Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Abigail

I step into the bathroom then lock myself in. Standing on tippy-toes, I hang the new outfit on the hook behind the door.

A peek into the mirror confirms I don’t appear as put together as I did a few minutes ago. While my stomach is fairly flat, I have a bit of a bubble butt. According to Steven, he could make even me look good, if he caught the right angle.

Ugh, the guy really knows how to break a person’s confidence.

I’m a ball of nerves, about to show most everything to anyone who wants to sign up for pictures. Of course, as Miss Opal said, this is modeling. So it’s not like this shoot will come back as anything other than a job.

I don’t plan to put modeling on my résumé. But I suppose someone could still find me if they saw a picture. It’s not as if I run in the same circles as the people who can afford this cruise. Except for a twist of fate, and Miss Opal’s ankle, I wouldn’t be here at all.

I slip out of the purple one-piece, folding it in half before placing it on the counter with the other two. I’m left standing here, completely naked, as I reach up and grab the hanger.

All the while, I try to ignore the fact the color of the wall shows through the thin fabric.

I pick up a narrow strap from the notch on the hanger, and it comes loose in my hand. The strap is attached to a tiny triangle and three beads. Curious, I go back at the outfit, trying to figure out where this goes.

Several seconds later, it dawns on me. This is the underwear that goes under the nightie. “What the…”

I pull the ends of the triangle that barely stretches across my palm. What the heck is it supposed to cover? I’ve seen string bikini bottoms with more material than this. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I can do it. Not if I’ll be wearing next to nothing.

“I still think you’re making a huge mistake,” Steven’s snotty comment filters through the door. “You need a professional. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing and can follow directions properly,” he says with enough emphasis to make me cringe. “Someone who can bring recognition to the line.”

“Duly noted,” Holly replies. “I’ll give your suggestions all the consideration they require.”

I assume he’s the one clapping. “Good. Good. Good.” Steven’s voice sounds much more cheerful. “We can get Bronwyn here in minutes to take over.”

My shoulders relax. I’m off the hook, and I’ve never been so relieved.

“Oh, we’re not getting Bronwyn,” Holly replies. “Abby will finish this photo shoot for us, just as we planned. She’s been the epitome of professional, despite the conditions.”

What little hope of freedom shrivels up and dies inside me.

“I wouldn’t call?—”

“You seem to forget,” Holly cuts in, her voice carrying a harder edge. “I’m the one who has final approval over what photos make the cut. Not. You.”

This time, when I cringe, it’s on Steven’s behalf. Being the professional he is, I’m sure her reply was like a slap in the face. But not unwarranted. He more than had it coming, considering how many times she’s made her feelings known.

Resigned, I slip the nightie over my head, careful not to ruin the hair or makeup. I watch my reflection as I pull the piece into place and adjust the waistline.

As expected, my nipples are staring back at me, reminding me of the temperature in the room. I bite my bottom lip and arrange my hair down my chest to where I’m somewhat decent.

Next, I step into the panties, or what there is of them. I position the waist like a high-cut bikini bottom. This allows for the slits on either side of the skirt to show skin, instead of panty line. Assuming that’s what the designer was aiming for.

I’m left with nothing more to do. The long-wear lipstick doesn’t need to be retouched. The eye shadow is still perfect, and my nose isn’t even shiny. I have to get the name of that finishing spray the woman used. This is fantastic.

I step back to take it all in, turning this way and that. After adjusting the seams, I set my hand on my stomach and do a final assessment. I suppose if I were seeing someone else, I would think she looks pretty good. Considering it’s me, and my curves, I can’t help but leave it at not half bad.

“How are you doing in there?” Holly’s voice comes through the door.

“I’ll be right out.”

I turn to check how the material drapes over my butt, making the skirt seem shorter at the back. It also pulls the skirt open at the slits, revealing my hips on each side. No matter how much I pinch the edges to try to keep it together, it’s not working.

Why would it? Clothes like this are supposed to show off a woman’s body. To entice a man. Barron’s disapproving expression comes to mind. Yeah, I’m going to be an epic failure at that.

“Come on,” Holly coaxes.

Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob and step out into the room. I shake my head. “Holly, I?—”

“Oh my God. Look at you.” She puts her hands up to cover her nose and mouth. “You’re beautiful.” Her gaze goes all the way down to where I’m digging my toes into the carpet. “Miss Opal will be thrilled at the layout.”

That’s a low blow. I exhale in defeat. Of course I feel obligated to go forward with it now.

“Okay.” I swallow hard as I fidget with the ends of my hair, drawing it over my breast again. “Let’s do this.”

Holly beams, cupping my arm as she leads me over to the couch. Steven has Barron sitting in one corner, a book in hand. He glances up, as if he’s annoyed.

“Just remember, keep up that expression of disapproval,” Steven encourages as he snaps pictures. “You’re the guy in charge. The boss. She’s the innocent girl who doesn’t stand a chance against your power.”

Steven couldn’t have been more spot-on if he tried. Barron’s cold expression cuts through me, twisting my stomach into a knot.

“Let’s have you sit down with him.” Steven points to Barron.

The moment of truth. Excess saliva pools in my mouth as I force myself to move. I’m a little unsteady as I walk past Barron to sit on the couch.

“No,” Steven snaps. “On his lap.”

My salivary glands open full throttle. Barron moves the book to one side, watching me with mild amusement. He’s enjoying this way too much.

My gaze slides down to his lap. How am I supposed to sit there gracefully?

“Afraid I’ll bite?” he mocks.

“I assume you have your shots,” I blurt out, forgetting who I’m talking to. Gathering my wits, I set my teeth on the tip of my tongue. It’s to remind myself to watch my words around him.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear his lips twitched.

Holly turns to Barron. “Slide your feet forward a little bit so she can get settled.”

His gaze is centered on my face as he moves to follow her directions. I wedge a foot between his and extend my hand to Holly. She grasps it firmly, helping me balance as I lower myself onto his lap. My back is stiff as I try to figure out where to put my other foot.

“Relax a little.” Holly looks at me with a critical eye. “Get comfortable.”

Comfortable? I don’t believe that’s within the realm of possibility. It feels like I’m sidling up to a fire-breathing dragon in a three-piece suit.

I shift my shoulders, trying to lose the stiffness. At the same time, I struggle with the need to pull away. Barron’s sitting there, all smug, while I’m trying to ignore the fact my bare butt is on his thighs.

The concern on Holly’s face has me worried. “Smile, honey.”

Click.

“Maybe not,” Steven says thoughtfully. He turns from the camera to talk to Holly. “You’re going for a power dynamic. That can work if she’s frightened or intimidated.” They both turn to me. “It helps build tension.”

Oh yeah. The tension’s thick enough to suffocate me.

“Okay. I see what you’re going for. And you’re right,” she acknowledges. “What if she’s biting her lip, and body wise…” She comes over and arranges my shoulders. She turns my face to where my head’s tucked in so I’m staring down at the middle of Barron’s massive chest.

Click, click, click. “Yep. You got it.” Click, click, click. “We may come back to this. Maybe he has his hand in her hair.”

“That’ll work,” she says.

“But I don’t want to stop for hair and makeup right now.” Click, click, click. “So this will be the first layer.”

By the sound of it, these few poses will take longer than I hoped.

Steven turns the camera on its side. “Face him.” Click, click, click. “Lean in to his chest.”

Click, click, click.

My stomach pitches. I raise my eyes to meet his and shift my shoulder against him.

“No!” Steven’s exasperation comes through again. “ Turn , set your arms on his chest then lean in.”

“Um…” Oh Lord. With a jerky move, I lean into Barron, ignoring the heat of his body.

“Put your arm around her,” he says in a tone that sounds much more professional.

This time, it’s impossible to ignore how his palm is scorching my skin. Click, click, click. He turns the camera again. Click, click, click.

“Bring your leg around so we can see the curve of your ass,” he says, reverting to the jerk I’ve been dealing with.

Click, click, click, click, click.

“Now, let’s have you across his lap,” he says, holding his palm out in a sweeping motion. “Settle at the edge of the couch with your knee pointing down and your forearms on the couch’s arm.”

I’m more than happy to jump off him, step around his legs, then try to get myself into the pose Steven wants. I take an extra second to adjust the straps so I don’t spill out.

“Okay, hand on her ass,” he says to Barron.

I stiffen, as if waiting for a shot and being terrified of needles. His palm settles on me, and I falter. My instinct is to pull away, but that sends me against his body.

“Fingers stretched out to touch her skin,” he instructs shamelessly.

Which makes the anticipation that much worse. I curl my toes, conscious of the heat of his palm burning my skin.

Click, click, click, click, click.

“Look at the camera.” His tone is enough to let me know he’s speaking to me. Click. “Love it.” Click. His breath rushes out. “You’re the main focus of the picture,” he says, annoyed. “Imagine it’s your boyfriend back home.” Click, click. “Or the last time you were in the back seat, getting all sweaty.”

Now I’m the one with the annoyed expression.

“Okay.” He sets the camera against his chest, giving me an eye-roll. “Just get up and over by the window.” He stomps off, annoyed.

I push up on the couch, trying to gain my balance.

“What’s the matter, Abigail,” Barron says beside my ear. “I don’t measure up to the guys you have chasing you back home.”

That comment dispels any embarrassment I have at being in this awkward position. “Nobody’s going to be chasing me, Barron. I’m the help, remember?” Then I’m off the couch.

He knows very well I was sent to the same private school he went to. Only he was there as the one and only McClelland heir. Meanwhile, everyone knew I was the charity case Miss Opal took in.

If a guy was interested in me, it was because he thought I was easy. Willing to spread my legs to a guy with money.

“Open the drapes then stand in the middle so I can work this out,” Steven demands.

My stomach twists again. I can do this. I prepared, in case Miss Opal wanted to open the door. Of course, that didn’t include me standing here all but naked. Much less with Barron just to my left.

“The drapes, Abigail,” Steven insists.

Fueled by a healthy bit of annoyance, I hit the button then glance downward as I move to stand where he wants me. The whir of the little motor won’t let me block out what’s in front of me. I close my eyes, digging my nails into my palm as the sound stops.

“That image would look stunning with her hair flowing,” Holly says.

I’m sure it would, only he didn’t bring a fan?—

The click of the latch cuts through the room. My eyes snap open. Blue-gray water stretches out into the distance. The door moves on the rail, leaving nothing between me and the depths of the ocean.

I open my mouth, but the words are stuck in my throat. Cool, damp air hits me in the face. In my mind, water comes up over my head. The world tilts under me.