Grounded (Up In The Air #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mr. Gorgeous

After an exhaustive amount of posing, James was led off to change into another outfit for the shoot. I couldn’t imagine why. I’d seen the shoot. There was no way they hadn’t gotten a good string of pictures out of it.

The director approached me as James disappeared into the dressing area. She smiled at me. It was a polished, professional kind of smile. I wondered if she’d been a model before she’d directed photo shoots.

She waved a hand at her own chest. “So I take it you’re this Bianca?” she asked, and I realized she was referencing the tattoo she’d just been staring at for an hour.

I nodded, not really sure how to respond.

She held out a hand. “I’m Beatrice Stoker. I’m the director.”

I shook her hand, and she squeezed hard, like it was some kind of a test. I gave her a half-hearted response, not interested in whatever way she thought she was testing me with such a strange action.

“Bianca,” I told her, even though she obviously knew that.

“You are one lucky lady, Bianca,” she said. Something a little too familiar about her tone raised my hackles just a bit.

I gave her very solid eye contact. “I’m very well aware of that. Trust me when I say that you can’t even imagine how lucky.”

She blinked, but didn’t seem at all put off by my awkward statement. I didn’t know what made me want to goad her, but more and more, I seemed to be having a hard time holding my tongue.

“Well, good for you,” she finally said. “About that, with Mr. Cavendish’s new tattoos being devoted to you and all, I had an idea for the shoot, if you don’t object.”

“Object to what?” I asked suspiciously.

She smiled that polished smile. “If you wouldn’t mind going through the hassle of hair, makeup, and wardrobe, I’d love to have you involved in some of the shots. More as an accessory to James than as a focal point, if you get my meaning.”

I didn’t. “You want me to be in the photo?” I asked, baffled. It was something I’d never expected.

“Well, he’s showing off tattoos that are obviously in your honor, so I thought it would be nice to squeeze you into a few shots. Nothing much. I’d just like to have you maybe hug him from behind, something very innocent and low-key. He’s been shirtless on our covers several times, sans tats. I thought it might be nice to show the reader what’s inspired his new passion for ink.”

I grimaced, uncomfortable with the idea. “You’d have to ask James. This is his thing.”

She nodded and strode off with a purpose, and I felt a little like I’d just thrown him to the wolves.

Sure enough, James strode out of the dressing room scant moments later, moving to me in swift strides, his brow furrowed. He was in a new mouthwatering getup with pale beige slacks, a bare golden chest, and the softest looking beige scarf I’d ever seen in my life wrapped around his neck until it formed a sort of X-rated cowl.

“What do you think of this idea?” he asked me quietly.

I shrugged, not sure what to think, and having a hard time focusing on anything but what I wanted him to do to me with that scarf.

“My first inclination was to say f*ck no, I don’t want you exposed like that, but my need to shelter you from the world is obviously a moot point. They’ve gotten a look at you, so I think we should let them look at you on our terms, if that makes sense. So I guess what I’m saying is that, yes, I would like you to be involved with the shoot, if you’re comfortable with that.”

He sounded almost defensive as he mapped out his reasonings to me. It was so unusual for him to be defensive that I was a little taken aback. He looked so worked up in fact, that I decided to just put him out of his misery.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” I said quietly. It was a fact that there were already too many horrible pictures of me out there to even keep track of, so what would one not so horrible picture hurt?

He seemed stunned, and not altogether pleased, which I found rather perverse of him, but he just nodded.

After that, it felt like a whirlwind of activity as I had my hair, makeup, and nails done.

The dressing room was a total fiasco. There was just no other way to look at it. The wardrobe people, used to working with professionals, and hardly used to dealing with unreasonably jealous boyfriends, tried to go about business as usual.

Someone started to lift my skirt up and I just sort of yelped, surprised. I turned to look at the girl behind me. She was giving me an impatient look, just doing her job. And then there was James…

“Don’t touch her,” he told the poor girl, his tone bordering on mean. I hadn’t appreciated her familiarity, but I felt a strong stirring of pity at the crushed look on her face. He addressed the room at large. “Everyone out. She does not need an audience. Only one female dresser gets to stay.”

That one lucky female dresser looked like she’d just drawn the short straw as she rifled through clothes. She was the little blonde assistant that had been helping with the shoot. She pulled out a pair of jeans and gave me a dubious look. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to go topless? Everything would be covered, of course—“

“Out of the question,” James said. He sounded real putout about it, too.

She sighed, no more happy than he was about the whole situation. “Maybe I should just let you choose her wardrobe. Only her hands and maybe the top of her head will be showing, so it doesn’t really matter, and you’re obviously going to have an opinion about it.”

I thought she’d been sarcastic when she told him to choose, but he took her at her word, rifling through the racks of clothes with a purpose.

James didn’t waste any time choosing, at least. I rolled my eyes but had to smile as I saw what he’d chosen.

The stylist actually seemed pleased with his choices. “Ohh, that’s a nice idea. That would be a good way to have her compliment the shot.”

“She doesn’t need help dressing, but she does need privacy,” James said bluntly.

The stylist shot him an unfriendly look, but left in a hurry.

I studied James, half-expecting him to pounce on me. It was a natural assumption. We were alone now, and when we were alone…

He didn’t though, just started acting like he was dressing me. I didn’t need help dressing, but I knew that wasn’t the point. He wanted to do this, needed to do this. If I tried to analyze him, as I seemed to do with everything, I thought he did this because he loved to feel like he was taking care of me. He, being as much of a relationship novice as myself, thought that this was what couples did, something that made them closer. I was pretty positive that not many couples did do it, but odd as it was, it did make me feel closer to him, and more cherished.


He dressed me in beige slacks and a soft, knit, beige tank top that was nearly a match to his scarf. I fingered that scarf when it got within my reach.

He gave me a hot look. “I’m keeping the scarf. I have plans.”

“Of course you do,” I murmured back.

His eyes narrowed on me. “That look in your eyes is going to get you in trouble.”

I just stared at him, letting that ‘look’ do its worst.

He grinned. “Lucky for us both, you like to get into trouble.”

I felt my insides clench in a very good way, sure that meant he was going to do something, like now, but he just finished dressing me and stepped back.

“Wear the same red heels,” he said. I stepped into them, and he tugged me back out into the studio.

The shoot was both less and more awkward than I’d anticipated. On my end, posing was a breeze. All I had to do was stand behind him, arms wrapped around his middle, hands on his chest and abs. I tried not to let those hands wander, or caress, but it was a struggle. My face wasn’t really even visible, just the top of my head and my eyes peeking over his shoulder when I wasn’t laying my cheek against his lovely back. Posing was easy. Not getting wildly turned on was the hard part. I managed that part better than James, though that was only because his part was harder to control in general.

The director cleared her throat just a few shots in. “Um, so, is there anything you can do about that, Mr. Cavendish? This is not an X-rated publication…”

James, shameless bastard that he was, seemed completely unfazed. “You’ll just need to shoot me waist up. You were the one who wanted my girlfriend in the shot, putting her hands on me. What did you think was going to happen?”

“If we could shoot just waist up, that might not be a problem, but it seems to be a…bigger problem than that.”

I felt him shrug against my cheek and I just lost it. I started giggling and I couldn’t stop for a solid five minutes.

James turned around until our fronts were pressed together. He was smiling at me, laughter in his eyes. “I can’t think of a sound that I love to hear more than that one.”

It went better after I got that long giggling fit out of my system. James seemed to get a better handle on things as well, and they shot his back and front while I leaned against him. They stopped briefly to fix his hair, letting it hang loose, then tying it back again. The whole thing seemed kind of silly and frivolous to me, but what did I know about photo shoots? And I couldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy myself. Just the opposite; once I shook the nerves off, I had a really good time.

They did one more wardrobe change for James, and I was left out of that one. I didn’t mind.

They put him in nothing but low-slung athletic shorts and some running shoes. They didn’t give him socks, which seemed pretty impractical, but he did have sexy ankles, so I got why they’d done it.

They braided the longer pieces of his hair back, which I thought was weird, but it worked on him. He looked gorgeous, as usual.

They went through the standard poses that he’d been doing, then moved on to some action shots. These I watched with renewed fascination. They had him jump impressively high, do some push-ups, and then pull-ups. I had to contain a little smirk when they made him do curls.

He used more expression for these shots, even grinning into the camera for some of them. He hardly needed direction, going about the whole process like I imagined a professional model would.

Someone brought me a turkey sandwich, and I thanked them. I ate the entire thing, not taking my eyes off James for a second.

They took a few breaks to do what I thought was some very unnecessary oiling down. He tried to brush off the two women swarming him, shooting me a very uncomfortable look. I thought I read the look perfectly. He was worried I’d be upset at all of the hands trying to touch him, and he wanted it to stop.

They finally relented, but still insisted on doing his back. His jaw was clenched, and he looked positively agitated by the time they finished. I watched with no expression on my face, though I only felt the slightest twinge of annoyance. If I had been inclined to get upset about all of the touching, his reaction would have quickly cured me. He was far more upset about it than I was.

He approached me to chat during one of the short breaks, and one of the many assistants approached us, a sheepish look on her face. I saw that she was holding a rolled up magazine.

She unrolled it and held it out to him when she got close, a black permanent marker in her other hand. “Sorry to bug you, but would you mind signing this?” she asked.

James took the magazine without hesitation, signing the cover. I froze when I saw it. It was a picture him and Jules. I knew by their clothes that it was from the night I’d run from his apartment. He saw my expression as he handed the magazine back to the girl.

“Thanks so much,” she muttered, quickly moving away. She knew not to press her luck, I thought.

“You look upset,” James said quietly, studying me.

I gave him my little shrug, not wanting to talk about, but also not knowing if I could keep my mouth shut about it.

“That night,” I said finally, when he just kept watching me. “I know you said it wasn’t a date, but it hurt that you still went with her to that gala, after all that had happened.

His eyes widened. “No,” he said softly. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I went to that gala for thirty minutes, because I felt obligated to, for my mother’s sake. But I was miserable, and I went alone. Those pictures were typical Jules, crashing my obligatory press photos. The only time I even spoke to her was to tell her to leave me the hell alone. I swear it, Bianca. Once I saw how you felt, I wouldn’t have done that.”

I felt weak with relief. I hadn’t even known I was that bothered by it.

While I was humiliating myself, though, I had to clear it all up. “That collar she wore that night… Did you give it to her?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never given her a piece of jewelry.”

“She noticed my collar, and she implied that her own choker was something similar…”

He flushed. His hand made a cutting motion through the air. “She’s preoccupied with my personal life, and she’s a liar. I’m sorry you were bothered by this, but she was manipulating you. I didn’t give her that.”

I just nodded to show him that I’d heard him. They were already waving him back for the shoot.

“Are you okay? Do you have any other questions?”

I shook my head, meeting his gaze to show him I was fine. Reluctantly, he went back to finish up.

When all was said and done, the entire photo shoot took nearly four hours. I was surprised to notice what time it was when I checked my phone.

James was in the back changing as I saw that I’d missed several texts from Stephan.

Stephan: B, will you call me when you can?

Stephan: I’m heading back to the apartment. Please let me know when you’re free. I don’t want to be alone right now.

A little shiver of dread ran down my spine, and I felt instantly guilty for forgetting about my phone yet again. I tried to call him five times in a row, my heart pounding into overdrive when he didn’t answer.

His text about not wanting to be alone had really gotten to me. He shouldn’t have to be alone, not ever, not while I still breathed, because that was just how it worked with us, but he was obviously alone and hurting, and I needed to get to him.

I tried texting him, though I knew it was pointless if he wasn’t even answering his phone.

Bianca: Just saw your messages. Coming back to the apartment as fast as I can get there. Please tell me u r okay.

James was striding towards me when I looked up from my phone. He must have seen something on my face because his changed from smiling to alarmed between one step and the next.

“What is it?” he asked me quietly when he drew close.

“It’s Stephan. I need to get back to the apartment. He’s upset about something and he needs me.”

He nodded, shooting a quick glance to a spot behind me. He took my elbow and began to lead me out of the studio without further ado.

“Wait, Mr. Cavendish,” the director was saying. “We just need to conduct the interview portion. It won’t take more than thirty minutes.”

He didn’t even slow down. “Email the questions to me. We have some urgent business to attend to,” he said brusquely.

She didn’t protest. I doubted many would when he used such a Mr. Cavendish tone.

He wasted no time getting us into the car and traveling swiftly back to the apartment.

“Thank you,” I told him, my voice pitched very low, always conscious of the other people in the car. “I can’t bear the thought of him being alone and upset.”

He nodded and stroked a hand over my hair. “I know. We’ll be home in just a few minutes. Do you have any idea what happened?”

I gave my little shrug. “He and Javier were going out with some other flight attendants tonight. It was a crew that was friends with Javier, but not with Stephan. Something must have happened with them. He mentioned earlier that they were being openly hostile. I should have gone to him then. I feel terrible.”

“Did he ask you to come then?”

“No, but—“

“Did he ask you to come now?” he asked.

“Yes, but that was almost an hour ago—“

“Quit beating yourself up. You know Stephan wouldn’t. We’re going to him now, and everything will be fine.”