126
When Amanda and Ericka stepped back into the studio, the chatter of the crew softened. Heads turned briefly before people instinctively straightened, sensing Amanda's presence. She clapped her hands once, her voice carrying its usual cool authority.
"Break's over. Let's reset. Lights, wardrobe—last round."
The hum of activity picked up instantly. Models slipped back onto the set, stylists scurried with garment bags and makeup brushes, the photographer adjusted his lens with a grin. Amanda moved smoothly between stations, her tablet in hand, sharp eyes scanning every detail.
Ericka settled back into her seat at the edge of the room, legs crossed, outwardly the picture of calm.
But her gaze was locked on Amanda. Every movement, every instruction, every subtle adjustment Amanda made drew her in.
She remembered the intensity of the private room only minutes ago, and the afterglow of it colored her every thought.
When Amanda passed by her, Ericka let her fingers brush briefly against Amanda's hand—a fleeting touch no one else would notice. Another time, as Amanda leaned over the monitor, Ericka tilted her head close enough to whisper:
"You're brilliant."
"You look so damn good like this."
"God, you're sexy when you're in charge."
Amanda didn't so much as flinch, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. She carried on, calling adjustments to the crew, but Ericka knew the words had landed.
The final sequence began. Flash after flash lit the backdrop, the models shifting elegantly as Amanda guided them. She was precise, quick, her voice calm but commanding:
"Lift your chin—yes, hold it."
"Swap the cuff on her left arm. Good. Back in position."
"Lighting, softer on set three. We need warmth, not harsh edges."
The photographer lowered his camera after a long burst, eyes lighting up. "That's it. That's the shot." He whistled and leaned back. "We've got it. These are gold."
Applause rippled through the room. Stylists clapped, assistants grinned at each other, and one of the models threw her hands up with a cheer. Amanda exhaled, her shoulders finally loosening, her chest rising with a quiet sigh of relief.
But before she could step aside, the photographer turned toward her with a grin. "Hold on—you're not slipping away that fast. This was your vision, Amanda. Your direction. You belong in these wrap shots too."
A murmur of agreement spread through the crew. "Yeah, get in here!" someone called. "She made it happen!"
Amanda blinked, momentarily thrown. She rarely sought the spotlight; her role was to control it, not stand in it. Her instinct was to wave it off, but when she glanced across the room, Ericka was already clapping lightly, her smile tugging wider.
"Go on," Ericka mouthed. "Take it."
Amanda hesitated for only a breath before stepping forward. The crew crowded in around her, smiling as the photographer adjusted the frame. Amanda stood in the center, her tablet still in hand, her smile small but genuine as the flashes lit up the moment.
From her seat, Ericka's gaze softened. Pride warmed her chest, her hand resting absently against her stomach. Quietly, to herself, she whispered, "That's my girl."
When Amanda finally stepped back, smoothing her suit jacket, she moved across the floor toward Ericka. Their eyes met—just for a second, a private exchange no one else could decipher.
"You were amazing," Ericka murmured, her voice low enough that it belonged only to Amanda.
Amanda's lips quirked into a smirk, her reply just as quiet. "So were you—for staying quiet."
Ericka's laugh was soft, rich, a sound only Amanda caught. She leaned closer, her tone dipped in promise. "Don't worry. I'll make up for it later."
Amanda's chest tightened at the words, though her composure never cracked. She lifted her tablet again, ready to finish the day.
The shoot wasn't just complete. It was a success.
And Ericka had never looked prouder.