Ana Santillan rushed into the studio. “Traffic, sorry.”
“Why is she here?” Santos asked.
Armand gestured for the model to come close. “We want a variety of shots. Some with you alone, Santos, and some with Ana to show the cologne’s appeal for women.”
“I won’t pose with her,” Santos stated firmly. His voice was low, fervent, without being combative.
Ana rested her hands on her hips. “This is work, Santos. Nothing personal has to enter into it.”
Wanting no part of their argument, Libby edged back slowly. She’d seen Ana in magazines, gotten a glimpse of her at the bull fight, but this close, the model was even more beautiful. She had a flawless complexion, her hair fell past her waist in golden waves, and her slim figure had curves where they were supposed to be. She was dressed in a pale green silk shirt, skintight back leather pants and black stiletto heels. Other than her tooled leather handbag, her only accessory was a huge pink diamond ring on her right hand. She looked pulled together in a way Libby never even approached.
Armand waved a hand. “Please, there’s no reason to argue if we all regard this morning as a job to be done.”
“Fine,” Santos replied. “Do it without me. Stick a bottle of the cologne in Ana’s hand and call it the ad.”
“No, no, no,” Armand stressed. “Aragon cologne has your father’s signature on the label. He insisted you do the ads when he was unable to fulfill his obligation.”
“He’s dead,” Santos reminded him.
Armand pulled Santos aside and whispered, “He was paid one million euros for the campaign. It would dishonor his memory to refuse to pose, and there will be a tedious lawsuit for the return of what he was paid.”
Santos gritted his teeth. “Fine, I’ll do it, but I will not be photographed with Ana. Do I make myself clear? If you want a lovely blonde, I’ll be happy to pose with Miss Gunderson, or you could put Roberto in a dress and shoot from the back.”
Roberto laughed, but he didn’t appear horrified by the idea. Ana held out her hand palm up. “I was hired for the day. You know my rate, Armand, and I’m not leaving without being paid.”
Armand looked between Santos and Ana, and his shoulders sagged as he gave in to both. “Denise, please take care of Miss Santillan. I’m so sorry, Ana. I believe we’re scheduled to work together again next week.”
Ana left without commenting, and Denise sent a frantic glance over her shoulder. Libby didn’t move. She was such a poor substitute for Ana, she couldn’t believe Santos had even suggested it. The fiery way they’d reacted to each other told an even more troubling story. “I doubt I’d photograph nearly as well.”
“That isn’t the issue,” Santos pointed out curtly. He lowered his voice so only she would hear. “I won’t be in an arena for months, so I can’t return what my father was paid. Please do this for me.”
Libby understood she was trapped and had no choice, but she wasn’t Ana Santillan, and apparently that was all that mattered to him. That she might be horribly embarrassed was beside the point. “What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll turn you into a goddess,” Armand promised. “We’ll begin with hair and makeup. Teresa, Miss Gunderson should fit in the clothes and shoes we had for Ana.”
Teresa, the makeup artist, was a striking gray-haired woman who spoke little English. Libby couldn’t respond to her questions posed in Spanish. She sat quietly in the makeup chair and tried to hold still.
Teresa curled her hair with a curling iron, pinned the curls in place and went to work on her makeup. She applied a light foundation and blush. Libby had long lashes and did wear mascara, but not nearly enough to satisfy Teresa. She added several additional layers, a smoky green eye shadow, and darkened Libby’s eyebrows. Then she gestured for Libby to stand and drew her over to a rack of clothes, all slinky black.
It hadn’t occurred to Libby that she and Ana were the same size, but the halter dress she was given fit perfectly. The platform heels also fit, but she had to practice walking in them. Teresa had her return to the makeup chair to remove the pins from her hair and brushed it into a bouncy head of curls. She sprayed it quickly, before a single curl could fall out of place. A glance in the mirror startled Libby. She hadn’t expected such a remarkable change in her appearance. The bright red lipstick was the cherry on the cake. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her now. She was so eager to scrub it all off, she doubted she’d become Europe’s next hot model.
Armand had already begun photographing Santos in a long-sleeved black silk shirt. Santos had kept on his shorts, but, seated on a stool, he was being photographed from the waist up. The lighting made his black hair glow, while his features were handsomely shaded. Libby licked her lips and tasted the cinnamon-flavored lipstick. When Armand looked around for her, she stepped forward.
“What do you think?” she asked Santos. When his mouth fell agape, she took it as a sign of approval. “I’d no idea I looked so homely to begin with.”
Armand laughed. “My dear, you are a natural beauty. Teresa has merely enhanced what you already possess. Now let’s change the seating to the bench. Can you straddle it, Santos? Miss Gunderson should sit facing left.”
Santos moved to the bench Roberto pulled in
, and took Libby’s hand as she took her place in front of him. “I want my own photos of this,” he called to Armand.
“I’ll be happy to provide a whole set for both of you.” The photographer kept one eye on a computer screen as he adjusted their poses for the camera. “I want you in profile, Miss Gunderson.”
“Please call me Libby,” she answered as she followed his directions. They changed poses often, but Santos kept her pulled close. The lights were hot, and she hoped her makeup didn’t drip off into her lap, and it was difficult not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She’d played minor parts in a couple of high school plays, but she’d never had to pretend to be a super model. She tried to look sexy and seductive on cue, but it was a nearly impossible challenge. Armand kept exclaiming on how beautiful she and Santos looked together, but she was merely a stand-in, and Ana would have known how to pout and bend her knee just so. She was completely worn out by the time Armand gave them a short break.
“Let’s try something new. Put your left leg over Santos’s and pull the hem of your dress up to show off your legs.”
Legs Libby could do, for days. “Like this?”