The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,48

drew me back against his chest. I shifted in a more comfortable position, and the photographer flashed a thumbs up. "There. That's perfect."

Cash stood to one side, his expression dark, as he continued to sulk over having to be there. Well, screw him. Whether the setup was ridiculous or not, this was my first national shoot, and it was exciting. Plus, the paycheck—even split with Layton—was massive, enough for me to pay Edwin and Dion's salaries for a year.

“This is bullshit.” Marissa stomped onto the scene—literally. I watched as she shoved a gaffer to one side and cut into the view line of the shot. “A milk ad? Have you been to a dairy farm and seen the conditions there?”

I rolled my eyes. "Have you?" I took a sip of the milk out of spite, and the bulbs flashed as the photographer recorded the moment. Layton's grip tightened reassuringly, bringing me closer to him.

"Actually, Emma, I have." She spat out the words. "And the conditions there are despicable."

“Whoa.” A short man with an orange blazer and a Texas tie stepped forward. “Defamation and negative opinions on dairy cannot be on the show. Depictions of the dairy industry, as per the contract, must—”

“Marissa?” I asked sweetly. “How about you go jump off that cliff over there?”

She planted her wedge sandals in the grass turf and glared at me. “I’m staying right here.”

“Marissa,” Cash said, appearing beside her. “Come on. Let them finish up. You can say everything you want to say in confessional.”

“And she’s wearing an American flag!” Marissa pointed to me as if I had a nazi symbol painted on my forehead.

“So?” Layton asked.

“Soooo, isn’t it against the law to wear a flag as clothing?”

I waited for Texas tie, or Dana, or someone with some sort of authority, to put her in her place. Instead, an uneasy and problematic silence fell over the group.

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#weloveourveterans

CASH

Marissa’s second accusation shut everything down for a good half hour so that attorneys could be called, the internet consulted, and our political correctness experts could announce that Emma should definitely not be wearing an American flag bathing suit.

My relief lasted for about two minutes before some light bulb from the Dairy Farmers people suggested that Emma lose the bathing suit entirely. Layton, surprise surprise, loved the idea. Emma was less enthusiastic, and an impromptu meeting of her team huddled in a small circle by the wardrobe rack. I watched them argue, her manager jabbing the air to punctuate some statement.

It wasn’t my business. In fact, now that I had stepped in with Marissa, my “job” here was done. I could go for a run and get some fresh air, away from cameras, publicists, and people. I shouldn’t have an opinion on Emma’s bikini or lack of one but still… I hesitated, then strode over to the group.

I gently closed my hand around Emma’s elbow and pulled, catching her attention. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

The group paused. Emma nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She followed me through the crowd of reality and milk crews and over to a quiet spot by a potted palm tree.

“I know that bit about the phone message was staged, but if you do want to get signed by Vision Placements, or by any big talent agency, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do the milk ad?” She raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

“Don’t do it naked. You’ve never been that girl, and you shouldn’t start now.”

“What kind of girl have I been?” With anyone else, the tone would have been confrontational. For her, it was mild. Almost curious.

“Smarter than that,” I managed. And it was true. Her activities were annoying, her videos offensive to everyone they mentioned, but she was intelligently calculated in all of it. She didn't need the shock value of a nude milk ad, no matter how tastefully they did it. She could just open her mouth and create a similar sensation.

She chewed on her thumbnail and studied the pool.

“You can’t undo it,” I said carefully. “Once it’s done, it’s there. Forever.”

Her gaze came back to mine. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Relief swept through me. “Okay?” I repeated. “You won’t do it?”

“You think I shouldn’t, right?” she confirmed.

“I don’t.”

She shrugged, and her hand dropped from her mouth. "That's all I needed to know."

I wanted to hug her but kept my hands to myself. “Okay. Good.”

Dana passed, and Emma darted to one side, snagging the producer by the sleeve. "Hey, about the nudity—"

“Yes?” Dana paused, and her attention darted from Emma to me, then ricocheted