“Do a crunch while sitting in a chair,” he says and I nod, the camera moving with my head.
“Yes. You work out for a living; you can do it.”
“Okay, one, I model for a living, not work out. I only work out because I model for a living and have to work out to be able to model. Which, by the way, I don’t need to model for a living because I have enough money either way. And two, I can’t do it if I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says all in one run-on sentence, forcing him to suck in a deep breath of air at the end.
“Hold it!” I let out, snapping about five photos of his perfectly crunched abs in the process. “That’s perfect,” I smile.
“Damn girl, you are something else,” he says when I am finally done taking photos.
“Look,” I say. “Modern Gentleman is expecting at least a hundred photos to choose from for your article. An article that takes up ten pages in next month’s issue. That is if you let me take photos of you.”
Zane runs his hand through his perfectly salt-and-pepper hair before letting out a sigh. Of course, I snap photos of that. Now that he’s scowling impatiently, I’m getting some good brooding shots. “Remind me again why you wanted to do this so badly?” he asks.
“Because celebrity journalism photography is art. Unlike paparazzi shots. Not to mention this article is very good for your brand,” I tell him. “I mean, even the name is perfect. Zane Calloway: Behind the Filters. It’s your chance to show the world the real you.”
“Well, I’m happy that you were able to turn your love of photography into a part-time gig. But we have a baby shower starting in less than twenty minutes and everyone we know is going to be there so I think we should probably get going,” he says. And he’s not wrong.
“Yes, I know. But Hannah, Demi, and even Becca are helping with the baby shower. And with Bentley. They said we don’t need to worry about any of it. But what we do need to worry about is these photos because MG wanted them yesterday and lucky for you, you’re popular enough right now that they’re willing to wait. Now pose. And tug the jeans down a little further. The waistband of your briefs has to be visible for the brand to show. And if the brand doesn’t show?—”
“I get it, I get it,” he blurts out, tugging his jeans down. “Damn. You’re more demanding than my regular photographers.”
“They get to do this all the time. This is my shot. Now raise the white t-shirt a little…yes…more…that’s better. Come on, baby, we are competing with–”
“Don’t…say his name,” he cuts me off, no doubt referring to Jett.
“I was going to say Hanes. But yeah…”
“I thought the point of this article was to show more of me. You know, the art?” he asks, waving at the room behind him. And he’s right. When Modern Gentleman magazine found out that Zane Calloway isn’t just a model and a dad but also an artist, they asked if he’d be willing to show some of it. At first, he was reluctant, but eventually I was able to talk him into having the shoot in his studio.
“And it’s all there,” I say. “In the background. But what’s not in the background is your rippling abs and your veiny forearms, which they still want to see,” I tell him.
Zane sighs and walks over to me, giving me a kiss. “One more photo. That’s it. And then we go enjoy the shower. Okay?”
“Okay,” I smile.
“One more?” he asks.
“One more,” I say.
There’s a knock on the door and Zane calls out. “One more photo!”
“Got it,” Demi says.
“Alright, if it’s only one more, I think it needs to be a good one,” I say.
“I think I have been doing this a lot longer than you have, and I know the perfect photo,” Zane says.
“But–”
“No buts. I know exactly what pose will be perfect for the final page of the article,” he insists. “Now come this way.”
“You don’t want to be next to the easel?” I ask.
“Not for this one. For this one, you are going to stand here,” he says while moving me. “And I am going to stand here. And then you are going to take the photo.”
“Alright, you’re the pro,” I say, holding the camera up. “But I really don’t see what’s so great about this angle,” I say.
“You’re right. Maybe I should be on my knees,” he says, lowering himself to the floor.
