“People actually pay you for this?”
He didn’t look up from the screen, but she saw his lips twitch. “Yep. In six weeks we’ll take ‘After’ photos and you’ll understand why, but for now, let’s go over your ‘Before’ photos.”
She’d seen a zillion pictures of herself, in everything from a three-piece tuxedo to a light dusting of bronzer and strategically crossed limbs. Nothing about her own image would surprise her at this point. Confident in that, she stepped over until she stood beside him, looked down at the screen, and—“Oh my God.”
“Problem?”
Hell to the yes, there was a problem. Was the woman in the picture really her? Too shocked to ask for permission, she simply took the phone from his hand and scrolled through the shots. All the shots. From every unforgiving angle. Yes, logically, she’d known she’d rounded out a little, but she hadn’t really seen the difference in the mirror. Aside from enhanced cleavage, her eyes—very unobjective eyes, as it turned out—had seen her old, lean figure staring back at her, and assumed the change was pretty much invisible except to someone like Eddie.
It was not. Not to Eddie, and not to the empirical glare of the camera.
“I look so…soft.”
He took his phone back and tapped the screen. “I’m texting these to you. Save them. Put them somewhere handy. I want you to see them every morning.”
She never wanted to see those pictures again. “That’s punishment, making me look at my fat ass every day.”
“It’s motivation. And to be clear, you’re not fat. Your weight and BMI fall within the normal range for your height and age.”
“No.” She pointed to the picture of her from behind. “That is not normal. This is not how I normally look.”
“I’m only going to say this once, Trouble. Here’s the truth—you’re at a healthy weight. We can cancel this right now if that’s your goal.”
“I can’t show up on the set looking like this.” She gestured down her body. “I signed a contract.”
“Yes, you did. And you might want to rethink participating in a business where you can get fired for something as stupid and inconsequential as a change in appearance—”
“I love what I do.” She did. He made it sound superficial, summed up in a single contract clause. And some aspects of it were, but crazy demands and relentless scrutiny aside, she loved immersing herself in a role and living in someone else’s world for a little while. She loved the intellectual, emotional, and yes, even the physical challenges of embodying a character. Doing it well exercised both logic and creativity. She knew exactly how lucky she was to get paid for following her passion. She didn’t take it for granted, and she wasn’t going to miss out on the best project to come her way since landing the lead in Pep Rally because she couldn’t get into shape for the role.
“What you’re hoping to do here—get seriously cut in a short amount of time—is one of the least healthy things you can do. It’s also hard on you. Over the next weeks, we’re going to shock your body into burning fat while simultaneously toning muscles. During that process you’ll cycle through fatigue, mood swings, food cravings, headaches, sleeplessness, and a host of other possible side effects, all in the name of bringing your body back to a state I don’t understand why you slipped out of in the first place. The results of your medical screenings say there’s nothing amiss physically, which means there’s something else going on.”
“There’s nothing going on.” Jesus. Why did every conversation have to turn into a psychological evaluation?
“I don’t buy that. According to Eddie, you’re disciplined and focused when it comes to your career, and yet, on the brink of a major opportunity, you slack off. Maybe you’re sabotaging yourself out of a fear of success? Maybe you’re rebelling against someone’s expectations? I really don’t know, and six weeks isn’t enough time to figure it out. If anyone except Eddie had asked me to take you on, I would have said no, because I don’t believe in this. Enabling a binge and purge mentality is not what I do.”
Every word that came out of his mouth offended her. She hadn’t binged. Not really. She hadn’t slacked. Not willfully. Her current situation wasn’t the result of some subconscious self-sabotage, or passive-aggressive rebellion. She’d been forced to park her ass on a couch for the better part of eight weeks, doing only the approved physical therapy while her knee healed. But mentioning the knee injury pried the top off a can of worms she didn’t want to open in front of anyone—particularly not a man who already considered her trouble. Confiding painful details of her family life to Luke McLean wasn’t part of the deal. She wanted to tell him that if he was so damn conflicted about taking her on, he could just leave her a few workout routines, a manageable diet, and go back to California. But she didn’t dare, now that she’d gotten a true gander at herself. Attaining the physique to play Lena Xavier was going to take more than thirty minutes on the elliptical machine every morning. She needed his help.
“You know what? Let’s leave my head out of this. I get that you have better things to do and more worthy people to do them with, but you signed a contract, too. A generous one, I think you’d agree, since you dictated the terms. You committed to help me get back in shape, quickly and safely. That’s all we need to concentrate on. I need you and your expertise to be ready for this role.”
He regarded her for a long moment, brows knitted in the default scowl he always seemed to wear when he looked at her, but defining the cause of this particular scowl presented a challenge. Was he pissed at her for telling him she expected him to do what he’d signed on to do? The silence stretched so long, she heard the trilling call of some tropical bird outside, and the answering call from its buddy, or possibly its mate. At least some creatures were communicating well.
Finally, he cupped his hand behind his ear. “Say the last bit again, Trouble, a little louder.”
What the…? She reran her words in her mind. “I…uh…I need you and your expertise—”
“There.” He pointed at her. “That first part. Louder, please.”
Now she saw it. The trace of a self-satisfied smile on his lips. Dammit, he’d manipulated her again. While she thought she’d been putting him in his place, he’d been leading her exactly to this admission, and it was too late to take it back. She rolled her eyes, but gave him his due. “I need you.”
“Louder.” He raised his voice to demonstrate. The birds outside abandoned the courtyard in a frenzy of squawks and the flap of wings.
God save her, she had to do it. And he knew it. She closed her eyes to block out his smug, unfairly
handsome face, drew in a deep breath to fill her lungs, and let it rip like a cadet at book camp. “I. Need. You.”
The words echoed off the walls and reverberated in her head for several heartbeats. Silence eventually washed in, uncomfortably loud in the wake of her outburst, and made her aware of other details. She was breathing fast, panting as if she’d sprinted up a flight of stairs instead of just yelled three little words. Sweat coated her upper lip. Her knuckles ached from clenching her fists so tightly.
The silence drew out, forcing her to acknowledge more of her body’s reactions. Her breasts felt heavy, swollen, and unbearably constrained by her workout bra. Her nipples stung from standing at attention, and muscles deep inside her contracted so hard, her thighs trembled.