Page 53 of The Client
“I’m not going to interfere. Just keep an eye on things. Make sure everyone is observing a professional boundary.” I reassure her, but then look over at the director and add, louder, “Unless you have any objections?”
The director spins on one heel as if he’s heard all that he needs to. “Set up for the next shot, and someone get Mr. McConnell a chair!”
Izabela leans closer and says, “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine now.”
Dragging my hand lightly over her arm, I say, “I want to watch. Because it’s hot.”
I see that familiar spark of lust in her eye, and then she walks away and resumes her place on the set. The chair the director asked for appears at my side, and I sit and give the director a nod. He hurriedly gets to work repositioning the models, immediately placing the male model’s hands back on Izabela’s body. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I will myself to relax.
I’m not like my dad. I’m not a possessive, insecure jackass. I’m the kind of boyfriend who’s laid back. Supportive. Someone who can watch his woman be touched by another man in a professional capacity without losing his shit. The jealousy I’m feeling is purely a primal thing, but I can ignore it. I won’t let it control me.
So why do I feel ready to jump out of my skin?
Riveted to the scene in front of me, I sit back in my chair and take it all in. I’m still not entirely clear on what the concept is, but there’s no denying the draw of what the director is creating. I can’t tear my eyes away. The tableau is decadent, fantastical, dreamy. Honestly, I want to be a part of it. And maybe that’s really all there is to it, because by the end of the shoot, I’m ready to go out and buy the perfume.
Once the Versailles shoot is complete, the models are sent back to makeup and wardrobe to change for the next scene. The director instructs the crew to move to another set and get ready to start shooting video next. A flurry of hectic activity ensues. Lights, cameras, and equipment are arranged and rearranged to the director’s liking. I move my chair to the new area.
This set is decorated like a cozy winter cabin in the French Alps. Floor-to-ceiling wood paneling, knit blankets thrown over a brown leather couch, a rough stone fireplace with flickering electric flames. There’s a bearskin rug on the floor—faux, of course—and light fixtures made from antlers. Incidentally, Chamonix is one of my favorite places, and when I see Izabela spread out on the couch in plaid flannel short-shorts and a crocheted crop top, it makes me consider taking her there for a weekend and reenacting this scene in real life.
Her hair is in pigtails now, and she’s lying on her back with her legs draped over the arm of the couch. The male model is instructed to sit at the other end of the couch and put her head in his lap. Then the director tells the female model to kneel on the floor with her head resting on Izabela’s bare midriff, looking up at her longingly while cradling a gaudily oversized bottle of Idlewild perfume.
“Izabela, arch your back,” the director calls out, giving me a quick glance to see how I react. “And then cup Talia’s chin with your left hand and put your thumb over her lower lip. Talia, you can tuck that free hand between Izabela’s legs. A little lower. That’s great. Mario, just look over at them. Give me half a smile. Less smile. Little bit less. Perfect.”
My cock pulls at the seductive pose. I readjust myself in my seat, but the tension inside me only grows worse with each passing moment, each direction that gets called out.
Izabela is a natural and she looks amazing in every single ridiculous outfit they’ve put on her. I have no doubt that her face and body alone could sell this perfume. It’s impossible to look away.
When the director calls for a meal break, Izabela slips into a silky robe and walks toward me. It’s hard to catch my breath when her eyes land on mine.
“So? What do you think?” she asks.
Her eyes are bright, her smile genuine, her shoulders relaxed. It’s nice to see her looking so alive after watching her wear the same glazed, fake, orgy-ready expression for the last few hours. She’s better at her job than I realized.
“It’s looking good,” I say quietly, trailing my finger down the front of her robe. “You’re very good.”
Another female model pauses as she walks by, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Izabela.
“Hm. Maybe I was wrong,” she says to Izabela. Then she winks and walks away.
I have no idea what that means…but whatever it was, it made Izabela blush.
20
IZABELA
The director callswrap around eight p.m. Since we’re all returning to set first thing tomorrow, the crew leave most of the equipment where it stands and quickly head out. It sounds like some of them are planning to meet up for a drink at a bar a few blocks away.
Talia gives me a quick hug before going to wardrobe to change into her street clothes, and Mario doesn’t even bother putting a shirt on, he just grabs his bag and goes. I don’t blame him. It’s been another long, grueling shooting day. We’re all exhausted, and Mario is running late to meet his boyfriend for dinner.
I realize the room is emptying rapidly, the lights going out in the process. Looking around for Rhys, I finally spot him standing by the door talking to the director. Both of them look my way, and then I hear the director say, “Lock up when you’re done.”
He follows the last few assistants out, leaving me and Rhys completely alone.
Pulling the sides of my robe tighter, I watch him move purposefully toward me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, confused.
“Come.”
