Chapter 9
SEBASTIAN
Istood outside one of the converted storage rooms, watching two guys from the lighting crew maneuver a massive light stand through the doorway. They were both trying to lead, which meant they were just banging the equipment against the doorframe repeatedly.
“Left!” one shouted.
“That is my left!”
“Your other left!”
I was about to intervene when they finally figured it out and got the stand through without breaking anything. I probably should have brought backup equipment. We hadn’t even started the damn shoot and we were already banging equipment around.
The resort had given us access to three rooms in the main building to use as equipment storage and staging areas.
It was better than keeping everything scattered across individual bungalows, but it meant a lot of coordinated movement of very expensive, very fragile gear.
Every scratched lens or broken light was money down the drain.
I checked my phone for the thousandth time, confirming everyone had their room assignments and knew where they were supposed to be for tomorrow’s call time. The first shoot was scheduled bright and early assuming the weather cooperated. Golden hour light, perfect beach conditions for a beach shoot.
My mind drifted back to Bernadette. Her face when she’d realized she didn’t have a room. For a second, she’d looked genuinely lost, all that armor cracking just enough to show the person underneath. Then she’d snapped back into defensive mode the moment I’d approached.
I was glad I’d gotten her settled with Annika. It was the right thing to do. It was also not what I’d originally been planning to suggest.
When I’d heard her predicament, my first instinct had been to offer her my suite. I had a two-bedroom setup—one of the perks of being in charge—and the second bedroom had its own bathroom and everything. It would have been the logical solution. The gentlemanly solution.
And because I was a man that happened to appreciate a beautiful woman, if she happened to end up in my bed, would that be so bad?
But the second I’d opened my mouth, she’d gone nuclear on me. I’d pivoted so fast I probably left skid marks. Thank God.
I had been two seconds away from screwing everything up. You don’t proposition the insurance rep. You especially don’t proposition the insurance rep who already thinks you’re an irresponsible playboy who can’t be trusted around anything female.
The thing was, I wasn’t used to hot women who called me on my shit.
Most of them either laughed at my jokes or pretended to.
I rarely met a woman that didn’t want to sleep with me or who was at least flattered by the attention.
Bernadette looked at me like I was an obnoxious insect she was considering squashing.
And somehow, that was working for me. Like really worked for me. I had felt my cock stir to life and had been a little surprised by the instant arousal just from her yelling at me. Was I into that? Did I like that dominatrix thing?
I’d never really thought about it before. The women I usually went for were… easier. More agreeable. They purred. Bernadette roared. But the louder the roar, the louder the purr. And I wouldn’t mind her roaring in my bed.
There was something about Bernadette. She presented as a cold chick ready to drive her heel into my crotch, but I had seen a glimpse of that soft side. I bet I could make her forget all that uptight nonsense.
Put a pin in that. You’ve got a job to do. Maybe you dig the pantsuit, maybe you don’t. Either way, focus on the work.
“Sebastian! Sebastian, we have a crisis!”
I turned to find a gaggle of models approaching, their faces etched with what they probably thought was distress but looked more like mild inconvenience. Their crisis could be anything from a missing makeup case to somebody gaining a few pounds.
Clarissa was in the lead, followed by Tempest and Portia, along with two newer girls whose names I hadn’t learned yet.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, mentally preparing for something dramatic.
“We can’t find our rooms!” Clarissa wailed. “They gave us numbers but all the bungalows look the same and there’s no signs and we’ve been walking around for twenty minutes. I’m starving!”
I should have hired a handler to herd the models. They weren’t dumb but they were used to people handling things for them. As a model myself, I knew what they were used to. They were the talent. They were told where to be, how to stand, and what to wear.
I looked at these beautiful, talented women and realized I couldn’t just point them in the right direction and hope for the best. They’d wander off into the jungle. They’d get lost. They’d probably get carried off by birds of prey or adopted by a troop of monkeys.
Models were like cats—simultaneously graceful and completely helpless in unfamiliar environments.
“Hold on,” I said, scanning the area for someone who could help. “Let me find—ah, perfect. Mary Jo!”
The lead makeup artist was walking past with her rolling case of supplies. She could wrangle even the most difficult talent.
“Mary Jo, these ladies need help finding their bungalows.”
She took one look at the lost models and smiled. “Come on, my little lambs. Let’s get you settled before you faint from hunger.”
“Thank you,” Clarissa breathed, like Mary Jo had just saved her from a burning building.
“There’s fruit and snacks in the main building dining area,” Mary Jo called back as she led them away. “We’ll stop there first.”
I watched them disappear down one of the winding paths, the models clustering around Mary Jo like ducklings following their mother.
One crisis averted, I thought, mentally patting myself on the back. This whole being-in-charge thing wasn’t so bad. Delegate, solve problems, keep everyone happy and productive. Easy.
Now if I could just stop being distracted by the hot insurance lady, I might actually pull this off.
My bungalow was larger than most of the others, another perk of being in charge.
Two bedrooms, a decent sitting area, and a patio that looked out onto the beach.
Under normal circumstances, this would be where I’d be hosting company, entertaining ladies, and making the most of the paradise location.
But these weren’t normal circumstances.
I dropped my bag on the floor and immediately pulled out my work materials. Shot schedules. Diagrams of the different locations we’d scouted. Storyboards I’d sketched out for each major setup along with weather contingency plans. Backup location options. Contact numbers for local services.
I was really hoping the weather didn’t screw me. I knew Mother Nature was unpredictable. I had checked the weather nonstop all week. Things looked fine, but even a rogue storm could screw things up.
Within twenty minutes, my pristine bungalow looked like a command center. Papers were spread across the coffee table. Storyboards were taped to the walls. I could picture the shots in my mind. I knew what I wanted. Now, I just had to find a way to bring that vision to life.
This was me being serious. This was me proving that I could handle responsibility without getting distracted by my usual vices.
Normally, on a location shoot like this, I’d be out with the crew by now. There was always a summer camp vibe to these productions. A sexy camp. Everyone was always excited to be somewhere beautiful.
Also, people didn’t realize how hard modeling could be.
A lot of stuff happened behind the scenes, and when there was a beach location, everyone was ready to blow off steam after a long travel day.
Someone would find a bar. Someone else would organize a bonfire on the beach.
Hookups would happen. Gossip would start.
And usually I would be right in the middle of it. On any other shoot, I’d be in someone’s bungalow when the party wound down.
But not tonight.
I stared at the schedule and all the moving pieces I needed to keep track of.
Fifteen models with different call times.
Three photographers with different styles and varying sizes of egos.
Lighting setups that would need to be moved and adjusted throughout the day.
Wardrobe changes. Makeup touch-ups. Keeping everyone fed and hydrated and not murdering each other.
I hoped like hell no one decided to party too hard tonight. I did not want to deal with bloated bellies and puffy eyes.
The usual chaos was only half my concern. I had to be conscious of my babysitter.
Bernadette would be watching everything like a hawk, waiting for me to screw up so she could void the policy and prove to her father that I was exactly the irresponsible playboy everyone expected.
And my brothers would be pissed and vindicated. They would be able to say “I told you so.”
I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Being responsible sucked.
I stood up and went to the mini-fridge, which had been stocked with water, juice, and yes, beer. I pulled one out, twisted off the cap, and took a long drink.
One beer wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t getting drunk. I was just taking the edge off after a long day of travel and logistics and trying not to think about Bernadette in a sundress.
The beer was cold and surprisingly good. I took it out onto the patio and sat in one of the chairs, looking out at the ocean. It was late. Well, back home it was like two? Three in the morning? But on the island, we skipped a whole day and it was prime party time.
From somewhere nearby, I heard laughter and music. The crew was settling in, enjoying themselves. I should probably make an appearance, show my face, make sure everyone was happy and not getting into trouble.
But I stayed where I was, beer in hand, watching the ocean and thinking about tomorrow.
About proving myself. I would not disappoint Elizabeth, Adrian, or the memory of Dad.
My phone buzzed. A text from Briggs.
Briggs: Safe landing? Everything okay?
I typed back: All good. First shoot tomorrow. Wish me luck.
His response came quickly: You don’t need luck. You’ve got this.
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that I could actually pull this off without something going catastrophically wrong. But this was me after all. I wouldn’t say I was the classic fuck-up of the family; that was Dash’s job. I came in a close second.
I liked to have fun. I liked to let things roll off my shoulders.
It was easier to pretend nothing bothered me than to actually acknowledge there were feelings under the hard abs and panty-dropping smile.
It was easier to let my brothers think I was an easygoing guy without a care in the world.
They all had their own shit to deal with. They didn’t need to worry about me.
The beer was already half gone and I realized it was still early. Maybe one more wouldn’t hurt.