Chapter 165: A Smile
Hailey
I’ve been at the studio since sunrise, my breakfast consisting of a single granola bar and two-and-a-half cappuccinos.
The camera feels good in my hands. Today’s shoot is styled city-cool and I’m aiming for kinetic: models walking, talking, hair moving, uncontrolled laughter. The premise is that beauty is found in motion. It’s a little on the nose, sure, but the energy is welcome after weeks of glossy, frozen perfection.
Tammy’s perched on a stepladder, calling out queues to the models. "Wait, yes, Lachlan, do that again—like you just told a bad joke!" She poses with her hand on her chest, feigning outrage. "Perfect. Hailey, did you get that?"
I snap, snap, snap through the laughter, and the preview on my digital monitor practically throbs with light.
"You’re killing it," Tammy sings, blowing me a kiss as she shimmies down. "Marcus is going to wet himself."
At the mention of his name, I instinctively glance at the row of glass-walled offices above the main shooting floor. He’s there, outlined against the city, talking with someone in a sharp suit, his entire body language humming with Yes, I Own This. He laughs at something, tipping his head back just a touch too far, like he’s not afraid to show his throat.
Weirdly, he’s been in a disturbingly good mood all morning. Not the menacing, coiled-predator kind of "good," but actual, almost-human cheer. He even offered a "Nice shot, Jameson" when he passed through earlier, which is not only rare, it’s completely unheard of for Marcus.
I’m not the only one who notices. Even the crew is speculating. If the hair girls are to be believed, Marcus greeted them this morning "like he was starring in an Apple commercial."
Perplexing.
Lachlan, the baby-faced model with cheekbones sharp enough to slice salami, drifts over. "Hey. If you want the action shot, you’re going to have to get my right side. My left eye looks lazy when I laugh."