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“Tell me something. My father was supposed to be in this photo shoot. What was he going to wear?”
“Oh, we were going to do that shoot on the track. When we found out you were taking over the team, we pivoted.”
“Perhaps we should pivot to a different outfit.” I cross my arms. “What’s Max wearing?”
“Let me check.” She turns to a clipboard and flips through a few pages. “He’s wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and a T-shirt?”
I blink once, slowly. “You don’t see a problem with me wearing that while he’s in regular clothes?”
“Not really.” She looks up from the clipboard.
“I’m not wearing that. I’m the team owner.” At least temporarily. I go through the rest of the clothes on the rack until I find a black T-shirt with a cool retro print of some playing cards and the wordsSin City.
“I’ll wear this and the jeans I’ve got on,” I declare. “Otherwise, count me out of this shoot.”
I’m already wearing my kickass red cowboy boots from Austin.
She sighs. “Let me clear it with Legolas.”
“You do that.” When she leaves, I unbutton my blouse. As I’m taking it off, the door flings open.
It’s Max.
“Excuse me,” I say in a cross tone.
He ignores me. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to wear the outfit?”
I don’t bother to put on the T-shirt. Instead, I stand there in my bra, jeans, and boots. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it all anyway. “She wanted me to wear this.”
I point to the dress and Max grimaces. “I see.”
His eyes drift to my breasts and he clears his throat. “I agree that’s inappropriate. I’ll talk with them.”
He goes to walk out, but I stop him. “No. I’ve made my wishes clear. You don’t need to fight my battles.”
Max bites his lip, nods, and leaves the room.
The assistant slathers makeup on me, and I look okay, like a slightly vamped-up version of me. I’m not going to argue any more today.
Through an assistant, the one-named Legolas finally declares that it’s okay for me to wear clothes that don’t make me look like a showgirl, and we all troop out of the RV and into the desert, toward the rock columns.
Legolas, who looks similar to the assistant in skinny jeans but with a moustache, shakes my hand and looks me up and down. The blond assistant had knotted my T-shirt, so my boobs are accentuated. Then he scrutinizes Max, who is wearing a stony expression.
“Actually, I like this outfit better. Very retro.”
He instructs us to stand near rocks painted in blue, white, and hot pink. Max folds his arms. I do, as well.
“Perfect. Now stand back to back, with those serious faces.”
We do, and the heat of Max’s body sends little tingles through my own. I try to focus on anything but him. The vast sky, the colorful, senseless rocks, the figures of Lucas and Tanya in the distance, looking like little ants.
“Sure is warm out here,” he comments.
That it is. Even though it’s barely seven o’clock, the sun is strong. I’m already lightly perspiring.
“Okay, Max, I want you to put your arm around Lily,” Legolas shouts.
“Wait,” I holler. “Why? This isn’t an engagement announcement.”
