Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (18 page)

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

Astrid

Astrid: I need you and Sam.

Britt: What’s wrong?!?

Astrid: I quit my agency.

Britt: YAY!!!

Astrid: I might have told John I was in demand.

Astrid: I kind of need some new pics. Like soon.

Britt: Lucky for you I’m sleeping with a damn fine photographer. ;)

I got to Sam’s place around noon. Well, I guess it was Sam and Britt’s place now, since she’d pretty much gone home with him after the incident with Nash Williams and never left. Not that I blamed her. Sam’s place was in an even ritzier building than mine, and his apartment was about three times the size of Britt’s studio. And since Melody had been staying at Britt’s place since she left her husband of a day, it meant the two of them could have private time.

Hmm, I wonder if they’ll take Melody with them if they get a place outside the city.

I knocked, even though Britt had just buzzed me in; with those two you just never knew what you’d walk in on. When Britt opened the door I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“I can’t believe I quit,” I said.

“Good thing you’ve got that bar job,” Britt said. I made a face, and Britt called over her shoulder, “Sam, our freelance model’s here.”

“Funny.” I stepped inside and noticed the mouthwatering smells coming from the kitchen. “What are you cooking?”

“Bread,” Britt replied.

“Donnie used to bake bread,” I muttered before I caught myself.

Britt frowned. “You still haven’t talked to him?”

“He doesn’t have my new number,” I said.

“I can give you his,” Britt offered.

“If he wants to talk to me he can ask you for mine,” I snapped. “Not like he hasn’t done that before.”

Britt’s frown deepened, but she let it go. “All right. Sam’s been brainstorming ideas for your amazing comeback.”

“Comeback?” I repeated. “I’ve been here for years.”

“The title needs work,” Sam said as he exited the bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. “Anyway, I figure if we get around a few good shots of you, and let it be known that you’re freelance now, you’ll have more work than you know what to do with.”

Freelance; those were people who handled the business end of things as well. “Did any of those other leads get back to you?” I asked Britt.

“Not yet,” Britt replied. “Even so, new shots can’t hurt.”

I nodded, knowing not only she was right, but that Sam was an excellent photographer. “How much will I owe you for the session?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “As long as you let me use them in my new studio’s portfolio.”

“Of course,” I said. “Maybe you’ll even find me some paying work at that studio.”

“About that,” Britt said, sliding into the desk chair. “I bet we can get you some shots with New York’s favorite new designer.”

“Really?” I asked. “Who might that be?”

“Kendra Saunders, of course.”

***

Britt’s plan, which was for me to model a few outfits from Kendra’s spring line, was a good one. It would get me the sort of exposure I needed to both agents and photographers. Kendra thought it was a great idea too, and had clothes on-hand in my size. Unfortunately, Kendra had the same basic problem that I did—money, and a lack thereof.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great idea,” Kendra said. Britt and I were video chatting with her, while Sam lurked in the background and offered the occasional comment. “People are still talking about the runway show, but I just don’t have the cash to pay you.”

“What if we didn’t charge you?” Britt pressed. “Let us borrow some outfits, and Sam and Astrid can work their magic. Just let us use the images to promote Astrid, and our new studio.”

Kendra tapped a pen against her chin, then she grabbed a notebook and flipped through the pages. “What kind of sets can you access?”

“Anything,” Britt replied. Sam stood up and glared at her over the top of the screen; apparently, our set choices were somewhat more limited. “What did you have in mind?”

“Something from my spring line,” Kendra replied. “I’m thinking a field, lots of sunshine…”

Britt wrinkled her nose. “All the fields are full of snow right now, and if we try a field indoors it will look staged.”

“Unless you make it look staged,” Sam said. “We could kitsch it up, make the prop colors too bright, stuff like that.” He walked around the desk and stood behind us so he could see the screen. “What’s your spring line like?” he asked Kendra.

“Vintage inspired,” she replied. “Wedge heels, halters, A-line dresses…”

“Okay,” Sam replied. “What about a picnic? I can light it like daylight, have Astrid perched on a checkered tablecloth holding a slice of pie.”

“I do not perch,” I protested.

“You’re damn hot when you perch,” Sam said. “I bet I can even get Britt here to tease her hair and act as Astrid’s backup. What do you say?”

Kendra grinned. “I love it.”

Britt bounced in her chair and clapped, then she leaned back and kissed Sam. “Awesome,” Britt said when they parted. “When can we pick up clothes?”

“Um, tonight if you’d like,” Kendra replied. “I’ll get the outfits together, throw in a few accessories. Be by around six?”

“Perfect,” Britt said. “See you then.”

Britt signed off, and looked triumphantly from Sam to me. “See that? I’m like a booker and all.”

“Booker?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“While I do not dispute that you’re the most gorgeous assistant in the history of photography,” Sam said as he ran his knuckles down Britt’s neck, “you did book a gig where we won’t make any money.”

Britt frowned. “Next one will pay better.”

Sam kissed Britt’s forehead. “I believe you, angel.”

“So where are we shooting this?” I asked, before their lovefest could progress any further. “Like you said, the fields are full of snow.”

“I got that covered,” Sam said. “Let me make a few calls, and we can have these shots done tonight.”

***

Sam’s version of having the sets “covered” was calling Michael and asking to use his studio for our photo shoot. Michael complained a bit, but being that he’d just sold two sculptures and hadn’t started any large projects recently, he had the space to spare. Not to mention, Michael had more lighting equipment on hand than most professional set designers.

While Sam headed to Michael’s to create his picnic paradise, Britt and I swung by Kendra’s office and picked up the clothes.

“I really appreciate you guys using my designs,” Kendra said as she thrust some garment bags toward us. “Big names attached to my work is exactly what I need right now.”

“I think you could get much bigger names than us,” I said.

“I beg to differ.” Kendra grabbed her laptop from her desk, her fingers flying over the keys. “After you publicly dumped John Archer—again—the whole internet’s talking about you.”

Kendra turned the screen toward me, and I felt my stomach do a somersault. Right there on
If The Shoe Fits
were images of me telling John off in front of my building. “Does this site get all the garbage?” I asked.

“Believe me, it does,” Britt said.

“Oh, there’s news about you and Sam too,” Kendra said. She pulled up an earlier post and read off the headline.

“Sam MacKellar continues to put out feelers for his new photography business. You’ll remember him from the trouble his ‘fiancée,’ Britt Sullivan, got into with his former employer, superstar photog Nash Williams. Williams remains jailed on alleged kidnapping and sexual assault charges. Remember, kids, all that trouble started when MacKellar decked Williams’ brother at a gallery event.”

Kendra turned the laptop toward us again. “I think this is an old picture of you two.”

I glanced at the screen; it was a picture of Britt and Sam kissing, and it had been taken at Michael’s gallery showing. The caption read:

Take Out The Competition, Get The Girl.

The color drained from Britt’s face, then she turned away from the screen.

“Hey,” Kendra said, shutting her laptop. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you should know.”

“I know,” Britt said. “It’s cool.” Britt smiled weakly, which only made Kendra frown harder.

“We’re going to try and have the session done tonight,” I said, going into full-on damage control mode, “but we might need to do a re-shoot. When do you want these back?”

“By next weekend would be great,” Kendra replied.

“I’m getting married next weekend,” Britt said. “To Sam.”

Kendra’s eyes went wide, her eyebrows halfway up her head. “Oh, well, whenever you get back from your honeymoon is great.”

“I’ll have Michael deliver them,” I said. “Thank you so much, Kendra. We really appreciate this.”

Kendra nodded. “Any time.”

Britt and I rode the elevator back down to street level. She didn’t say a word during the ride, or while we hailed a cab. Once we were in the back seat, she broke her silence.

“People really think I was in on it,” she muttered. “They really think it was a scam. That me and Sam are a sham.”

“Who cares what
If The Shoe Fits
thinks?” I asked. “They once reported that Michael was some illegitimate heir to the English throne. That site is nothing but trash.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not just the site.” Britt fingered the edge of the garment bag. “People say that me and Sam only wanted to steal Nash’s clients, set him up. They say we’re not really together, just crooks or something. They say Sam doesn’t really love me, that he just used me.”

“Is that why you and Sam are getting married so quickly?” I asked. “To prove them wrong?”

“No. I’m marrying Sam because I love him.”

“And he loves you,” I declared. “You know how to shut up those gossip mongers? Live a good life. Let them say whatever they want about you and Sam. Prove them wrong with your happiness and success. Living well is the best revenge.”

Britt smiled; it wasn’t quite a thousand watts, but it was getting there. “Thanks, Astrid. You’re right, those people are jerks.”

“They sure are.”

We talked about the session for the rest of the cab ride to Michael’s, while my mind churned in a thousand different directions. The advice I’d given Britt had been good, advice I wished someone had given to me years ago. I thought about what living well meant to me, and what changes I was willing to make in my own life. It was past time for me to get off this roller coaster and make a real life for myself.

***

Britt and I got to Michael’s studio around seven. When we stepped inside we saw that he and Sam had transformed the messy art space into a perfect set. Michael already had a cyc wall and lighting set up, which he used to photograph and promote his sculptures. They’d rolled some astro turf out in front of the cyc wall, and had set a checkered blanket and picnic basket on top. Next to the basket was a spread worthy of someone’s Southern grandmother, complete with fried chicken, cole slaw, and pie. There was even a platter with sliced watermelon and pineapple, completing the virtual feast.

“Nice job, boys,” I said. I spied a rounded pitcher and tall glasses. “You had time to make iced tea?”

“Don’t drink that,” Michael replied. “It’s water colored with iodine.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Food’s all real, though,” Sam said. “I picked up the pie and fruit on the way over, and the chicken dinner was delivered a few minutes before you got here.”

“Nice job, cowboy,” Britt said.

Sam’s brow furrowed; trust him to hear her voice waver. “You all right, baby?”

“I am,” she replied. “There’s just some stupid story out about Nash and Ben. I’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded, but the set of his shoulders told me that while he was tabling his concerns for now, there would be some serious discussion later. “All right, my lovely ladies,” Sam said, “let’s see what you two beauties will be wearing.”

***

If I hadn’t thought Kendra was a genius before, these dresses would have made up my mind for me.

She’d lent Britt and me two perfect vintage-style dresses, both with tight sweetheart necklines and full A-line skirts. One was bright teal and came with a black crinoline that just peeked out from the dress’ hem. The other was a peach and ivory floral, complete with its own white crinoline.