“Okay, then,” I growl. “Let’s get it done. Simon?” I shout, and he pops up like a surfing genie. “Make a note to tell Olivier to go fuck himself next time he asks me for a bastard favour.”
He hesitates. “Do I make an actual note, or is this more of a metaphorical discussion?”
“Both.”
He nods and wanders off. My gaze turns to Xavier as it usually does, like he’s my North Star. I swallow hard as I catch him wriggling into a pair of white briefs. For a brief, glorious second, his golden-skinned, very biteable arse is revealed, and then it’s covered with cotton. Sammy, the makeup artist, startsto apply fake tan with a big makeup brush. It glides along the ridges of Xavier’s abdomen, and before I can look away, his gaze catches mine again. We stare at each other for a few beats, and then he turns back to Sammy.
I grab my camera and ask Francois, “How do you want them?”
“They’re going to be in briefs. All three of them together. Black-and-white shots. It will look distinctive against the industrial background. Very sexy. We need to hint at domination and control. The images will be placed in carefully selected magazines to build interest before the campaign launches.”
And fuck him, but he’s right. He might be a wanker, but he’s good at his job. The images will generate alotof chatter.
“Fine,” I murmur and stalk over to the table to change my lens.
“We want it very close quarters,” he calls after me. “Like the camera is a voyeur.”
I nod wearily and walk off.
The lift is one of those you see in old films with an accordion gate you have to pull across before it will work. It’s alsoverysmall. I swallow hard.
Footsteps sound, and I turn to see Dean, Bowie, and Xavier standing there with Sammy hovering nearby. The models are in tight-fitting briefs, the white cotton a contrast to their golden skin. They almost look like brothers with their long golden hair and rangy builds.
They step into the lift, and I gesture them to one side. “Bowie, lean against the wall with your hands above your head. Xavier, stand close to him and hold his hands and turn your head towards me. Dean, stand facing the front for now and turn your head slightly so you’re looking at them. Let me see your profile.” I crouch, clicking as they obey me. The sound of the shutter is loud, and this close I can smell Xavier’s cologne—Balenciaga’sCristóbal. He’s never worn anything else as far as I know. The spicy, sweet scent suits him. I wonder if there’s a reason he’s so attached to the scent and feel a pang of grief that I’ll never know.
“That’s good,” I say, refocusing on work. “Brilliant. Bowie, move to the side and put your hand on Dean’s arse. Dean, turn to Xavier and push him against the wall. Your hand should be down near his V-line.”
Dean obeys, his hands gentle and contrasting sharply with the cool haughtiness of his model face.
“Brilliant. Now grab his hair and pull it. Xavier, tilt your head a little. Lovely. Dean, pull it a bit harder, please. I want to see the strain.”
“Sobossy. I should keep you around in my bedroom,” Xavier drawls, his eyes full of malicious amusement. “You’d be standing in the background waiting to tell the men where to put their hands.”
“It would probably be over your mouth,” I snap, and he laughs in genuine amusement. I quickly take a picture. That one’s for me.
“Okay. Dean, move to the side. Xavier, lean into him and look at me. Bowie, you’re pressing into Xavier’s back. Put your hands on his hips and make it count.” They obey, and Xavier’s hair swings forward, covering his profile. Without thinking, I reach out and push the hair back. The strands are heavy, like warm silk on my fingers, and for a split second we both freeze. His eyes are wide with surprise, and then he blinks, and the emotion is gone, replaced by his thousand-yard model stare.
“Fuck, they look like brothers,” Francois breathes, his voice heavy with excitement. “It’s like very hot incest.”
I shake my head. “Tell Olivier that can be the title of his new cologne. I’m sure it’ll go downreallywell at Christmas.”
“Grandfather, I have given you the gift of incest,” Xavier intones in a solemn voice. “It’s something the whole family can share.”
I laugh out loud and can almost feel Francois’s displeasure coating the inside of the lift. I wipe my forehead. It’s hot in here now. The space is small, but I cling to the dream that behind me is space and clean air rather than people gawking at three beautiful half-naked men.
As if he’s sensed my thoughts, I feel Francois stand back. “I’ll just shut you in, and you can take some more closeup shots.” He pulls the gate closed with a loud rattle, and the panic is instant and debilitating—like a black, inky tide moving over my mind. My breath hitches embarrassingly loud.
The next second a hand reaches past me and slams open the gate so hard that it bounces and rattles. I look up, and it’s Xavier. His face is full of fury, and he resembles nothing less than an avenging angel in his underpants.
“I don’t think so,” he snaps.
“Ibegyour pardon?” Francois says, surprise in his voice.
“I’m claustrophobic,” Xavier lies. It’s so seamless, I wouldn’t know it’s a lie if I didn’t know every embarrassingly small thing about him.
“You are?”
He nods. “Yep. It’s in my contract that I can’t be put in small spaces. It’s why I’d be perfectly happy in Robbie’s brain.”
