Keira I ’m in“Thisawe dress... of the woman I look staringso grown-up...”at me in the Likemirror. someone who has her shit together. “It’s so beautiful.” I smooth down the white fabric of the form- fitted dress I’m wearing. “And I love this...” I turn around to admire the de ep plunging V back that showcases my tattoo. “It’s so dramatic. I was worried, but you’re right. It holds in place.” “The magic of clothing tape,” Shiloh says. Without it, the dress would slip off my body, exposing my breasts for the world. The seamless panties also ke ep me prim and proper. “This could pass as a wedding dress,” I say. “It’s so princess-like. I never thought someone my height could pull off a showstopper like this.” I’ve never dared to wear a maxi dress with a train, worried it would look ridiculous on me. Shiloh’s eyes brush down the length of my body. “You own the dress.” “I do, don’t I.” I giggle, doing another swirl. “The dress is va va voom and demure at the same time,” Shiloh says. The provocative back is balanced with the long sleeves. “It’s pure Hollywood glamour. Local designer Angel Suárez is a master at creating these ethereal styles.” “The guy has talent,” I say. What I’m wearing is almost angelic, while my makeup is dramatic. Vampy, even. “The dec eptive simplicity will play off nicely against the colorful SCORE Yours headphones and highlights the value proposition. Hence, why the dress is backless.” She draws a vertical line in the air, tracing the letters of my tattoo. Shiloh Walden is Flint Guthrie’s assistant. From what Arianne tells me, Flint is a big-shot photographer. She assures me it’s a miracle of God he could fit me into his jam-packed schedule on such short notice. I’m standing in the dressing room just about to st ep on the set for a photoshoot––the first of many as the face of SCORE Yours. The shoot was scheduled for next month, but Rhys, Beckett and Arianne decided to have an emergency photo session to appease the press by throwing them a bone. Instead of focusing on my hush-hush return to LA and my relationship with my boyfriend, we’re giving them something to talk about. Noah left in the wee hours this morning. He was bummed he’d miss the photoshoot. I promised him a flurry of selfies to make up for his absence. This is really happening. “I’m petrified, Shiloh. I haven’t done anything like this in a while... and it’s the first time it’s only me on the set.” I thought Arianne would be here, but she’s trapped in an important meeting with Beckett and Rhys. So, I’m flying solo. Shiloh moves away from the mirror and comes to stand in front of me. Even in heels, the blonde is much taller than I am and I have to tilt my head back to meet her green eyes. “I promised I’d put a lid on my fan girl fascination...” She was even more excited than Arianne and Phoebe were when they first met me. “... but you can totally do this,” Shiloh says. “Flint is a tiny bit flamboyant and a lot eccentric, but he’s an amazing photographer. He’s going to do a series of warm-up shots to ease you into it. He spent a lot of time pr epping for this by scouring the internet, so he knows your best angles. The fact you’re a natural in front of the camera is a bonus. Once you’re comfortable, he’ll go nuts and snap away like he’s possessed. You’ll just have to sit there and be your beautiful self.”
“Okay,” I say, willing my nerves to calm down. “You got this, Keira,” she says. For a complete stranger, Shiloh is amazing at comforting me. “Thank you for saying that.” Her phone rings. She acc epts the call. “Okay, got it,” she says to whomever she’s talking to. Her gaze locks onto mine. “That was Flint. He’s ready for you.” Oh God. I take in a de ep breath. “All right.” “Let’s go show the world what SCORE Yours and the new Keira are all about,” Shiloh says. I channel her confidence. “Let’s do it.” “My girl is r epresentin’” She singsongs that with a dance move reminiscent of my Lucky Break days. I can’t help my laugh. I follow her, balancing on my high heels. My eyes drop to my feet and can’t help but giggle. In N epal, I lived in flip-flops. That’s also been my footwear of choice since landing in LA. The dazzlers strapped to my feet are quite the d eparture. To my surprise, they’re quite comfortable. “There’s our beautiful billion-dollar face,” Flint says. Since I’m trailing right behind Shiloh’s tall frame, I can’t see him yet. He catches sight of me sliding out from behind Shiloh. With a hurried st ep, he approaches. He’s not tall for a man. In my five-inch heels, we’re nose to nose. However, his unruly curly dark, almost black hair with streaks of gray give him an extra two inches of height. Unrushed, his gray eyes take me in. He walks in a circle around me, doing this thing with his fingers like he’s trying to capture me in a frame. Then he stops behind me. “The back is spectacular. The tattoo is pow!” He shouts those words. Shiloh wasn’t kidding. Flint is over the top. “I couldn’t have said it better,” Shiloh says. “I predict this will be one of the best photoshoots I’ve done in a long time,” Flint says. “I can’t wait to have you back next month in my studio so we can try different outfits and moods. Today’s session is about capturing unique, and you’re the definition of the word.” I’m overwhelmed by the weight of his words. “You, my dear, were born to be in front of the camera,” he says before coming to stand in front of me. “Oh, really?” My tr epidation returns in full force. I glance around the room. So many eyes are staring right at me. They’re giving off positive vibes, but it’s just a reminder, I’m putting myself out there. I said yes. I agreed to the terms. I signed on the dotted line. And now, if I can only ke ep my nerves in check and smile for the camera, everything will be smooth sailing. Right? God. “Are all the mirrors in the dressing room broken?” Flint says, glancing over my shoulder. His expression is as serious as a heart attack. Crap. I hope my insecurities won’t get Shiloh in trouble. “No, boss,” Shiloh says. “Why is she not seeing what I’m seeing?” “Our cover model is fully aware of how dazzling she looks, Flint,” Shiloh says. “I’ve told her a dozen times, and she saw her reflection in the mirror. She’s a little shy.” “We need a third opinion, people.” Flint shouts and claps at the same time before doing this grand gesture thing with his hand over his head.
I draw my eyebrows together, as I scour the room, trying to understand what’s going on. “How do you like our model?” I meet Flint’s gaze. “I can only assume she looks as stunning from the front as she does from the back.” My heart jumps out of my chest. I spin around and gasp before clamping my hands over my face. “Rhys?” His name comes out sounding muffled. “Hey, sexy.” With a huge smile stretching his lips, he strides towards me. “I thought you were in an important meeting and you couldn’t make it.” “It was a white lie,” he says. “Beckett, Arianne, and I all agreed it was best to let you get a head start. They won’t be on the set, but I insisted on being here. I wanted to see you in action.” “So, Mr. Client, you approve?” Flint does a ta-da hand gesture. Rhys gives me a onceover. I return the favor. How can I not? He adorned another one of his trademark bespoke suits that looks killer on him. Since I had to be on the set early this morning, he hired a chauffeured car for me. The last time I saw him, he was walking around naked in his bedroom. “I approve.” He flashes me a cocky grin. “Dress?” Rhys shifts his attention to Flynn. “Love it.” “Makeup?” Flynn is on a roll. “Flawless.” Rhys says. “Lips?” “Kissable.” Rhys says. “Can you do a twirl for us, love?” Flint motions with his finger. I oblige. “Back?” I expect Rhys to answer, but instead, the warmth of his body radiates through mine. My body celebrates the closeness. When his finger traces the letters of the tattoo, I shiver. My eyes shoot down my body, freaked out my nipples might give me away, just to remember nipple covers go a long way. Thank God. He leans into me and murmurs in my ear. “You take my breath away, dimples.” I close my eyes so no one witnesses the wave of emotions taking over me. “We’re going to make history today,” Flint says. Rhys takes a small st ep forward, just enough for our bodies to touch. “I agree.” If his goal in coming here was to mellow me out, mission accomplished. My stomach is no longer tied up in a knot. On the contrary, it’s doing somersaults because he has me all worked up. “On that note, let’s get started. Come on, boys and girls.” Flint claps his hands like a teacher. Rhys’s lips flirt with my earlobe. “From this moment on, everything changes for you.” I’m still too overwhelmed to talk. I can only nod. “You got this.” I nod again. There’s a buzz of activity around me as everyone gets into place. “Jimmy, help the princess get on the stool,” Flint says. A tall black guy comes running to me and extends his hand. Talk about star treatment. I take it and follow him to the middle of the set. He holds me steady as I st ep on the wooden crate before I can sit on the high stool. I’m the center of attention. From this vantage point, the full effect of the studio hits me—the lights, the cameras, the tables littered with laptops and other expensive equipment, and all the wires. There’s no turning back now. Jimmy frets with the lower part of the dress and succeeds in creating a beautiful line, showcasing the trail in such an elegant way.
“Thank you,” I say in a low voice. “You’re welcome.” He rewards me with a bright white smile. “The boss and the client are right, you look incredible.” I respond with a beaming smile. “By the way, my twin sister is a huge fan,” Jimmy says. “She knows your lyrics and moves by heart. She died when I told her I was probably going to touch your hand.” I can’t help laughing. “Jimmy, stop distracting the model.” Flint’s voice booms in the studio. “We’re going for de ep, introspective and soulful. Not comical or laugh out loud.” “I’m sorry, Flint,” Jimmy says. His dark brown eyes meet mine. “Not sorry.” He says that in a whisper. “I get to tell my twin I made the Keira Weatherly laugh. That’ll earn me a medal. At least, her undying respect and admiration.” I bite the inside of my mouth not to laugh again. Jimmy is funny. Flint’s eyes lowering to my feet. “Who’s responsible for the heels?” Worried he doesn’t like them, I do the same. I think they’re kickass. “I am.” A girl with black hair and bleached blonde bangs raises her hand. “Pure genius. I fucking love them.” Flint approves. She responds with a relieved smile. When the stylist with the edgy hair and the retro black glasses, told me the price of these babies, my jaw dropped. As gorgeous as they are, the Jimmy Choo heels covered in Swarovski crystals with a prominent cluster at the front are a bit rich for my blood. Flint snaps his fingers. “Hair and makeup, I want a touch up.” The two men responsible for my sophisticated transformation rush my way. A little hair flopping here. A little shine reducing powder there. Another application of mascara on my lashes, followed by another coat of scarlet red lipstick on my lips. I’m ready. “Jimmy. Headphones.” Flint claps. Jimmy comes running with a pair of colorful SCORE Yours with a colorful graffiti design. He places them with care over my ears and adjusts them. He gives me two thumbs up. I nod. I must admit, I’m a little giddy now. I search the studio and find Rhys standing to the side, arms crossed over his wide chest. His eyes shine with something I can’t quite describe. Admiration? I blush. Flint claps. “Are we ready, people?” With the headphones on, his voice isn’t as piercing. A collective ‘yes and ready’ float around the room. “I need to see, people.” Flint snaps his fingers. Bright lights spark in front of me. Blinded, I blink and shield my eyes with my hand. “Christian.” Flint points to a guy wearing a purple shirt with a floral print. “Video?” “We’re rolling,” Christian says. “We’re good to go.” Flint approaches me. “Jimmy, I need you to remove the headphones for a minute.” The photographer’s assistant does as he’s told, placing them around my neck. “Let me set the stage,” Flint says. “You’re listening to that song.” I frown my confusion as I lean forward. “Um... which song are we talking about?” “Oh, I can’t tell you that because it’s your song.” He points at me. “Not my song.” He points to his chest. “Mine would be very different.”
Could he be more cryptic? “It’s the song that touches your soul. But because you’re listening to it with your brand new SCORE Yours headphones, melodic nuances you’ve never heard before come pouring through and cut even de eper because the bass is badass.” Was that English? “I thought I was supposed to sit here, and you were going to take photos,” I say. “I’m not trying to be a smart ass. I’m unsure of what you expect of me.” I look to Rhys for support. He doesn’t intervene. “I don’t want another pretty face,” Flint says. “I want your pretty face to tell a story.” I tilt my head to the side. “Let me explain what I mean.” I guess thoughts carry. “I want feelings. I want emotions,” he says in a soft voice. Since st epping into his studio, this is the first time he’s not shouting. “When the photos hit the internet, I want people to be so enthralled, so moved, they’ll be compelled to drop everything to figure out how to get their hands on a pair of SCORE Yours. This is the spice that was missing from their mundane lives. I want these photos to create a frenzy. Pandemonium, even.” That’s a tall order. “Okay.” I nod. “Dig de ep, Keira.” “I can do that.” “We’re dealing with a professional, people.” There he goes shouting again. “Let’s get this puppy on the road.” Flint swirls his fingers in a circle above his head. “Jimmy! Headphones!” The tall black guy with the huge grin stretching his lips places the headphones over my ears, and winks. I try hard not to giggle. Flint goes to stand behind the camera and looks through the lens, then back up. He does that a few times. “And... emotions!” For the next several long minutes, Flint snaps shots while I sit there trying to go through the catalogue of songs in my head to find the one that touches my soul. It’s not like I don’t have a million songs stored in my head. I do. After all, I’m a singer, but right now, with everything going on around me, the best I can come up with is a mashup. And not even a good one at that. Being a model is so much pressure. “I’m not feeling it,” Flint says looking up from the camera. He approaches me. “Did you find that song yet?” Panic sets in. My eyes move to Rhys. Oh, no. I’m going to let him down. Shit. “It took me a minute, but I did.” Think faster, Keira. “Now we’re going somewhere,” Flint says. “You need to feel the song, so you’ll sing it instead of letting it play in your head.” I pull the headphone away from one ear. “Wh—what? You want me to sing out loud?” “You have a gorgeous voice—” “My pop princess days are behind me.” I didn’t mean for my tone to be that sharp. “Nobody’s asking you to sing a meaningless bubblegum song,” he says. “I asked for a song that moves your soul. Something your heart connects with. I want to read that connection on your face.” Okay, maybe my nerves are affecting my hearing. I steal another glance at Rhys. He’s leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, one foot crossed over the other at the ankle.
He holds my gaze for a long beat and then nods. “All right,” I say. “Fair warning. Since it’s a cappella, I might be off key.” “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Flint’s words surprise me. “Is it okay if I start with my eyes closed?” The audience is a little too intimate. “You do whatever it takes,” Flint says. “Okay. Thanks.” I scrap the paltry mashup in my head and zero in on an emotional rollercoaster of a song I’ve not dared to sing in a very long time. “I’m ready.” I respond with a firm nod. “Take it away,” Flint says. With the headphone back in place, I hum the opening. When I belt out the first verse, I choke up. God, that song gets me every time. “That’s the song,” Flint says. I try again. I go at it almost tentative at first. The tremolo in my voice is audible, and I’m sw ept away by the emotions. The lyrics to the poignant song I selected grip my guts. It’s more like a desperate plea than a song, really. Maybe that’s why the song has been imprinted in my soul since the first time I saw the video clip. It’s the type of heart-wrenching song my former record company would’ve frowned upon and prevented us from performing because in their eyes, silly and vapid pop songs are an easy sell. I have a good voice, but I’m no blue-eyed soul songstress, as they loved to remind me. I open my eyes. Flint snaps away as he moves in front of me in a half circle. I catch a glimpse of my captive audience and smile. I place my hands over the headphones, bringing them closer to my ears, closing my eyes and returning to the safety of my imaginary bubble by shutting the world out. I sing louder. I go de eper. I go raw. I don’t hold back. Tears heat my closed eyelids, but I won’t allow them to es cape. Not yet. When I hit the bridge, I’m lost in ‘When We Were Young’. I sing for Chelle. I sing for Henley. I sing for the girl in me who’s never been loved by her own mother. I sing for the girl who’ll never know her father. I sing for the girl who thinks she’s a failure. I sing for the girl who thinks she has nothing to offer. I sing for the girl who tries so hard to pretend everything washes over her. Tears stream down my face and my voice breaks, but I don’t stop singing. I can’t. This is me—the real Keira—imperfections, fuckups, mistakes, fears, baggage, and all. I have no desire to hide who I am. I no longer have to. When I reach the last note, I have no more tears to cry. I sit there, absorbing all the thoughts I rarely allow to es cape from their glass bottle—realities that would crush me if I allowed it. I lower the headphones, feeling like I’m suffocated. My eyes are still closed. I need to catch my breath. It’s dead silent around me. Am I alone on the set? Strong hands cup my cheeks. My eyes fly open. Rhys. The man I’ve always loved. I’ll never love anyone else like I love him. Never. But I’m not brave enough to tell him. He offers me a warm smile. Myriad emotions veil his glacier-blue eyes. “That was fucking amazing,” he says. Goosebumps blanket my arms. “Where have you been hiding that voice? And more importantly, why have you been hiding it?” I answer with a one-shoulder shrug before bursting into tears. “Oh, baby, you dug de ep,” he says in a whisper. I nod. He captures my lips in an all-encompassing kiss. “And... passion!” As if Rhys and I take a cue from Flint, the kiss grows de eper, blazing every cell in my body. “That’s what I’m talking about,” Flint says.