‘She is,’ Imogen beamed and began to text her daughter back.
‘We’re having cocktails after the shoot today. Y’all should join us you know, honey. It’d be nice to have some female company. Help me hold my own against Dumb and Dumber over there.’ Rhianna nodded in the direction of Mylo and his assistant.
Imogen stifled a giggle.
‘So what’s the deal with the photographer anyway?’ she asked, intrigued.
Rhianna pulled a face and snorted.
‘Y’see that little lady over there?’ She pointed her comb in the direction of the bored looking young blonde. ‘The one with the short skirt and over made-up face?’
Imogen nodded.
‘Well, that’s Candy. My little sister. She’s completely ga-ga about Mylo. Reckons he’s the one, ya know?’
Rhianna sighed ruefully. ‘Poor baby. He said he’d help her. Get her doing some shots and all – she’s like, so desperate to be a model. But I told her, “honey, the only person that guy is gonna help is himself”.’ Rhianna leaned in closer, her tanned, powdered face almost touching Imogen’s. ‘I heard a rumour that he’s more than a lil’ friendly with the number one at L’Orelie. Y’all know what I’m saying?’
Imogen raised an eyebrow and looked over at Candy, desperate to be noticed. She felt sorry for the young girl. Mylo had ‘user’ written all over him.
‘When Cressida gets here, I’ll ask her to have a chat with her. She can put her in contact with some people who might be able to help her – Cress knows everyone.’
‘Y’all would do that? Oh my, honey, that’s so kind of you. Candy will love you forever.’
Imogen smiled, glad to be of assistance. But inside she was beginning to worry. Where was Cressida?
*
‘Fuck, man!’ Mylo cursed under his breath. The images staring back at him were some of the best he’d ever taken. If only he could bottle what this broad had and sell it on to the constant stream of wannabe models he encountered on a daily basis; he’d be the richest dude on earth. Mylo thought hard for a moment, so hard you could almost hear the cogs turning inside his brain.
‘Listen, Josh.’ He turned to his young, enthusiastic assistant. ‘I want you to fiddle around with these shots on the computer.’
Josh nodded emphatically as if he’d been asked to undertake the most important mission of his entire life. ‘Make her face a little rounder, her nose a little flatter. Lighten her eyes a bit and mess around with the symmetry. Know what I’m saying?’
Josh looked puzzled. He might be a novice but even he knew the idea was to try and improve a shot.
‘But these pictures, boss,’ he shrugged, perplexed, ‘they’re pretty damn perfect as they are. You know, like, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it n’ shit.’
Mylo smirked as he put his arm around his shoulder in a mock friendly gesture.
‘You like working as my assistant, Josh?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ Josh nodded. ‘It’s way cool, man.’
‘Good,’ Mylo hissed, his soft tone taking on a subtle sharp edge. ‘If you wanna keep it cool then do the fuck as I ask and don’t ask questions, got it?’
Josh shrugged.
‘Sure. You’re the boss, boss.’
Mylo clapped him on the back.
‘I think we’re done here,’ Mylo called over to Imogen and Rhianna.
‘We are?’ Imogen replied, a little shocked. They’d only been shooting for five minutes. She’d not even had an outfit change.
‘Hey, guys,’ Mylo called out to the rest of the studio. ‘It’s a wrap!’
Rhianna shrugged at Imogen.
Perplexed, Imogen padded over to where Mylo and Josh stood, the rest of the studio watching as she moved with supermodel grace and purpose.
‘Can I see the shots?’ Imogen asked, pointing at the computer. Josh nodded, standing back a little to make way for her.
Imogen cocked her head to one side and scanned the pictures of herself on screen. Despite always being her own worst critic, even she had to conclude that she looked fantastic. Her skin glowed and her smile lit up the frame. She had that ‘everyday with an edge’ look about her, just the brief Cressida had told her L’Orelie wanted.
‘You pleased with them?’ She glanced up at Mylo tentatively.
‘Sure. They’re hot,’ he said, refraining from making eye contact with her. He felt a little rush of guilt then, seeing the look of disappointment on her beautiful face, and had to visualise himself cruising around in that Ferrari until it passed. ‘You did good.’
Imogen felt herself relax a bit, though she cursed Cressida for not being here to give her objective opinion. Cressida would’ve made him take more film, give the client as much choice as possible, she felt sure.
‘What about the others, Mylo?’ Candy suddenly piped up from her beanbag seat.
‘Others?’ Imogen asked, puzzled.
‘The shots I saw Josh working on …’ she offered helpfully.
‘There are no others,’ Mylo shot back a little too defensively, causing Imogen to look at him in alarm.
Josh nodded his agreement.
‘Yeah, there were no others,’ he added a little too emphatically.
‘Oh, but I thought I saw …’
‘Hey, Candy,’ Mylo snapped, his tone nasty. ‘Were you even invited on this shoot, huh?’
Candy stared up at Mylo, a wounded look on her young, impressionable face.
‘Well, like … not exactly, but I just thought that seeing as though you and me …’
Mylo had only slept with the girl a handful of times and now he couldn’t get rid of the bitch; she was like a particularly persistent case of herpes.
‘You and me?’ He stifled a chuckle. ‘Baby, there ain’t no you and me. You got that, huh, Candy?’
A crushed looking Candy nodded slowly, her head dropping down onto her voluminous chest. Imogen shot Mylo a disgusted look. This guy was a complete arsehole.
‘Good,’ Mylo said, abruptly snapping the lid of his laptop shut, signalling the end of their little discussion. ‘Alrighty,’ he said brightly, addressing the rest of the studio who were pretending not to have listened to his little outburst. ‘Who’s up for a Bud?’
*
Imogen stepped into the shower and let the powerful jet of water wash over her, the hotness prickling her naked skin. Soaping herself with the complimentary Aveda products, she thought of the evening’s events and smiled, blowing water from her lips.
He certainly had some neck, that Mylo character, coming onto her like that.
‘I’ll say something for you British broads, you know how to turn it on for the camera,’ he’d said as he’d moved in on her, his ‘ironic’ neon pink Paul Frank hoodie glowing in the low evening light as his pungent Armani aftershave filled the soft, cool air around her.
‘Thanks,’ she had graciously replied. ‘We try our best.’
‘Hmm, I’ll bet you do,’ he’d said, casting his wide blue eyes over her body, a half smile on his lips. ‘You got plans for the rest of your stay?’
‘Yes, as