is nearing three o’clock and he has to leave by four to head to work again.
“Hey, I’m standing here.” Slade turns at the indignant cry from behind him as he steps into line to speak with the registration lady.
The boy looks like a slightly older version of Justin Bieber, and not really in a good way either. He’s trying way too hard to pull that off. “Aren’t you a little young for this group?”
The boy puffs up his hairless chest in indignation and Slade laughs. “Put it away, boy. No one wants to see it.”
He turns his back on the kid and taps his foot impatiently as he waits for the guy in front of him to stop chatting up the assistant. She’s not that good-looking.
Her hips are a bit too wide and she’s got this hint of a unibrow going on that makes Slade cringe. How can this woman work in the fashion industry and not know how to use tweezers?
“Next.” The woman sends the guy standing in front of Slade back to the waiting area with a stack of forms to fill out.
“You again?” A slightly bushy eyebrow rises as she looks past Slade at the red-faced boy just beyond. Slade can tell by the set of her lips that she’s not the least bit happy about his presence.
He’s pretty sure this was a rhetorical question as well. The fact that she remembers him from the past two inquires doesn’t bode well. “Yeah, my name is Slade Collins and I registered earlier this morning with you…”
She stares back at him with a blank expression. Way to make an impression, Slade inwardly groans.
He forces himself to smile. “I was wondering if you might be able to bump me up a bit in line. You see, I’ve got to head out for my job soon and—”
“Oh really?” She leans forward and crooks her finger at him to do the same. He leans in and fights back the tears that sting his eyes when he catches a whiff of her pungent perfume. “Do I look daft to you?”
Slade frowns. Oh the many ways he could answer that question! “No. Not at all.”
“Then what idiotic thought process told you that you could waltz over here, cut into my line, and assume I would bow to your every whim?”
His nostrils flare as he feels heat flood his face. He would love nothing more than to lash back at this power-hungry, haughty woman, but she knows she has him exactly where she wants him. Uncomfortable and biting down hard on his tongue. She knows the instant he says a single word in anger that he will get a personal escort out of the building and back onto the street.
Instead, he swallows down his anger and forces a tightlipped smile. “You must really love your job.”
“I will call your name when it is your turn.” She dismisses him with a hand gesture that feels dangerously close to shooing. “Until then, sit down!”
A string of explicatives dashes through Slade’s mind as she looks beyond him. “Next.”
He narrows his eyes as he turns to find the Bieber wannabe grinning from ear to ear. “Wanker,” he mutters, making sure his shoulder connects with the kid’s arm as he shoves past.
Scanning the room for a spare seat, he finally spots one in the very back of the room. All of the cushioned chairs are taken, leaving him to sink down onto a hard foldout chair. He drops his bag beside him and fidgets with his sleeve again. After obsessively rolling and unrolling his sleeves, he decides to put them right back where they started.
“Whatever,” he mutters as he digs deep into his bag and pulls out his earbuds and iPhone. He cranks up the volume and closes his eyes to zone out to Safety Suit and Daughtry for a while.
When someone taps him on the shoulder a while later, Slade jerks upright. He gets tangled in his wires and swears as he yanks out an earbud. Clutching his sore ear, he stares up at the pretty brunette leaning over him. “What did you say?”
She smiles. “I asked if you are Slade Collins?”
“Sure am.” He winds the earbuds around his iPhone and shoves it into an interior pocket of his satchel. Rocking back onto his heels, he gives her a onceover. “You need me for something?”
The girl straightens and jerks her thumb back over her right shoulder. “They’ve been calling you for five minutes.”
“Bollocks.” He stumbles to his feet, tripping over the strap of his satchel. His chair tips over and clatters to the floor behind him as he fights to keep his balance.
“Smooth, mate, real smooth.” A ginger-haired guy with a slightly wonky goatee laughs as he lifts his legs out of the way.
“Oh, piss off.” Slade slings his bag over his shoulder, making sure it slams into the back of the guy’s head before offering the brunette a smile. “After you.”
Her startled expression melts into a knowing grin. “Well, aren’t you a real charmer?”
“I have my moments.” He walks past a tall potted plant and turns the corner to follow behind her.
Her black heels tap against the travertine tile floor as she leads him to a set of nondescript double doors. His gaze travels well below her waistline to admire the curve of her backside in the tight, pencil-style skirt that hugs her hips. She pauses beside the door and when she turns to look at him, he takes his time before lifting his gaze. She smirks, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “I don’t date the help.”
“Who said anything about dating?” He leans against the wall and grins.
Her laugh is low and throaty. It does wild things to his insides and almost makes it possible to shove aside his nerves. Almost. “So what’s the deal with this photo shoot? I go in, take a few pics, and then I get a call, right?”
“It’s not exactly like that.” She pushes open the door and holds it for him. He stares at her for a second longer before stepping through but pauses to look back at her.
“Should I be scared?”
Her glossy red lips curl back into a wide grin as she leans in. “Very.”
Three
Ashlyn pushes an errant lock of hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. Her neck aches and she’s pretty sure her legs lost feeling about an hour ago. The plush upholstered chair she perches on was comfortable for most of the morning, but now that auditions have gone long into the afternoon, she is unable to contain the need to squirm.
The buffet of food in the room next door makes her stomach churn with hunger. Each time one of the camera crew walks by with a plate full of food, she has to remind herself that it would be rude to snatch a chicken leg.
She fans herself with a hand-folded resume from an applicant who had a better chance of being seen on the front of a wanted poster than a book cover. It is hot and stuffy in this room. The heat rising from the photographer’s lamps is outweighing the air being pushed through the room.
She looks longingly at the windows opposite her, wishing there was a way to open them, but she already checked and found them to be sealed tight.
The never-ending line
of men has kept her busy today, but no more so than her friend Sophie, who has been endlessly drilling her about every mortifying detail of her run-in at the coffee shop. The woman truly has a gift for being able to pry without mercy or tact.
Her rapid-fire interrogation hasn’t helped Ashlyn’s headache one bit.
“So let me get this straight… You just let that jerk walk away? No clever comeback? No ‘Hey, buster, you need to freakin’ pay for my dry cleaning bill?’ Nothing?”
“Nope. I just watched him walk off into the morning fog,” Ashlyn groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s well aware of the fact that she’s a walking cliché, but Sophie obviously feels the need to remind her. “It all just happened so fast.”
Sophie snorts and gives Ashlyn a pointed look. “We both know what really happened. You choked.”
Ashlyn tries to deny it, but her words come out in a stuttering mess.
Leaning forward in her chair, Sophie places a hand on Ashlyn’s arm. “You need to start standing up for yourself, Ash. You’re a strong woman.”
“Says you.” Ashlyn’s knees bounce rapidly as she shuffles around a stack of papers that she’s already organized three times in the past half hour. She knows Sophie caught on to her the second time around, but she can’t seem to stop herself from doing it again. “I’m not like you, Soph.”
“You’re right.” She agrees with a curt nod. “You’re better than me. If I’d been there, I’d have run my heel right down that guy’s shin and left a mark for him to remember me by!”
Ashlyn chuckles but cuts off as the throbbing in her head increases. Her headache has officially reached DEFCON 1 status. She overdosed on migraine meds around noon and is seriously contemplating popping a couple more to take off the edge.
“Still hurting?” Sophie draws her hair back from her face to fan her neck. The chestnut curls have mostly fallen out, framing her face and draping over her shoulders in silky waves. Ashlyn has always envied Sophie’s thick hair. Her own strawberry-blond locks are pathetically straight and incapable of doing anything other than lying limp.
“If I had an ice pick I would gladly pluck my own eye out!” Ashlyn groans as she releases her newly stacked papers and clutches the pill bottle.
To swallow or not to swallow? How the heck would Shakespeare answer that question?
As she mulls this over silently, Ashlyn knows this brief moment of concern will not derail her friend from a reprimand. Sophie is the best, especially when you want a bulldog in your corner. When she sees a bone, she will roll heads until she comes up with it.
“Did you sign up for that self-defense class I told you about?” Sophie pulls a file from her purse and begins expertly rounding off a jagged edge of a nail on her right hand.
And there it is. I knew Sophie wouldn’t let me down. Ashlyn rolls her eyes. “Sure, right in between chasing Tamsin out of nightclubs and getting pedicures.”
“Don’t you sass me, missy.” She pokes her nail file at Ashlyn. “I’m just saying you need to start protecting yourself, that’s all. London isn’t like back home. There are loonies wandering these streets.”
Ashlyn laughs and instantly regrets it. She rubs her temples, wishing someone would turn down the lights. “The guy wasn’t trying to attack me, Soph. It was just an accident.”
“How do you know? Huh?” Her older friend leans in close, whispering conspiratorially. “What if he was just trying to feel you up?”
“Okay.” Ashlyn surges to her feet. “On that note, we need to grab some lunch.”
“I’m just saying,” Sophie says as she pulls Ashlyn back. “I’ll go.”
She snatches up her purse and walks around the edge of the table. Before she gets five steps away, she turns back. “You really do look awful, by the way. Maybe you should try to get some rest once all of this is over.”
“Oh gee, thanks for that.” Ashlyn groans as she sinks back into her chair. What she wouldn’t give for some Vicodin and a sleeping mask right now. Preferably in that order.
“Don’t mention it. It’s my job to be honest, remember?”
“There’s a difference between honesty and cruelty.” Ashlyn takes a sip of her water and winces. Lukewarm and disgusting. “You want to know the weirdest part about this morning?”
“What?” Sophie shifts on her high heels and Ashlyn can’t help but wonder what drove her to wear such painful shoes on a day like today.
In the past two years since she met Sophie Turner, Ashlyn has never seen her in anything remotely comfortable. No T-shirt and sweats, no sneakers or a single hair ever out of place. She’s often wondered if Sophie just sleeps in her suits and skirts.
Ashlyn would die if she were forced to dress up every day and totter around on four-inch heels. ‘Course she probably wouldn’t have to worry too long because she’d take one tumble down a set of steps and that would be the end of her.
She releases the pill bottle from her tightened grip and grabs her pencil, tapping it against her growing stack of applicant papers. “That guy from the coffee shop would have made a really great Ender James.”
Sophie snorts as she shakes her head. When Ashlyn doesn’t crack a smile, Sophie’s gaze freezes into disbelief. “Wait a second? Are you being serious? Tell me you’re not.”
“I’m just saying he had the look. We both know Ender James isn’t exactly the boy-next-door type. He has swagger and so did this guy. He even had his eyes, Soph.”
As assistant to the famous author, Tamsin Archer, Ashlyn has been given the task of finding the perfect guy to capture Tamsin’s newest main character: Ender James. A bit rough around the edges and sexy as all get out, the stranger she met this morning fits Ender perfectly.
“So what?” Her friend shrugs. “He was just some prick you bumped into on the street. Forget about him, Ash. He’s long gone and you’ve got a line around the block of guys who want to be on Tamsin’s new book cover.”
“I know.” She groans as Sophie gives her a knowing look and heads toward the door. Crossing her arms on the table, she sinks her head gingerly down onto her arms so she can rest her head. When she closes her eyes, colors burst behind her eyelids and she wearily opens them again, sure she will be sick if she spends any time at all watching that psychedelic kaleidoscope.
The skirted tablecloth feels stiff against her forearms. The temptation to lift the cloth and place her cheek against the cool plastic is almost too good to ignore. Sweat clings to her lower back, making her long-sleeve knit shirt stick to her. It’s a good thing I went with white today, she muses as she tugs the material away.
Glancing at the stack of applicants still waiting to be seen, Ashlyn groans. “This day is never going to end,” she grumbles under her breath as she takes another sip of lukewarm water.
Even after several visits to London, she still can’t quite bring herself to drink the tea. There is just something about it that makes her think of dirty dishwater, so she sticks to warm water with a squeeze of fresh lemon for a bit of flavor.
Her porcelain teacup is rimmed in gold and hand painted with a delicate daisy pattern that reminds her of her mother’s rummage sale set she used for guests while Ashlyn was growing up. The saucer is similarly decorated and feels as fragile as a thin layer of ice on a winter’s pond in her hand.
“You gonna stare at that cup all day?” A fiery redhead with a mass curls bouncing about her face sinks into a chair beside her, blowing out an exhausted breath. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure there are much better things around here to occupy your time.”
Leaning back in her chair, Tamsin Archer waves at the model she just finished shooting with. She sighs. “I’m not sure how many more guys I can feel up before this gets old.”
Ashlyn sets her cup aside and smirks. “Somehow I doubt you’ll ever reach that point.”
The beaded bracelet on Tamsin’s wrist clatters together as she fans herself. A slight sheen of sweat clings to her brow from her time spent under the hot photography lights. Her hunter-green
corset and thick black eyeliner make her hazel eyes pop. Ashlyn casts a glance sideways at Tamsin and not for the first time wishes she could have an ounce of her appeal. The woman just oozes self-confidence.
Most people walking down the street would have a hard time forgetting Tamsin. She is bubbly, full of life, and loves to be the highlight of everyone’s day. Between Sophie and Ashlyn, it’s a fulltime job keeping her on schedule. With book signings, conferences, and photo shoots, Tamsin Archer’s schedule is always packed.
But that’s the way her publisher wants her. When she’s not working, she’s out schmoozing book bloggers and magazine reporters.
Tamsin’s first book, Killian’s Desires, went straight to the bestseller lists two years ago. Her sequel, Liam’s Seduction, followed right in its predecessor’s footsteps. Now, Ashlyn is optimistic for Ender’s Betrayal.
“How many more guys do we have left?” Tamsin asks, twisting the cap off a chilled bottle of water. She leaves a bright-red smudge of lipstick on the rim as she sets it back on the table.
For the first time in nearly five hours, the room is empty apart from a skeleton crew of photographers. It’s nice to finally be able to take a breath, even if Ashlyn’s stomach is too tangled in knots to actually eat from the buffet Sophie provided in the adjacent room.
“A few more hours at least,” Ashlyn mutters wearily, sifting through the pile of remaining headshots. All she wants to do is go back up to her room and pass out. She should never have let Tamsin talk her into doing this photo shoot the day after they arrived in London. Jet lag is weighing heavily on her, and despite the first-class accommodations on the flight over from America, she has yet to adjust to the time change.
Tamsin pushes back to her feet, teetering slightly on her shiny black stilettos. “I suppose I have a tiny bit more drool left, then.”