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There are a couple of big pop-up canopies set up out back and, the moment I appear, the hair and makeup team usher me under one. I feel like Katniss in The Hunger Games as they go to work, primping and polishing, pulling out all of the stops to get me camera-ready.
By the time Nick steps on set two hours later, I’m ready. The team did a phenomenal job and I can’t wait to get in front of the camera. He walks over, takes one look at me and frowns. “No. This isn’t what I want,” he says. “She’s supposed to look like an angel not a hooker.”
My mouth drops open and the team descends. “She’s wearing way too much makeup,” he complains. “And, why is her hair so big? Make it straight and sleek. Why am I doing your job? Jesus.”
Without even a greeting to me, or to anyone else for that matter, he launches into one complaint after another. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to Leah, the girl trying to fix my makeup. “I thought you did a great job.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Just close your eyes. I’m going to lighten your eye shadow up.”
For a moment, Nick stands there and glares.We get it, you’re unhappy, Geez. Go away.But, he hovers around, keeping a close eye on their work. “Get rid of all that blush. She should look pale, almost translucent.” He shakes his head, curses and stalks away to check out the set.
“Is he always this pleasant?” I ask and they all stifle giggles.
“He’s an artist,” Leah says. “They can be temperamental.”
“That’s no excuse to be rude,” I say.
I notice the team exchange amused looks and I’m willing to bet they feel the same way, but are too scared to say anything. Nick Knight is the type to steamroll all over someone if they don’t speak up and I really wanted this to be a pleasant experience. Now, I’m getting worried.
Maybe he will chill out after a coffee, I think, and watch him accept a styrofoam cup from an assistant. He’s conferring with the crew and directing the setup of various lights around a huge sign that says Stardust.
Twenty minutes later, the team finishes re-doing my look and calls Nick over to get his approval. He stands just outside the awning and motions for me to stand up. I slide off the stool and he crooks a finger at me. “Come here,” he says. “I want to see you in the natural light.”
I move out into the early morning sunshine and he studies me closely with a critical eye. God, I feel like I’m under a microscope beneath those narrow, gray slits. “Fine,” he says. “Get her dressed before we waste more time. We’re already losing the early light I wanted.”
“Maybe you should’ve come earlier,” I mumble.
“What?” The sound is like a low hiss and I stop in my tracks.
Oh, crap.I honestly didn’t think he’d hear me. I glance over my shoulder and try to play it off. “What?”
“Is there a problem, Miss Hart?”
“No. All good.”
“Then get your ass in there and get dressed,” he orders between gritted teeth.
I don’t bother to respond, just hightail it into the tent where the wardrobe waits. I slip out of the robe and they pull a pretty white sundress over my head. It’s long and flowy and laces up the front which also makes it sexy. They place a huge hat on my head, some chunky jewelry, sandals and then push me out.
No one follows and I look over my shoulder to see them hover at the tent’s entrance, watching, waiting for Nick to criticize their work. He takes one look at me and says, “Lose the hat.”
I pull the floppy thing off my head and Leah takes it.
“Over there,” Nick says and points to the letter “S” on the sign. Again, he narrows his eyes, studying me. “Take the jewelry and shoes off, too.”
I do as he says, then wait. He moves closer, camera in his hand. “Lounge against it.”
It’s time to lose myself and let my instincts take over. I lean into the huge letter, pull the long skirt up to reveal my lower legs and try to convey the angelic look he mentioned last night. He snaps a couple times then shakes his head.
“No. Give me more than that.”
I change my position up and his frown only deepens. I try a few other angles, play with the dress and alter my expressions, but nothing seems to make him happy.
“Move to the other letter.”
“Which one?” I ask.
With an annoyed sigh, he lifts a finger and points to the “A.”
