“W
hat do you want?” he called over his shoulder. “Am I to look like a rooster?”
“Yes!” Larina cried from behind her camera. “Channel a crowing rooster if you must, but I need more swagger.”
“Think of a matador,” Ana suggested.
“They do know how to strut.” He stretched and threw back his shoulders. He was tall, sandy haired with blue eyes, and had a swimmer’s sleek physique. He and Ana were posing for a Gucci cologne ad and had been working under the hot studio lights for two hours. “Why don’t you spray us with a hose so there will be water dripping off me rather than sweat.”
“Hush, Gian Carlo,” Larina ordered. “We’re nearly finished, and sweat gives you a virile edge.”
“She insults me every time she opens her mouth. You do know I’m straight, don’t you?”
Ana hadn’t given his sexual orientation any thought. He was just another model to lean against. “Yes, of course,” she assured him. He was more fun to work with than many men were, and she was sorry she hadn’t thought to take him to the benefit Saturday night.
“That will have to do,” Larina called. “Now I want a few shots with Ana alone and some with you by yourself, Gian Carlo. Your light eyes add some heat, but I don’t want to print a stare-off between you and all the other men selling cologne. Aragon is outselling everything else on the market, and your Nordic look will counter Santos’s dark glare.”
Gian Carlo turned away from the lights and blew Ana a kiss. When they were finished for the day, he walked along with her out of the building. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to speak to you Saturday night. Why did you leave so early?”
Ana came to an abrupt halt. “Have you been sending me roses?”
He frowned, clearly perplexed. “No, should I have?”
She shifted her bag on her shoulder. “Of course not, but someone who wishes to remain anonymous has been. I left early to discourage him, if he was there.”
“It must be difficult to avoid a man you can’t name,” he responded with a soft chuckle. “I often have to scrape off giggling women, but it’s a hazard of our trade.”
“Men don’t scrape off as easily.” With sunglasses and her long hair hidden beneath a floppy hat, she hoped no one would think her worth observing. In a loose brown shirt and jeans, she blended easily into the passersby. “I’m about to starve to death. Are you hungry?”
“Always. It’ll give us a chance to talk, and there’s something I need to ask you.”
She took a deep breath. “Please wait until I’ve finished eating.”
He took her hand, and they walked around the corner to a place they both liked. She lived on fruit and vegetables unless she was a guest at a private party where meat was served. The beef on the Aragon ranch had always been delicious, but she’d not be invited there again. She ordered a fruit salad and sat back in the booth.
“When you mentioned a matador,” Gian Carlo said, “you must have been thinking of Miguel Aragon. How about Santos? Isn’t he enough like his father to interest you?”
“There’s no comparison between them. Santos plans to marry his American honey, and she can have him.”
A smile skittered across his lips. “You ought to hide your hostility better. It makes you sound insincere.”
Not caring, Ana shrugged. “You must know what it’s like to be done with someone.”
He took a sip of water. “I’ll admit to being done with the same woman multiple times. Sometimes it’s easier to stay with someone who’s all wrong than look for somebody right.”
“That’s certainly true, but what if you’re not the right person for anyone else?”
“Are you that depressed?” He reached across the table to take her hand. “You shouldn’t be alone with such dark thoughts.”
She pulled her hand free. “I’ve said too much.”
“You were being honest. Don’t apologize. We should go out, be photographed by the paparazzi and make everyone jealous they aren’t with us.”
He was an appealing man, and a popular model, but she shook her head. “We’d just be pretending like we do all day, and I need a rest.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk with you.” He waited until she’d finished the last grape on her plate and then chose his words with care. “I’ve always hoped modeling would lead to acting jobs. The woman who invited me Saturday night, Rachel Oliveras, is an attorney who handles my contracts. There’s nothing between us, but she’s more comfortable going out with an escort, and I do look great in a tux.”
“You most certainly do.” Her mood had lightened as they ate, and she tried not to laugh at his unending self-absorption.