“JP dragged me away from the studio.” I slide my hands into the shallow pockets of my denim cut-offs, suddenly self-conscious of my dingy appearance under his scrutiny.
“I’m glad.” He steps closer, and I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact.
“Ahem,” Amanda interjects pointedly. “We’re finishing the first look, Lotus. What do you think?”
I examine the grey silk shirt and dark slacks that mold the muscled length of his legs. He’s so beautifully made and on such a large scale, he’d be impressive in just about anything, but this shirt isn’t my favorite.
“I’m not sure about the shirt.” I study the racks to see if there’s anything I like better.
“I hate this shirt,” Kenan offers.
I glance up and roll my eyes, but can’t suppress a smirk. I walk over to one of the racks and flip through several pieces.
“I’m the stylist on set, Lotus,” Amanda says. “I know what will look best under those lights and how it will translate to print.”
“Okay.” I don’t look away from the rack in front of me. “You go tell JP you refused my help.”
Everyone knows JP respects my opinion. If he were a teacher, I’d be his pet.
Amanda huffs and walks past me. “Well good luck,” she says sharply. “I’ll meet you out there. See how well you do on your own.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I answer absently, taking a mint green shirt from the rack. “What do you think of this one?”
I direct the question to Kenan since Amada has apparently run and left her toys behind.
He steps into the space beside me and leans against a nearby wall, staring at my profile. “I think it’s beautiful,” he says, laughing when I send him a wry look. “The shirt, I mean, of course.”
“Panda” by Desiigner starts thumping through the room’s sound system.
“Is that for the shoot?” Kenan asks.
“Yeah, the photographer puts on music to make the model more comfortable,” I reply, setting the shirt aside. “To feel more relaxed so we get better shots.”
“This is not the music to make me feel more relaxed,” he says. “And I doubt it’ll get you better shots since I’ll be rolling my eyes the whole time.”
“You don’t like this song?”
“You’re using ‘song’ loosely to describe what this is.” Disdain scrunches his handsome face. “I mean, what’s he even saying?”