Chelsea Wives. Anna-Lou Weatherley

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER 11

      Mylo was having a problem. One helluva frickin’ problem. No matter what he did, what angle he shot from, the chick in front of him just wouldn’t look anything other than fierce.

      ‘That’s it, baby, to the left a little. Give me a grimace. Yeah, like that. Grrr. Like you’re an animal. I bet you’re an animal, right? A proper little tigress in the sack, huh?’

      Imogen inwardly winced. This photographer was a total arsehole. What were L’Orelie thinking employing such a sleazebag? From the moment they had started shooting he had bombarded her with a torrent of schoolboy sexual innuendo and loaded remarks about her ‘tits and ass’. It was unprofessional, not to mention disrespectful. Moreover it was putting her off. She’d half a mind to complain but had quickly decided against it. At least until Cressida got here. She’d sort him out in a second with the sharp end of her tongue. If she ever bothered to show, that is.

      Imogen glanced at the wall clock; Cress, who was due in on the next flight after hers, was a little over an hour late turning up for the shoot. Quite unlike her, she thought. Cressida was always an absolute stickler for timekeeping.

      Standing with her back to the camera, Imogen flicked her head round and flashed her devastating smile. Sleazy though the photographer was, she was still loving every minute of being back in front of the lens and was upset Cress was missing it all.

      ‘Let’s take five, huh, pussy cat?’ Mylo winked, letting his camera drop down to his side. It was all part of his plan, the sleazy photographer bit – not that he’d had to dig too deep to appear convincing.

      In truth, Mylo kind of resented having to make out to this woman that he was a total douchebag. It bothered him that she might think him cheap and tacky – a first for him. Mylo’s insouciance was his trademark; usually, he couldn’t have given a toss what any chick thought at the end of the day – just so long as she said ‘yes.’

      He was nervous too; Imogen Forbes was a complete fox. Mylo could see that without some serious intervention, this chick would walk it. The gig was hers the moment she had strutted through the double doors, dressed in regular JBrand Jeans and a plain white t-shirt; her dark glossy hair scraped back from her sun-kissed face, looking a million frickin’ bucks, even before hair and make-up.

      Imogen smiled at Mylo, nodded and walked off set towards the make-up artist, Rhianna, who stood, brush poised in hand, waiting for her.

      Glancing around the studio at all the terribly cool people milling around, attempting to look integral to the day’s events, Imogen noticed a young girl, little more than a teenager really, with bleached yellow hair, too much make-up and not enough skirt, sitting on a bean bag. The girl was watching Mylo’s every move. Her eyes filled with longing as he stood in front of a laptop uploading images and talking animatedly to his assistant, Josh. Imogen strained a little in an attempt to hear their conversation but the sound of Beyonce’s voice on the stereo in the background drowned out their voices.

      Imogen’s iPhone beeped and she picked it up, assuming it was Cressida with an explanation. She wanted this stay in LA to be memorable for Cress, as well as herself. It was her chance to say her final goodbyes to her friend and she had hoped to build lasting memories, ones she would be able to look back on with fondness.

      But the message wasn’t from Cressida, it was from her daughter, Bryony.

      Imogen felt her heart lift. Bryony was such a thoughtful girl; she had remembered her mother would be shooting today and had wanted to send her best. Imogen felt a small pang of guilt as she read the message. It seemed wrong somehow, her beautiful girl a million miles away from her, texting her best wishes while she was attempting to resurrect her career in LA.

      ‘My daughter,’ she held the phone up to Rhianna. ‘Wishing me luck.’

      ‘Your daughter, huh? I bet she’s a little knockout, right? Just like her momma.’

      ‘She is,’ Imogen beamed and began to text her daughter back.

      ‘We’re having cocktails after the shoot today. Y’all should join us you know, honey. It’d be nice to have some female company. Help me hold my own against Dumb and Dumber over there.’ Rhianna nodded in the direction of Mylo and his assistant.

      Imogen stifled a giggle.

      ‘So what’s the deal with the photographer anyway?’ she asked, intrigued.

      Rhianna pulled a face and snorted.

      ‘Y’see СКАЧАТЬ