Reluctance to nod doesn’t occur.
“Absolutely fucking sure?”
I repeat the action.
“On all the M&M’s in the entire fucking world sure?”
It’s impossible not to smile over the reference. “Yes.”
“You really want to be with me forever?”
“Forever and a day if your dick can keep up with your tongue.”
More hungry groans seep free around light chuckles. “You are meant for me, you know that?”
“Yeah, the Fated Mate mark kind of gives that shit away.”
We exchange a round of laughter that ends when he releases a happy sigh. “Let’s get you to work, and when you come home, we’ll have a romantic dinner just the two of us. I’ll spend the whole day pulling out all the stops. We can dine out by the lake in a big tent under the stars. We’ll have candles. Roses. Fancy table shit. Fresh bottle of Leprechaun’s Breath. We’ll have your favorite meal-”
“Shrimp Scampi with linguine?”
“With garlic bread sticks.”
“You know I’ll eat at least six of those predinner.”
“All of which I’ll cook myself.”
“Extra fucking special.”
“And then, to top off the night…we’ll…bond for dessert.” He presents me with a heartwarming grin. “How does that sound, Tiny Toes?”
“Perfect.”
“So…like you.”
His flirting receives a swoon and swift crossing of the space to smash my lips against his.
Fuck, I love him.
He’s the perfect one.
After a kiss that gets us both a little too hot and bothered, I ditch my Fated Mate to shower off. He switches gears during that time from supportive mouth banger to fashion pro. Wardrobe-wise he ensures I leave the house sending the message I want to convey, which includes leaving my chin length, wavy hair down in all its beautiful glory and sporting more gold than I originally had planned, including the locket I’ve come to adore.
Arriving at the location that I will be assisting at is done with five minutes to spare. I’m not really the early or you’re late type, but my gut told me to be here with wiggle room. Perhaps to make the best first impression possible? Or perhaps to avoid coming in worked up because my Fated Mate literally couldn’t keep his hands from creeping up my khaki skirt?
I adjust my tote bag and approach the first person I cross on the shoot who looks like they might be able to tell me where I’m needed. “Excuse me? I’m looking for where I should be going for hair and makeup.”
The man struggling to fix what appears to be a lighting issue unhelpfully points off in the distance to the right.
He’s offered a mumbled thanks that’s followed by me wandering away to explore that general area. Thankfully, there aren’t too many doors down the small hall. The one labeled “hair” is directly across from the one labeled “makeup” like I imagined it would be.
I’ve done a lot of hair stuff over the years but nothing at this level.
Shampoo girl? Of course. Beauty bitch? Most of my post-graduation existence. Supply chick? Both stocking and ordering. Styling? Well, really only for those in a pinch – profitable high school behaviors that were easy to roll over into adulthood – and family. This’ll be the first time I’m doing something for more than rich people with cash burning a hole in their pocket.
I may just be the assistant to the main stylist but what the fuck ever.
This is a photoshoot.
For a worldwide ad.
Done by one of the best photographers in the business and run by one of the company’s most intense coordinators, Freya Cinclair, at least according to A.D. who would know since this is basically his fucking playground.
The instant I step inside I happen to witness a half woman, half horse creature kicking its front legs into the wall near the door.
Well.
This shit can’t be good.
She tilts her head at me in question as if unsure I can see what it is she’s really doing. Rather than speak directly about it, I simply nod to indicate that I can.
The human horse mashup swiftly transitions into a tall, dark-haired woman in a black dress and brown suede blazer. She plants one hand on her hip and uses the other to push strands away from her icy blue gaze. “Bird?”
“Horse?”
“Centaur.”
“Human,” I off-handedly announce.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Fate Mated?”
Turning my wrist over exposes my dragon mark that looks exactly like A.D. when he’s shifted.
“An ancient dragon,” she whistles out as if impressed. “You don’t see one of those every day.”
You do when you’re mated to them.
And seeing them naked makes you want to stay that way.
“Name?”
“Ana.”
“Freya.” The woman points inward. “You know anything about hair?”
Not wanting to get fired before I even get started, I force myself to politely reply, “Yes.”
“Men or women?”
“Both.”
“Types you can handle?”
“Vast.”
“Experience?”
“Everything from blacks, Latinos, Asians, Native Americans, or mixtures of them to those white as the driven snow like my Fated Mate.”
She hums her approval on a single nod. “You’re hired.”
“Yeah, I got the job as the assistant-”
“No as the lead.”
“Wait. Wh-”
“The lead hasn’t shown up. We’re on a tight schedule. You seem to know what the fuck you’re doing, so do it. Time is money and money is not something you fuck with. Am I coming in loud and clear?”
“You’re coming in hot.”
“Good. We’re gonna get Eduardo in here first. I want dapper without sacrificing shape. He’s got a lot of neck and a lot of forehead, and the camera can only clean up so much.”
“Got it.”
“For Helen, we’re dealing with long loose waves that like to frizz and light undertones I expect to see pop.”
“Noted.”
“Extension add ins only if necessary.”