Second Chance At The Ranch. Maxine Morrey

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       Chapter 1

      ‘Yes! Just like that! More! More!’ Hero Scott turned her head this way and that, lifted her arms up, then down, the movements almost automatic now as the photographer prompted her unnecessarily. Her long dark hair swayed like a glossy curtain as she tilted her chin down further, maintaining the serious look the photographer had demanded for the shoot.

      The studio was lit, almost over-lit, in accordance with the style wanted for the designer’s advertising campaign. Loud music by the hottest current DJ blasted from speakers. Hero closed her eyes briefly from the glare, trying to halt the progression of a headache that had been rumbling in her skull for the last half an hour. Her throat was dry and she turned to one of the assistants hovering around the set and made a quick mime of drinking. The assistant grabbed a bottle of water, undid it and stuck a straw in the top. Just as she stepped towards Hero, the photographer roared.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      The assistant froze, colour immediately flooding her face as she stood, half on, half off the background roll.

      ‘I … erm …’

      ‘You’ve ruined the perfect shot! Ruined it! Where do we find these people, for God’s sake?’ he asked, turning on one of the others hovering around the shoot.

      ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,’ came the reply from a short but perfectly dressed woman, as a vicious glance was sent towards the assistant whose eyes were now brimming with tears.

      ‘I cannot work with such—’

      ‘It’s my fault, Armand.’ Hero’s educated tones rose above the noise, interrupting the photographer’s rant mid-flow.

      Everyone turned to look at the supermodel. She casually tucked one hand behind her, the pose confident yet aloof. Behind her back, her other hand balled into a tight fist.

      ‘I was thirsty and asked her to get me a drink. I’m sorry if it upset your process but I thought you were taking a break for a moment. So, the fault is completely mine, not hers.’ Hero gave the briefest of smiles as she turned back to the young woman and took the bottle from her, placed the straw between glossy, deep-plum-coloured lips and took a brief sip. It wasn’t enough, but Hero knew better than to test this particular photographer. He was well known for his diva-type tantrums and had the ability to end a budding career with just one vicious text. Hero had known him for over fifteen years now, both of their careers blooming at a similar time. Unfortunately, as Armand’s career had blossomed so had his ego – something which hadn’t been all that small to begin with.

      No one spoke. No one moved. All were waiting for the explosion they knew was to come.

      Instead, Armand let out a dramatic sigh and made a Gallic ‘pfff’ sort of noise. Hero met his eyes, the short nails on the hidden hand biting in to the soft skin of her palm.

      ‘Fine. Let her keep her job. This time!’ He held up his finger, highlighting the magnanimity of his decision. Hero nodded, and beside her the young assistant let out a strangled sob of relief.

      ‘OK. Now! Can we get on?’

      Hero dropped back into action as the shutter continued on and on, the music still pounding, her throat still dry and the headache now full blown. Armand had returned to the shoot with even more drama than it had already been infused with. Hero had been there since 5 a.m., having make-up applied, touched up, and completely changed as fashion editors assigned assistants to curate outfits for the shoot. Hero stood patiently, being handed various clothes to try. Belts put on, belts taken off, her body moved this way and that as if she were no more than a shop mannequin. Which, in some ways, she supposed she was.

      The incessant shutter finally ceased as Armand scrolled through a few of the last frames, his thin face becoming even more pinched as he frowned at the back of the camera. Hero took the opportunity to stretch her body, trying to ease the tension in her back and neck as she did so. Glancing across the studio, she smiled as she saw her best friend, Anya, a blonde, willowy Swede, talking to the assistant from earlier. Anya gave her a hug and bent to say something private to her. Whatever it was, Hero was glad of the smile it brought to the young woman. There were days she hated this world. But she knew she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

      Anya glanced up and over at Hero, her beautiful smile and funny double thumbs up making her friend grin and giggle.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Armand’s attention, and ire, was now directed at Hero. She’d protected someone else, but Armand had to be seen to win. She knew the game.

      ‘What is this?’ he yelled, pulling a sarcastic version of the supermodel’s wide smile. ‘I do not want this! I want serious. Sultry! Mysterious! I do not want Coco the Clown! If I want to photograph clowns, I will go to the circus! Yet today I am wondering if the circus has not been brought to me!’

      The photographer blustered on through his tirade. Hero knew Anya was trying to catch her eye again, but this time she refused to meet it. Instead, she blanked her expression, applying the metaphorical mask of disinterest she wore in these, and many other, СКАЧАТЬ