Chapter 7

Cheyenne

New York wasanother one of my favorite cities in the world. I loved shopping and wandering around Paris. I enjoyed the mystery and gloominess of Edinburgh. London was a fabulous mix of old and new, with secret speakeasies and a nightlife I couldn't get enough of. But New York had elements of all of that. History, shopping, nightlife, culture, and more. There weren't any ancient landmarks like the Acropolis or the Pyramids of Egypt, but the view never got old and if I was going to cheat on my diet, this was where I did it.

Not this trip, though.

I was shooting a commercial for a new perfume called "Sterling Shadow" by a designer friend named Alexa Humboldt. She'd been designing couture gowns for nearly two decades now and had decided to branch into perfume. I'd been wearing her designs for most of my career, so I'd jumped at the chance when she asked me to do the commercial for her.

I would be posing with a popular French model named Frederique Allard. I'd met him a few times and found him professional enough, but he was aloof and arrogant in my opinion. He had striking good looks, with jet-black hair that was a touch too long and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean. I found him a little too pretty for my tastes, but he took gorgeous photographs, and I had no doubt we would look stunning together.

"Hi!" Alexa was in her early forties, with dark hair and a quick smile. She was long and sinewy, didn't wear makeup, and usually ran around at fittings like a chicken with her head cut off. I didn't know what she would be like today, but it was rare that anything ruffled my feathers when I was working. I found my zone and focused until it was over. Whether it took thirty minutes or three days, I knew what to do.

I wasn't expecting Frederique to arrive with an entourage, including two bodyguards, three women he called stylists even though Alexa was doing her own styling, and someone he called his publicist, even though she did nothing but flutter around the room giving me dirty looks.

Alexa was going for an ethereal look, playing on both the color silver and the shadow element, so we were on a rooftop at eight o'clock in the evening, a wind machine on standby to make it look like we were battling the elements.

The storyboard I'd seen said something about me running toward a silvery moon, stopping because of a mythical monster in the road, and then Frederique arriving out of nowhere to sweep me away and save me. The unspoken meaning would be that the silvery shadow scent attracted both manifestations and good won over evil. Or something.

I glanced at the clock, noting that we should have started shooting already but Frederique and his group were taking their sweet time settling in. Alexa and I exchanged a look, and she took charge, which was one of many things I loved about her.

"Freddie, take your stylist into the dressing room and finish up in there. We're going to start filming Chey."

"You can wait, no?" he asked, arching a brow.

"No, we've already waited…" She glanced at her watch. "Thirty-seven minutes. You were late and I'm paying for this place by the hour. Get out there, Chey."

I nodded, kicking off my slippers and sliding on the tall, silver high heels she wanted me to wear.

"That way," someone directed me.

"Wait!" Frederique came toward me. "What if she runs from me, instead of to me?" His heavy accent made him a little hard to understand, but I paused, letting Alexa make the decision.

"No. Chey is the face of my perfume. She's the heroine here, not the villain. Go ahead, Chey."

"Wait!" He yelled again and I let out a sigh this time, glancing at Alexa, who was definitely annoyed now.

"What is it, Freddy?"

"This dress… it is yours, yes?"

Alexa nodded.

"What if we add this?" He snapped his fingers, and someone appeared with what looked like a white mink stole.

Good grief.

"She would look elegant," he said. "It is one-of-a-kind, designed by Dauphine." He smiled at the woman he'd called his publicist a little while ago.

Alexa looked like she was considering it.

"It's beautiful," she said. "But nope. Not the look I'm envisioning. Let's go. No more interruptions." She made a shooing motion to me, and I didn't take it personally, walking onto the set and positioning myself where they wanted me.

Frederique disappeared into his dressing room, and I started to a slow run, hoping I looked nervous about being alone on a dark street at night.

"Faster!" the director called.

He should try running in four-inch heels and then talk to me.

I moved a little faster, looking over my shoulder as if I was afraid of being followed.

The next thing I knew, Frederique appeared out of nowhere, jumping in front of me with a roar. He scared the crap out of me, since this wasn't part of the storyline we'd discussed, and I lost my balance. He quickly reached out, catching me before I fell, one hand firmly squeezing my ass.

"Knock it off," I grunted, pushing away from him.

"I only wished to save you from fall," he snapped.

I gave him a look. "I wouldn't have fallen if you'd followed the script."

"What the hell, Freddy?" Alexa came toward us, hands on her hips. "What are you doing? I didn't hire you to be the producer, director, or anything else. If you can't do what I'm asking you to do, I'm sure there are a hundred other male models I can get here in the next hour."

He scowled. "I am Frederique Allard," he said, lifting his chin. "I do not play second to a woman."

"Well, you do if you want to be in my commercial," she said. "Because it's a woman's perfume and she—" She pointed at me. "—is the face of Sterling Shadow."

"I cannot work under these conditions," he said, waving his arms dramatically.

Then he stalked off the set, waved a hand at his entourage, and the entire group descended onto the elevator. The last we saw of them was as the doors closed.

"What just happened?" Alexa demanded. "Did he really just walk out?"

"He did." My makeup artist nodded. "And good riddance to bad rubbish."

"Fuck me."

"I'm sorry," I said to Alexa. "Was this my fault?"

"No!" She threw up her hands. "This isn't about him. If I'd made a men's cologne, he would've been the focus. But I didn't. All right." She turned to the director and photographers. "Can we salvage this, or am I going to eat the cost for everything tonight?"

"Do we know any male models who could come over in the next hour?" I asked. "I know a lot of them, but I don't know if they're here in New York or busy or what. It could take me an hour or more just to find someone available."

"Shit. I know a lot too, but the same thing applies." She tapped her foot impatiently. "I guess I could make a few calls. Let's take ten, see if we can round anyone up. I was hoping to capitalize on the appeal of two of the top models in the world, but you have enough power on your own, Chey. We can use any pretty face for the guy."

I suddenly had an idea.

"What if…"

"Spit it out," she said impatiently.

"My friend… he's a professional hockey player. He's here in New York and they're not playing tonight. He's very easy on the eyes, great body. Hang on." I thumbed through my phone, looking for one of the pictures from the gallery opening. "Here. This is us last week."

Alexa took a quick look and her eyes widened. "Can he do it right now? And is there anything in his hockey contract preventing him from doing so? We don't have time to go through lawyers and agents. This has to happen tonight, or I stand to lose thousands."

"Give me a minute." I dialed his number and walked out to the balcony, hoping he would pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I have a crazy question, and it's important."

"Okay."

"Is there anything in your Phantoms contract that prevents you from doing a perfume commercial? No nudity, nothing political or related to sports. This is you being eye candy for like five or ten seconds on screen."

He didn't hesitate. "Not at all. I did a deodorant commercial a couple of years ago. As long as I don't endorse or talk about hockey in any way, I can do what I want. Is this a possibility?"

"I would need you to come uptown right now. Get in a cab, and come to where I am. I can text more details if you need me to, but we're in a time crunch. Our male model walked out."

"I'm down to help, but you should know I'm not a model."

"Less than ten seconds on camera saving me from an invisible monster. That's all there is to it."

"Can I bring Gabe along for moral support?"

"If you can come right now, you can bring the whole team."

"We're at a bar on fifty-fifth having a drink. I can be there in fifteen minutes, depending on traffic."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll text you the address."

"Thank you!" Alexa yelled from behind me, making me jump.

"I wish everyone would stop scaring the shit out of me," I mumbled.

"Sorry." She laughed. "But thank you. You're a life saver."

"Don't thank me yet. He may walk in and disappoint you."

She cocked her head. "Does he disappoint you?"

I was incredibly grateful for the darkness because I might have flushed. "We're, uh, we're just friends, but no, he doesn't disappoint me."

"Then he won't disappoint me. I'm going to go pop half a Xanax and then send Freddy's agent a scathing text. By then, your friend should be here, and we might actually salvage this shoot."

"You'll like Ivan," I said softly. "He's wonderful."

"Thank god. I am not in the mood for another diva." She flounced off in the other direction and I sank onto a chair to put my slippers back on. No need to walk around in those heels until I had to.

I texted Ivan the address and then texted Harper.

CHEY: Guess what I'm about to do?

HARPER: Get naked with Ivan?

CHEY: LOL Well, yes and no. You're in the ballpark but haven't made it onto the field yet.

HARPER: Please don't do baseball metaphors. I don't get them.

CHEY: Frederique Allard was acting like a pissy little baby for not being the star attraction, so he walked off the set of Alexa's perfume commercial, and Ivan is going to come fill in.

HARPER: I may have just had a hot flash, Chey!

CHEY: And Gabe is coming with him for moral support!

HARPER: Please hold, I am going to text Gabe.

I laughed and put my phone down.

Tonight was going to be a lot more fun than I'd anticipated.

The question was whether it was because of Ivan specifically or simply that I'd salvaged the shoot?

Once again, I probably already knew the answer.

I just didn't know what the hell to do about it.