Chapter 13
thirteen
Olivia
W e spend Sunday creating a huge hollow ball of mistletoe, talking, cuddling, and definitely making love. It wasn’t just the sex, the physical coming together. In the quiet after moments when we lay wrapped around each other as our breathing eased, I’ve never felt so cherished. When he gently wiped away the evidence of our passion, or we stood together under the multiple sprays of his shower, I found it difficult to believe I could be so cared for.
Heart and soul I fought the end of the weekend and the alarm blasting us into Monday. The sensual cocoon we wrapped around ourselves is ripped open by real life. I don’t want what I’ve discovered the past two days to end. But I know it will. Nothing this good lasts. At least not for me.
I slip from Gabe’s bed and return to the guest room to shower—alone—and dress. At least I won’t be out on the street looking for a job. When I stare at myself in the full length mirror the fear I’ve been able to ignore comes rushing forward. What if I can’t be the model he expects? What if the photographs look like me? The bruise on my cheek is fading quickly but it still shows. I should put on more makeup to try and cover it better..
There’s nothing in my makeup bag other than a nearly dry mascara, a little blush, and a pale, business-like lipstick. I’ve already done all I can. Maybe the photographer can just shoot my other profile.
Today I’ll meet the photographer then be handed over to the designers and their staff for fittings. I know the process, I’d watched it often enough when I worked for Abbot. Thank god I won’t have to listen to her harping over every move I make.
I’m too nervous to eat, so Gabe grabs our mistletoe and twines his fingers through mine. He kisses my cheek. “You look beautiful, Livi.”
“I don’t know if I can do this. Are you sure?”
“As sure as the sun rose this morning. You’ll do fine. Matisse is skilled at bringing out the best in her models.”
I freeze. Does he mean Matisse Monroe? She’s world famous. Does photo shoots for the best fashion magazines. He can’t mean the real Matisse. Can he?
He chuckles and calls for the elevator. “Before you ask, no, there is no way I can afford a photographer as world renowned as Matisse Monroe for a simple catalog shoot. She and Mom met in college and became friends. She’s like my aunt. There wasn’t much open time in her schedule, so we’ve had to rush to get this shoot set up.”
“That’s why we had to create all those spaces on Saturday.”
“Yep.” His phone pings and he releases my hand to check the text. “She’s here. Deep breath, Livi. You’ll do great, my beautiful baby girl.”
I wish I had half the confidence in myself as he has.
The large room is bustling with activity. People are setting up lights and additional backdrops. Gabe and I cross to where a cluster of people are staring down at the camera a petite, elderly woman is holding. One, a young man, obviously an assistant like I was, holds a clipboard with messy papers, topped by an electronic tablet. But unlike how Abbot expected me to behave, he’s an active part of the conversation.
Gabe peeks over the woman’s shoulder. She turns her head with a grin and pats his cheek. That’s Matisse? She’s famous for never stepping in front of the camera, so I’ve never seen her, but the tiny, grandmotherly woman isn’t what I expected.
Gabe gestures me closer. “Olivia Ross, I’d like you to meet Matisse Monroe.”
After we shake, she keeps my hand in hers and tugs me toward one of the tall lights. “Let me look at you,” she says with a smile.
I stand still while she turns my face one way then another, nodding. “Very nice. You won’t need much in the way of makeup other than to cover that bruise.”
“I don’t have any experience with prepping myself for photographs.”
“Don’t worry, hon. This is an easy problem to fix. My stylists will take care of you. They’ll work with the design team to create new looks for each vignette. I’m not sure I agree with Gabe’s only one model concept, but in this case, he is the boss. Oh don’t look so stricken, Olivia. You’re going to do just fine. You’re quite stunning.”
Me? Stunning? In order to keep from expressing my doubts, I move to a more comfortable subject. “Gabe said you’ve known him his entire life.”
“I’m his godmother. I like to think I had some part in helping Gabriel discover his life’s path.” Her eyes narrow as she studies me and I square my shoulders to keep from fidgeting under her scrutiny. Finally she grins. “I do believe he’s on the right track with you, hon. Now, let me introduce you to the team before you get whisked away by the designers for fittings. I’ll take a few test shots today, then tomorrow we’ll start the real fun.”
I’m not sure about the fun part. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep my nerves under control and not end up a quivering mess. It helps having Gabe here smiling encouragement while Matisse directs my movements and discusses shot options with her team. She seemed to sense the moment I relaxed because her smile grows wide. “That’s it, Olivia. Much better.”
I can do this. I can make my teenaged daydreams a reality. I can be a model. Then I rephrase my inner affirmation. No can about it. I am a model.
Once Matisse is satisfied and waves us off, Gabe takes me to the design team. This room is filled with overflowing baskets of fabrics, dress forms in all shapes and sizes, and small risers where models stand for fittings. Where I’m going to be spending the rest of the day.
In one corner there’s a tiny kitchenette with a large, half-filled coffee pot. Gabe notices the direction of my gaze and chuckles. “Need a little more coffee, baby?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Maybe calm my nerves a little.”
We sit at the vintage fifties table and after he hands me coffee in an Angel Night branded mug, he introduces me to his head designer. Once again I hold myself still while someone judges my suitability. Then the man clasps Gabe’s shoulders. “Alterations should be easy. Mostly length since she’s shorter than past models. Otherwise we shouldn’t have any problem being ready with the line up.”
Unless he saw us enter the area, how the designer judged my height is a mystery. I take a bracing sip of coffee. The man is a designer. Of course he knows his designs and how they’ll fit on different bodies. His knowledge and calm exterior ease more of my concerns and I realize I’m excited to get to work. My only concern is that the lingerie won’t look as good on me as Gabe’s hoping.
Disappointing him would be my biggest failure to date.
Much too soon, Gabe leaves me alone with the designers. Once I relax—because it isn’t the easiest thing to expose so much of my body to strangers in lingerie that doesn’t quite fit—I start enjoying myself. By the time we’re on the sixth set, I’ve joined in with the occasional laughter. Being in a work environment where everyone is serious about what they need to do but are still open for jokes and laughter and storytelling is far different from my previous experiences.
Especially the time I spent with the Abbot Agency. As painful as it was—and still is—I’m beginning to be thankful for Gabe’s unwitting part in my losing my job. And accepting this one.
I’ll come up with a good way to thank him this evening.
I’m still pinned together in places when Gabe appears to escort the designer and me back to the studio space. The designer wraps me in a thick, soft robe and Gabe frowns. We follow the man and Gabe leans to whisper to me. “You looked better without the robe.”
“You don’t want me to wander the building half dressed, do you?”
His eyes spark. “It’s going to be difficult enough sharing you in the catalog. I know it’s not just women who…”
“Come over here, Olivia,” Matisse calls and I tug on Gabe’s sleeve until he bends and I can kiss his cheek. A bold move for me in the work setting.
“Enough of that, you two.” Holding her camera in one hand, Matisse crosses her arms and tries to scowl. Unable to hold the expression she laughs. “I just want to take a couple shots. And I have a couple concerns.”
The photographs take two minutes then she pulls Gabe and I to one side while her staff moves equipment and props. She wastes no time in getting to the point. “This giant mistletoe ball of yours. Fabulous idea. However, who is Olivia supposed to kiss? This is a missed opportunity.”
She pats my arm. “After seeing you now, I actually agree with Gabriel that having only one model is the way to go for this catalog. Still, we need something else to fill the space. Especially with the mistletoe.”
I offer what I think is a logical solution. “This is for Christmas, so shouldn’t there be a Santa?”
Matisse snaps her fingers. “Excellent. Gabriel, can we make that happen by tomorrow?”
He remains silent a long moment. “Tomorrow? Probably not. Most agencies need a longer lead time. And I’m not sure how much damage Ms. Abbot’s done to our reputation. That might make finding?—”
“I have an idea,” I say before I think better of it.
Expectant, they both turn to me.
“Umm, I think I can show you better than explain it.” Gabe’s eyes sparkle with promises and I have to force myself to look away. “Be right back.”
I tighten my robe and rush to the storeroom and the stacks of totes. Thankfully I remember which pile the container I want is in. Grabbing what I need I return to Matisse and Gabe. They haven’t moved an inch.
Tucking a furry Santa hat under my arm, I shake out the Santa coat and hold it up against Gabe’s chest. “If there’s no one else available, I think the company owner would make a wonderful Santa substitute.”
He lifts both hands to ward me off. “No. Uh uh. I stay behind the scenes.”
Matisse takes the jacket from me. “Besides, this is rather ugly and wouldn’t fit the aesthetics of the catalogue.”
I catch the eye of the designer and wave him over then point at the jacket. “Can you cut the arms off this?”
“Now?”
I nod. He casts a quick glance at Gabe then pulls a pair of shears from a holster at his belt. The movement is so like a gunfighter in a movie, it makes me giggle. One of his eyebrows arches and he twirls the scissors on his index finger. “How do you want them removed?”
“Hmm. All the way off. Then cut off the buttons, too. So it will look like a vest.”
While he kneels on the floor to complete his task, I wrap my fingers in Gabe’s shirtfront. “You need to take this off.”
In the background, I hear the soft click of Matisse’s camera lens.
“You’re getting bossy here,” he says then mouths ‘baby girl’. Heat pools between my thighs and I catch my lower lip between my teeth. I’ve got to control my libido, there isn’t much fabric between me and a totally embarrassing situation.
His pupils grow large and dark and with a sharp nod, he strips out of his shirt. Avoiding touching his chest and abs, because I want to so badly, I slip the red and white fur hat onto his dark hair.
The designer stands and offers Gabe the altered Santa jacket and holding my gaze, slips it on.
Oh. Dear. God. I’ve died and gone to Santa heaven. The white fur down the opening frames his defined abs to perfection.
Matisse lowers her camera. “You’ve grown up fine, Gabriel. You’ll need different trousers, though. Fairly tight and definitely low slung.”
A ruddy flush moves up his neck and into his cheeks. It’s so endearing that he’s embarrassed. “Matisse, really?”
“Get over yourself, Gabriel. You will do perfectly. No need to go looking for another model. The chemistry between you and Olivia is obvious. The camera will love it. And that will, if I dare say it, make this catalog a success and bring excellent sales to Angel Night.”
He turns his back to us and hunches his shoulders. I’m afraid Matisse pushed too hard, although I like her ideas. Moving to his side, I touch his bare arm. “It’ll be easier for me if you’re my Santa.”
Laughing and shaking his head, he gives in. “Fine. Okay. I’ll help out. This time.” He points at Matisse then jabs his finger toward me. “But don’t think I’ll do this again. Ever.”
Matisse slips the cap on her camera lens. “Oh, I think this one time will be enough.”
The designer advances with pins and scissors, making quick work of altering the new Santa vest. I direct him to the storage area and the rest of the costume. After confirming he has Gabe’s measurements, he rushes off to complete his project.
Left alone in the center of the room, Gabe puts on his shirt and leans close to speak softly. “I’m not sure what you’ve gotten me into here, baby girl. I’m afraid to ask what’s next.”
“Next? Hmm. Next I think I might need to practice later.”
“Practice what?”
“Sitting on Santa’s lap.”