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burgundy soles. I had a feeling shoes like this would be in all the department stores next year.
    Madeline’s digital photo was pinned next to a plaid wool skirt and navy blouse. In her photo, she was a plain-looking blonde with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. But when she arrived, I dropped the croissant I’d been nibbling into the wastebasket. Madeline was stunning. Statuesque and thin, she commanded the attention of everyone in the room. She had a handler with her, and I approached the girl to point them in the direction of hair and makeup.
    Fiona found me beside the catering table and shoved a Post-it into my hands like we were passing a secret note. It said, Always bring me a spare pair of flats!
    I looked down at her higher-than-high heels. Flats. Got it. I shoved the note in my pocket and nodded. “Madeline has arrived,” I said.
    “Brilliant.” She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Slutty cow,” Fiona muttered under her breath.
    Fiona’s attention turned from me to the spread of snacks laid out in front of her. I was proud of the array: fresh seasonal fruit, a selection of French cheeses, and the flakiest croissants I’d ever tasted. Plus, glass bottles of Perrier and various sodas.
    Fiona plucked a bottle of Perrier from the stash. I sensed she was about to criticize something when our attention was captured by Ben and Gunnar entering the room. Gunnar headed to the makeup area, while Ben paused just inside the door, glancing around the courtyard. He spotted us and his eyes lingered on mine. He sized me up as he sauntered toward us. A little chill skittered down my spine. I felt hot under his gaze and the memories of his sexy words from last night. My face was flushed and my underarms felt damp. Maybe I had a fever.
    I like pussy.
    Okay . . . so maybe it was a Ben Shaw–induced fever.
    I suppressed a shudder as Ben’s eyes drifted over me. His gaze flicked to Fiona, and he stopped in front of her to allow her to press a kiss to both cheeks. “You look dreadful, love.” Her hand captured his jaw to tilt his chin up. He had dark circles beneath his eyes.
    “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, then his gaze danced over to mine.
    Shit . No way. I couldn’t be responsible for ruining his first shoot in Paris because I kept him up last night. They had concealer for that, right?
    His gaze roamed my jeans-clad hips unapologetically, but he still hadn’t greeted me. His gaze lifted, sliding over my chest and making my breasts ache before landing on my eyes. “Tennessee. Sleep okay?”
    So we’d moved on from Blueberry Muffin Girl to Tennessee? At least it wasn’t hurled like an insult the way it was when Fiona said it. I suddenly found myself wondering where he was from originally.
    “I slept well. You?”
    “It was an interesting night.” He laughed softly, the sound rumbling against my skin, causing it to prickle with goose bumps. “Very interesting.”
    “Well, I’ve got your cure. Come on.” Fiona set off across the room, heading for the makeup area. She directed Ben to have a seat at one of the makeup stations and pulled a plastic bottle from her purse, handing it to him. It was filled with some sort of green goo. Fiona produced a straw and then gave him a handful of pills. Vitamins and minerals, I presumed. I had figured the models would eat the catering I’d ordered. I’d imagined Ben praising my choice of cheeses and exotic fruits. But I should have known Fiona was staking her claim, fawning all over him as usual.
    He uncapped the drink and stuck in the straw, grimacing as he took a large sip. The concoction looked brutal, whatever it was. The thick green liquid disappeared slowly as Ben continued to suck it down, stopping only to pop pills in his mouth between gulps.
    My stomach twisted in revolt just watching him drink that nasty stuff. I guess being beautiful took work.
    Gunnar was chatting with the makeup artist beside us, handing her various bottles of