Page 25 of Hate To Be Mine

Being the fun police on day one wouldn’t win me any allies. I needed these people to at least tolerate me if I was going to do my job effectively. Then Sebastian decided to put Clarissa on the edge of the cliff.

The cliff I had already made the star of my murder movie. I didn’t believe in premonitions, but really? Why did my imagination have to conjure up the exact scene that was unfolding in front of me?

Because I’m good at my job. That’s why.

“Okay, beautiful,” he called out to the model, who looked stunning in one of Elizabeth’s designs. It was a flowing dress in shades of blue that was truly stunning. “I want you to go stand right on that edge. As close as you can get. We want that dramatic drop behind you. I want to feel the danger.”

I felt my blood pressure spike so high I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I crossed the rocks quickly, trying not to slip. I pulled Sebastian aside by his elbow. He lowered his head, peering at me over the top of his sunglasses.

“This wasn’t in any of the documentation your company sent over,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Standing on cliff edges requires specific safety protocols. Harnesses, anchors, proper assessment of the rock stability.”

“I didn’t send you guys anything,” he interrupted, pulling off his sunglasses to look at me directly. His eyes were definitely bloodshot. “I have no idea what they sent over. Some intern probably threw together a basic shot list. I’m an artist, Bernadette. I work with the moment. The light, the location, the inspiration. You’ll have to learn to adapt.”

“I can adapt if you give me time to prepare,” I said, hearing my voice rise slightly. Professional, stay professional. “But I haven’t scouted this specific location. I don’t know if that cliff edge is even structurally sound enough to hold a person.”

“Well, Clarissa weighs about as much as a child,” he said, glancing over at the model. “Or maybe a medium-sized dog. If anything, I’m more worried about the wind taking her away in that dress like a kite. Do you think we should put some ankle weights on her?”

He was smiling, like the safety of another human being was a joke.

“This isn’t funny,” I said flatly.

“Come on, lighten up a little.”

“I will not lighten up. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

“Relax,” he said in a way that made me want to put my thumbs in his eyes and my knee in his crotch.

Relax. The word every man says when he wants a woman to shut up and stop being difficult. Relax. Like my concerns were just hysteria. Like my professional judgment was just me being uptight.

When would men learn that stupid word was the equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull?

But I kept from exploding. I was a professional, no matter how hard this man pushed my buttons. I would prove my point, not with anger but with evidence.

I looked around and spotted a fallen branch near the rocks—nothing huge, maybe two inches in diameter and about four feet long. I picked it up and walked toward the cliff edge, very aware that everyone was watching now. Everyone stopped fussing with the models’ makeup and dress. No one was messing around with light shields and camera equipment.

They were all watching me. Good. Let them all see.

I reached the edge of the cliff where Sebastian had wanted Clarissa to stand. The drop was at least thirty feet to the rocks and water below. Beautiful. Deadly.

I raised the branch like Gandalf with his staff and slammed it down onto the ground near the edge.

Bits of rock crumbled away. Not a lot—not like the whole cliff was collapsing—but enough. Enough to show that the edge was unstable. Enough to prove that putting someone’s full weight there, especially someone in heels, was criminally negligent. It didn’t matter if she weighed fifty pounds or five hundred—danger was danger.

“Oh my God,” Clarissa’s voice came from behind me, high and trembling. “I could have died. I could have actually died.”

I turned to see her backing away from the cliff, her eyes wide with fear. Tears were already streaming down her face, cutting tracks through her carefully applied makeup.

“Clarissa, wait,” Sebastian said.

But she was already running, fleeing toward the model tent that had been set up in a shaded area away from the shoot. I heard her sobbing as she went.

Sebastian whirled on me, his jaw tight. “What the hell was that?”

“That was me preventing a potential fatality. You’re welcome.”

“That was you scaring one of my models! Do you know how long it’s going to take me to coax her back out here? I’ll have to bribe her with green juice and a Vogue cover just to get her to stop crying!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t put people in danger in the first place!” My voice was rising now, professional calm crumbling away like the cliff’s edge. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You don’t think about consequences.”