Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Abigail

I ’ve never felt so utterly inadequate in my life.

“No, don’t smile,” Steven, the photographer, calls out his next command.

I relax my lips, trying to mimic that bored sultry expression models display as they strut down the runway. How they’re able to do this day in and day out is beyond me.

Click, click, click.

I’ve never worked with a professional photographer before, so I didn’t know Steven would be so relentless and critical. His attitude and rapid-fire demands make me feel self-conscious and insecure. The pressure to live up to his image of perfection has me on edge.

“Tease your hair,” he instructs.

I widen my fingers, running them under the mass of curls, trying to add volume.

Click.

“No. On the side away from the camera.”

I lean away from the overstuffed chaise lounge and try to make it happen.

Click, click, click.

I’m wondering if this is really worth it. The constant criticism, the demands to be something I’m not—it’s wearing me down. I imagine having to do this job to make a living would take a serious toll on my self-esteem. I’d definitely need a counselor on standby.

“Straighten your leg,” Steven says next.

I pull my calf forward, locking my knee.

Click.

Ugh. After so many failed attempts, I recognize that a single click means he’s not happy with the results. I should have just politely declined the request.

“This would be so much easier,” the photographer’s nasally voice pipes up again, “with a professional model.”

Once again, I turn to Holly for guidance. I almost wish she’d give up, but from everything I’ve seen, I’m not sure that’s part of her character. Instead, she’s standing there with a patient smile on her face.

“We’re not using a professional model for this shoot, Steven,” she says for the umpteenth time. “I want an actual woman with a real body doing this shoot.”

Honestly, I’m with Steven for once. I’d be up for ending this now. However, I have enough sense to keep my mouth shut. On top of that, Miss Opal gave me a task to do…for her son. I’m not about to disappoint her, regardless of how I feel about this photo shoot, or her son.

Which makes me wonder what he’ll think of the pictures. Will he even care? I don’t care for him—I don’t, but there’s a part of me that wants to know.

Steven holds his hands out to his sides, palms up, then throws his head back. “Give me patience,” he pleads, loud enough for me to hear over the music playing in the background.

I bite the inside of my lip, trying to keep from saying anything. Maybe I should be the one to call it quits. I’ve done everything he’s asked, as best I can. No matter how careful I am, he’s not happy with me. That, in itself, is becoming a common trait with me.

“Point your toes, Abby,” Holly instructs. “With the high cut on that piece, it’ll give the appearance of added length to your legs.”

Short girl problems. I should get a T-shirt with that phrase across the front and a stepladder on the back.

There’s a knock at the door, and Holly turns away to get it.

I point my toes as instructed, making sure they’re toward the camera so the French pedicure will be visible in the picture.

Click, click, click, click.

Would anyone actually be checking my toes? I can’t imagine that’s the first thing a man would see if his wife or girlfriend is wearing this outfit.

“Focus on the mirror.” Steven’s annoyed voice cuts into my thoughts.

I lean my head back to the antique floor-length mirror they set up behind my chair. I can’t get over the makeup job. Holly requested sexy and sultry. Neither are terms I ever would have used to describe myself.

I’ve swapped out to the third piece Holly selected. It’s a purple negligee that mimics a corset on the front, with lacy cups that don’t quite hold me in. A thin line of the same lace goes down my lower back to disappear into nothing at the underside of my butt. I’m surprised it didn’t tear right off with all the moving around they’ve had me do.

Steven blows out a frustrated breath.

“You look cross-eyed in the mirror.” The exasperation in his voice leaves me ready to cry. Why can’t I get this right? Why? We’ve been at this for hours. Through each round, I try to do what he wanted before, and I miss the mark.

Taking a calming breath, I switch from my reflection to another spot on the mirror. I find the king-sized bed behind me. It’s covered in stacks of big fluffy pillows and pristine white lace against a blue background. Nothing like the bedding in our rooms.

But then, we’re on the opposite side of the suite. At most, one room between us and Barron’s bedroom.

Why did that have to pop into my head right now? I don’t even like Barron. Still, the image of him in that bed comes to mind. The covers thrown aside to show his bare back as he sleeps.

“You’ve got it,” Steven says with relief.

Click, click, click.

I lower my eyelids in sheer disgust. Of course, Steven would choose the moment I’m thinking about Barron to say I’m doing okay. I hold on to the feelings rippling inside until we’re done.

“We’ve got the next outfit,” Holly says.

“Don’t you dare move,” Steven snaps.

Click, click, click.

“Slowly…move your hand down your hip to your thigh.”

Click, click, click, click, click.

“That’s it. Relax your shoulders.”

Click, click, click.

“You’ve got it, baby,” he says with enthusiasm.

“You see? You’ll fit in great as part of this shoot,” Holly says, out of my line of sight. I don’t dare glance away now that things are finally going right. This must be the third model Holly mentioned. I’d thought she meant Miss Opal, who had to be rescheduled due to the ankle.

“Shift your hips.”

I follow his instructions to the best of my ability. The camera clicks once then stops. I cringe inwardly, waiting for one of his grumpy comments.

“No!” He blows out a breath and says something I should probably be grateful I can’t hear. “Dig your hip into the couch so your waist dips.”

Click, click, click.

“It’ll be perfect,” Holly assures the model. “Just look at her. She’s beautiful.”

“Knee forward, touching the cushion, and hand up under your cheek so we can see that ass.”

Is it Bronwyn? A blush crawls up my cheeks. I don’t want to think about the fact that someone with her thin, classy figure is watching me while the camera’s going.

Please let it be anyone but her.

“Okay,” Steven says, exhaling. “We’re good.”

“Yay.” Holly gives an encouraging little cheer as she heads in my direction. “Just one more outfit.”

I relax, putting my hand under my breasts to keep myself decent as I sit up. I turn to face her, but the first thing I see isn’t Holly. It’s Barron McClelland filling the doorway. He’s focused on me, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

I swallow my trepidation. I should have been clearer when I asked for it to be anyone but her .

I push myself up to stand, still holding the lace below the cups of this one-piece. The pressure between my legs assures me the crotch on this thing covers me as well as it can, considering it’s mostly lace. And telling someone who doesn’t swim that this is like wearing a bathing suit isn’t helpful.

I’m sure there are millions of confident women who would feel comfortable wearing something so revealing. They have the confidence to walk up to a man while the thin straps on the lingerie slip down until the lace is barely hanging on by a nipple. I am not one of those women.

I have the urge to turn around for a bit of privacy while I adjust my clothes to ensure all the important bits are properly covered. However, giving them my back will only show more of me.

The only way I got through the earlier scene where I was kneeling in front of the mirror was because Holly got creative. I had to wear the robe that came with that outfit. She had me slip it off a little at a time. By the time we finished, my butt was fully uncovered.

Holly heads straight for me, bringing a dry-cleaning bag with her. Heat comes off my cheeks as I move across the room to meet her. I only take a few steps before I stop, letting her come the rest of the way. My legs aren’t cooperating. At the moment, they feel like they’re made of jelly.

It can’t be because Barron is standing there, like a whole mountain range in the background, right? It’s like my senses are suddenly turning on me. Having wobbly legs only makes the experience of being on board a ship that much worse.

I still have to figure out how Miss Opal talked me into this so easily. Did she know I’d be here, in the middle of a room, barely dressed, while people took pictures of me?

Maybe it’s blind faith in the woman. Maybe I just want to earn my keep. Either way, I never expected to be the main focus of people’s attention when I’m practically spilling out of this outfit.

I’m fighting the need to fidget with the lace on what I’m wearing. If this was a skirt or shorts, I’d be yanking down on the hem to make sure I was decent. But I left decent in the rearview mirror a long time ago. If only this piece came with a robe too.

Holly pulls the plastic bag over the hanger and tosses it over her shoulder. Bringing her hand under the sheer white cotton, she holds it as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

It’s the nightie she chose at the end. Only she found a seamstress on board who could tailor the piece the way she wanted it.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” she whispers.

I swallow hard. “Yes, it is beautiful.” I run my fingers under the material. Each finger is clearly visible through the delicate cotton. “It’s a little…thin,” I murmur, curling my toes into the carpet. “Don’t you think?” My voice trembles a bit on that last part.

Steven is right. They should have gone with a professional model. Someone tall and sleek, sophisticated and worldly. All the things I’m not.

I try my best not to glance past her, to where Barron is looking down his nose at me. Why does he disapprove of me? It could be because I’m the help, or because of my age. Then again, he knows I’m my father’s daughter. Not that I can do anything about any of those things.

“I realize it is a little revealing,” Holly begins with a patient smile.

The understatement of the year. They’ll be able to see my DNA in this.

“These pictures will only be available in the studio.” She turns thoughtful. “I want to create something with a power dynamic to it. It’s the innocent maiden at the mercy of the big, bad billionaire,” she says, gesturing toward Barron.

I dig my toes in again. Well, she got him dead to rights. I’m not sure I’m the person who should be playing the role opposite him though.

I stare down at the material again. Can I go through with this?

“Don’t worry,” Holly says, trying to reassure me. “We’ll airbrush everything out.” She waves a hand across her chest.

In most bra commercials, you can see they’ve smoothed out anything that could show a nipple. I assume that’s what she means they’ll do here as well. That only takes care of one issue.

The bigger problem is that I’m supposed to wear this piece of nothing in front of Barron. Maybe if it was someone else in the suit, it would make things easier. But she wants me to work with the one man who intimidates me beyond anything else.

I peek over her shoulder to find a stern expression on Barron’s face, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.

“It’ll just be a few poses.” She puts her hand to her chest, as if she’s making a promise. “Since Barron is the owner, he’s the perfect person to play opposite you.” She grins. “Think of it like Beauty and the Beast .”

Well, to call him a beast would certainly fit the bill. At least with the way he acts around me.

“Just three or four poses with him,” she says, bringing my attention back to her. “Then we’re done with pictures.”

If it means we’re almost done, I think I can manage. I start nodding before I can even get the words out. “Okay… I’ll do it.” It’s only because I promised Miss Opal. “I just don’t want this to be something that comes back to haunt me.”

Holly holds up her palm. “The images will be tasteful. You can count on that.” She gives me a winning smile. “It’s exactly why I chose you to be the model.”

Steven blows out a breath again, drawing everyone’s attention. I glance over, heat burning through my cheeks then up into my hairline. He’s oblivious, putting the camera strap around his neck as he fidgets with the lens.

The atmosphere in the room feels different. Is there a deeper meaning behind Holly’s statement? If so, I have no idea what it is. Again, I hope this doesn’t come back to haunt me.

I take the hanger and walk past Holly with as much dignity as I can muster when I know my butt’s visible to anybody who would care to notice.