Spiders of anxiety crawled over my skin.
I had no problem doing solo photoshoots or being on camera when I couldn’t see people watching me. Being the center of attention at an in-person shoot was an entirely different matter.
“Stella!” Luisa broke the silence and greeted me with effusive kisses on both cheeks. “You look wonderful. And Christian.” Her eyebrows climbed up her expertly Botoxed forehead. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m in the city for business. Besides…” Christian rested a hand on my lower back. “I couldn’t resist attending Stella’s first photoshoot.”
He looked and sounded so believable as a proud, doting boyfriend that I almost forgot we were pretending.
Almost.
“Huh.” Luisa eyed him with fascination. “Indeed.”
I was more surprised to see her on set than she was to see Christian. As the brand’s CEO, supervising photoshoots was below her pay grade.
She must’ve read the confusion on my face because her eyes twinkled with knowing. “I couldn’t resist dropping by as well. People say I’m micromanaging, but this campaign is my baby. I’m determined to make it the best one in Delamonte history, and you, my dear…” She patted my hand. “You’re going to help make that happen.”
The sandwich I ate for lunch churned in my stomach.
Right. No pressure at all.
Christian retreated to the back to take business calls while I sat through hair and makeup and met everyone on set, including Ricardo, the brand’s in-house photographer. He was a handsome man in his forties, with tanned skin and a flirtatious smile that he bestowed upon me before it faded.
I followed his suddenly wary gaze to where Christian stood by the exit, his phone to his ear but his attention fixed on us.
“Your boyfriend is an intense one, huh?” Ricardo let out a nervous chuckle before he cleared his throat. “No matter. Time to get started, darling. We have magic to make!”
He was charming enough to pull off such a cheesy line, and for the next hour, I tried my best to follow his guidance, posing and turning and contorting my body into strange, unnatural positions until sweat trickled down my spine.
The lights were insanely hot, and I pictured my makeup melting until I resembled a crazed clown.
Also, was it just me, or had Ricardo lost some of his enthusiasm? His encouraging shouts of “Gorgeous!” and “Beautiful!” had gradually tapered off into “Turn left” and “Too far left.” Soon, only the clicks and whirs of his camera filled the studio.
No one spoke, but the weight of their stares pressed against me like a second layer of clothing.
Self-doubt crept into the vacuum left in the wake of their silence.
Pretend you’re at home. Your camera is on a tripod facing you. You’ve perfected the settings and you’re ready to shoot. You’ve done this a thousand times, Stella…
“Lift your chin higher.” Ricardo’s instruction interrupted the fantasy I’d concocted of being alone. “Drop your hand…a little more…relax those shoulders…”
It wasn’t working.
He didn’t say it, but I could feel it. The thick, sour sting of disappointment tainting the air. The one I was so used to tasting whenever I went home.
I was finally working with my dream brand, and I was screwing it all up.
Tears gathered behind my eyes, but I set my jaw and blinked them back. I would not cry on set. I could hold myself together until the shoot was over.
Besides, this was only the first session. There were three more. I’ll practice before the next one and improve…if they kept me on.
The unforgiving fist of anxiety strangled my lungs.
What if Delamonte terminated my contract? Were they allowed to do that?
My mind rifled through the contract’s clauses, frantic in its search for one that allowed the brand to dump me if I didn’t perform up to its standards.
Why hadn’t I looked more closely at the language? I’d been so excited I’d signed after a quick check with Brady to ensure there were no major red flags. But what if—
“Stella, darling.” Forced patience strained Ricardo’s voice. “Let’s take a break, shall we? Walk around, drink some water. We’ll reconvene in ten minutes.”
Translation: you have ten minutes to get your shit together.
Low murmurs broke out, and I spotted a frown on Luisa’s face before she turned away.
The rush of tears pressed harder against the dam of my willpower.
Cool, calm, collected. Cool, calm, collected. Cool—
Warm, masculine spice filled my nostrils. A second later, the deep black of Christian’s suit jacket came into view.
He handed me a glass of water. “Drink.”
I did. It cooled some of the sweat inching my spine, but the air was still too hot, the lights too bright. I felt like a bug buzzing around in a fluorescent bulb, trying to escape before I burned to death.
“What are you doing?” I asked when Christian took my empty glass, set it on the nearest table, and returned to stand in front of me. Assessing me, the way he would a prospective investment or unsolved puzzle.
“Reminding you of why you’re here.” His tone was soft but authoritative enough to drown out the nasty taunts crowding my head. Disappointment. Failure. Fraud. “Why are you here, Stella?”
“For a photoshoot.”
I couldn’t summon the energy for a better, less inane answer.
“That’s the what.” Christian grasped my chin and tilted it until my eyes met his. “I’m asking you why. Why, of all the people who could be standing in your spot, are you here?”
“I…” Because I’d spent the past decade cultivating an image that had become a cage as much as it had a lifeline. Because I was deceiving my followers and almost everyone I knew to achieve some stupid, arbitrary measure of success. Because I was desperate to prove I could succeed to people who didn’t even care.
Thickness clogged my throat.
“Because they chose you.” Christian’s cool voice sliced through my muddied thoughts. “Every blogger in the world would kill to be standing where you are, but Delamonte chose you. Not Raya. Not any of the other women at the dinner or in the pages of magazines. This is a multibillion-dollar brand, and they wouldn’t have invested in you if they didn’t think you can do it.”
“But I can’t.” My whisper revealed the heartbreaking truth. I was an imposter, a little girl playing dress up in a grown up’s clothes. “You see how it’s going. I’m bombing.”
“You are not bombing.” The guided precision of his statement struck the shell of uncertainty in my chest. Dented, but not destroyed. “It’s been an hour. One hour. Think about how much time you invested to get to where you are now. How much have you achieved? How many people have you outlasted? You downplay your accomplishments as ordinary when you would hail them as extraordinary on anyone else.”
Christian kept his grasp on my chin as he brushed his thumb over my cheek. He was close enough I could spot the gold flecks in his eyes, like fallen stars swimming in pools of molten amber.
“If you saw yourself the way other people see you,” he said quietly. “You’d never doubt again.”