Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,37

one, like she’s carrying all of the world’s products in there. “I’m doing it myself. The agency sent a list of instructions, so I’ll just follow those.”

I swallow. “This is unusual for you, right?”

“Sharing a room with a photographer?” She’s smiling as she says it, but it still hits me in my gut. It takes me a second before I can answer.

“That too, but handling… all of that yourself.”

“Yes. I’m still not really sure why they didn’t send a stylist with us…” she muses, rummaging for something. How much stuff does she need? “Considering how much they’re spending on us, and how important this campaign is, I can’t quite understand it.”

I put a hand under my head. A brief pang of guilt hits me, but I shove it away. Telling her I’m the reason we travelled like this—that the bet with Ben had specified no crew and no assistants—would accomplish what, exactly?

Besides, she’ll get paid regardless of the outcome. It doesn’t matter which campaign is chosen as the winning one. It only matters for my pride.

I close my eyes again with that knowledge. “So you need two hours to get ready?”

“Scoff all you like,” she says, “but I don’t just walk around looking like I did in Paris or Rome. You’re welcome to view part of the prep work later. I could teach you the difference between a foundation and a concealer.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Your loss,” she says brightly. “It does wonders to cover up dark circles under your eyes.” The bathroom door closes, and soon thereafter, the shower runs.

Tiredness is fighting to bring me down, but I force myself to check one final thing. I open the camera on my phone and inspect my face. Whatever she says, I don’t have dark circles under my eyes.

There’s a message waiting for me from my younger sister.

Lily: Hope you’re having fun in Kenya! Just checked your itinerary. Sorry I didn’t have time to make you a bingo sheet this time. I also saw that you’ll be back in the States right before Dad’s party. Please, Rhys? Looking forward to seeing the photos you take!

I put my phone away with a groan, resolving to reply later, even if it won’t be what she wants to hear. I have no plans to attend a party in our father’s honor.

The sun is high in the sky when I brave the near-sweltering heat on our patio, overlooking the surrounding landscape. It’s not quiet here. No, nature is loud. There are cicadas and birds and somewhere in the distance something much larger, much angrier makes a sound I can’t identify. The sky is a light blue, the ground nearly beige with dried grass.

I lean against the railing and just look. This is what life is about—this is what life should be like. Traveling. New experiences. Not a stuffy two-story house in the same town where I was raised, not weekends spent at the Yacht Club, not days in an office. My siblings’ choices were theirs, but this… this is mine.

Ivy comes to stand beside me, so quiet on bare feet that I barely hear her. The scent of soap and shampoo hits me, subtle but powerful. I glance over.

They’ve put her in a pair of white chinos and a khaki-colored linen shirt, complete with laced-up boots and a leather belt. It’s magazine safari clothing.

And God help me, but yes, I can tell that she’s put in prep work, whatever that means. Her eyes are darker, and somehow they look deeper. Magic. Sorcery. Unnecessary, as if she needed to be more striking.

“Well?” she asks. “Will this do?”

“It’ll do,” I say.

She leans on the railing next to me. “I know you’d rather be photographing wildebeest than me.”

My lips twitch. “Infinitely preferable in every way but one,” I say. “They don’t handle directions as well as you.”

Ivy’s lips curve, but it’s not her wide smile. This one is… well. It reminds me of the one on the bridge in Paris. The one that’s somehow a bit shy, which is the last word I’d ever expected to use to describe Ivy Hart.

“What a compliment,” she murmurs.

A million possible responses race through my head. A million more that I discard immediately.

The loud sound of a car horn breaks our eye contact. Someone’s outside our lodge, and they’re impatient. I grab my camera equipment and follow Ivy outside to the oversized Jeep, complete with the Rieler logo on the side.

Joy is standing beside it, a massive grin on her face.

“Ready for your private safari?”

Ivy’s