CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The driver closed the town car’s door after them and Emma snuggled into Niko’s side. “I’m the teensiest bit drunk,” she whispered her confession. “Your stepmother has an incredible tolerance for alcohol.”
Niko smiled at the slur of her words and brushed his lips over her hair.
“Thank you for being there with me,” he told her, watching the lights of Brooklyn neighborhoods pass by his window.
“Thank you for asking me,” she yawned. “Did you and your father talk?”
“We did. It’s a start. He and Greta are coming to the show at the gallery.”
Emma lifted her head, smiled. “Really?”
Niko nodded. “I can’t believe I waited this long.”
Emma snuggled in against his neck. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You both are stubborn, distracted men.”
“Drunk Emma is a little too honest,” Niko teased.
“Sober Emma is honester,” she insisted.
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Emma considered the dull headache she carried with her the next morning worth it. They’d tumbled into bed the night before exhausted from good alcohol and the rebuilding of family. It had been the first time Emma had spent the night with Niko without sex, and she had to admit, falling asleep curled around him somehow took their intimacy to a new level.
She felt a little off-balance as if things had somehow shifted between them last night. But the breakfast Niko had delivered, the easy conversation over coffee and crepes, put her back on mostly even ground. Niko seemed pleased with the way dinner with his family had gone the night before, but he was distracted. And Emma could see he was shifting gears into professional photographer mode. She was just as excited about today as she had been about last night. It was another glimpse into Nikolai Vulkov’s life. And she was honest enough to admit that she wanted more than just glimpses.
Someone had secured the pre-construction fourth floor of a warehouse turning multi-million dollar loft project for the shoot. Three thousand square feet of brick pillars, scarred wood floors, and dingy walls of windows that overlooked the murky Hudson waters and the Manhattan skyline.
It was strange to see such life breathed into the space. There were make-up artists, hair stylists, assistants, magazine reps, the model and her entourage of bored-looking friends whose phones were glued to their hands.
Niko had his head together with the ad agency’s creative director for the campaign and the brand representative from the watch company. Others scurried about adjusting huge filtered lights and draped backdrops. Wardrobe shoved racks of clothing at the model who, pre-makeup, looked to be about fifteen. There was a table laden with dozens of watches in their open cases, their jeweled faces winking under the lights. A man in a security uniform stood guard and frowned fiercely as he paced tight laps around the watches.
Another table along the wall opposite the windows held a catered lunch spread fit for a vegan model and her entourage. Thankfully a tiny sliver of the table held normal foods for normal people.
It was a hive of energy that reminded Emma of Friday nights at the brewery. Everyone had a purpose, a task. Each part of the whole was as essential to accomplishing the common goal as the other.
She liked watching Niko at work like this. He was calm and focused. Listening as the creative director, between texts and emails, pounded home the exact look they were going for. Niko waved Emma over to him and slid his arm around her waist when she joined them.
“Nat, have I ever let you down?” Niko asked, covering the screen of the director’s phone with his other palm.
She slapped his hand away. “No, but you do make me work hard to keep you in line and within budget,” she answered with a dry look over the rims of her glasses.
“Relax. Introduce yourself to my girlfriend and pretend you’re a human for a few minutes while I go talk to Branka.” Niko dropped a kiss on Emma’s cheek and, with a wink, disappeared.
“Girlfriend?” Nat’s eyes goggled, her phone forgotten.
“Emma,” Emma said, offering her hand.
“Nat.” She shook with efficiency if not effusive warmth. “I’ve known Nikolai a long time, and I’ve never heard the word ‘girlfriend’ cross his inhumanly sexy lips before.”
Emma laughed. “It’s new. Very new.”
“Well, this certainly explains his mysterious sabbatical,” Nat surmised. “I had to grovel for him to come back for this shoot.”
“He’s an amazing talent,” Emma said, watching him make small talk with Branka the model through her Slovenian translator.
“A bigger talent with much smaller asshole tendencies than my other options,” Nat said, consulting her phone. “How did you two meet?”
“He came into my restaurant while I was yelling at a supplier,” Emma reminisced.
Nat grinned. “So you’re not even a model?”
Emma shook her head. “Nope. Regular person, regular job.”
“I hope you’re wearing something fabulous tomorrow. You’re certainly braver than I am. Coming face-to-face with a long line of model ex-lovers?” Nat shuddered in mock horror. “I’d need a year of therapy to recover.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Emma said with flagging confidence. She hadn’t considered the possibility of facing down a bunch of gorgeous, perfect women who had all enjoyed naked Niko the way she was now. God, what if he took one look at her next to them and came to his senses?
Nat excused herself to make a call. And Emma was left alone with her panic over Niko. As if she’d called him by name, their gazes met across the space, and he cocked his head to the side, questioning. She gave him a weak smile.
Emma pulled out her phone. She needed her sisters.
Why did I not consider the consequences of meeting Niko’s model exes tonight???
Eva was the first to respond. What are you going to wear? Make sure it shows off your boobs. Models don’t have boobs. Not enough body fat.
Gia, the yoga instructor and mother of two young daughters, had a different take. Do not imagine yourself in some idiotic lady competition with them! Be confident in yourself and Niko’s feelings for you.
Eva chimed in again. G’s right on the girl power. I’m right about the boobs.
Emma’s lips quirked. She could always count on her sisters. Thanks for talking me down. I hate acting like an insecure teenager.
Just remember we’re all insecure teenagers on the inside, Gia responded sagely.
Beneath the pulsing beat of a hair band ballad, Niko got the shoot underway. Branka had been transformed into a high fashion model in a sleeveless silk jumpsuit in bone white and a delicate gold watch with an onyx face that cost more than a year’s rent for Emma’s L.A. townhouse. She pouted prettily on a floral divan against a white backdrop.
The shift from fresh-faced youth to made-up fashion model was startling to Emma. The girl didn’t look like the same person who had walked in in jeans and flip-flops. The woman before her was fierce and mysterious.
Niko, casual in jeans and a tee, orbited around her, giving instructions through her translator.
“Cheat your chin this way.”
“Tilt back. Back. Back. Perfect.”
“Elbows forward. More. Right there!”
He put her through her paces, and Nat looked pleased with the results she saw appearing on the portable monitor behind Niko.
After several minutes, Niko handed the camera over to an assistant, and wardrobe descended upon Branka, stripping her with the efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew and redressing her in a body clinging sheath dress in magenta. A stylist fashioned Branka’s dark hair in a bulbous bun at the base of her neck while the makeup artist touched up her lips.
In no time, Niko was shooting again, this time in front of the raw brick of an interior wall. He continued an endless stream of encouragements and instructions. Tiny, imperceptible movements made each image better than the next. Emma looked on in fascination.
While the images on screen looked perfectly fine to Emma, she sensed that Niko wasn’t pleased. He was taking longer and longer to review the shots before trying some new pose or outfit or backdrop.
Finally, he announced they were taking five and handed the camera over to his assistant. He gestured Nat over, and they put their heads together.
Emma caught enough of the conversation to get that Nat thought they already had something they could use, and Niko was insisting they hadn’t gotten there yet.
“Time is money, Niko,” Nat reminded him.
“Do you want acceptable or incredible?” he shot back.
“What’s the difference?” she muttered. “Keep in mind the VPs that will be looking at these pics aren’t going to know the difference.”
“You’ll know it when you see it.” Niko scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Let’s do this. You still want behind-the-scenes shit, right?”
“Yes. We need it for the blog and social media,” Nat confirmed.
“Let’s put her in a robe and do the interview while hair and makeup get her ready for the next look.”
“You’re the creative weirdo,” Nat said with a shrug.
“Your faith in me is uplifting,” he told her, winking at Emma.
“Yeah, yeah.” Nat stalked off to set up the interview, and Niko crossed to Emma.
“Not happy? The shots look great from here,” Emma told him.
Niko crossed his arms and paced restlessly in front of her. “She’s too wooden. I can’t get her to loosen up. I’m missing the ‘it.’”
“The ‘it’?”
“That spark that makes a picture a story.”
“Ah. I get it. Okay, so how do you make that spark appear?”
“Well, you can’t force it.”
“You’re not wallowing on the inside and thinking it’s your fault there’s no spark, are you?” Emma asked him, poking him in his very firm stomach.
He stroked his hands down her waist. “No wallowing. I promise.”
“Good. I like watching you work,” she confessed.
“I like having you here. It keeps me from yelling at people and throwing tantrums.”
Emma slapped him lightly on the arm. “Very funny. I think you’re more a stony silence kind of guy than a drama queen.”
Niko pulled her in, hands settling on her hips. “You know me pretty well, don’t you?”
Emma shrugged. “I’m enjoying getting to know you. And I think your idea to get to know Branka in the interview will help.”
Niko rubbed a thumb over Emma’s lower lip. “Grab yourself a sandwich and watch the master at work.”
Emma laughed and let him push her toward the food table. As much time as she’d spent hating cockiness, Niko’s confidence in his abilities was somehow reassuring rather than obnoxious.
She picked up half of a chicken salad sandwich and watched assistants hurry to set up two chairs against one of the exposed brick walls. Niko took one chair, and Branka was guided to the other. With hair and make-up working on her, Niko charmed the model out of her shell with amusing questions and a healthy dose of that panty-melting grin.
Branka, it turned out, was twenty and a little homesick. She was the oldest of six and the first of her family to move away from home and was excited and terrified to make a name for herself, to make them proud. Niko walked her through a mix of personal and professional questions, and Emma watched Branka begin to relax and enjoy herself.
She missed her mother’s potica bread and walking her younger brothers and sisters to school. But she loved not having to share a bathroom with anyone now. Niko talked about his background in photography, and they both worked in a plug for the watch brand.
By the time hair and makeup were done and the interview wrapped, Branka looked yet again like a completely different person.
“Let’s try something new,” Niko said, addressing Branka. “I want you to pick the watch you want to wear.”
He escorted her over to the table and waited while she browsed. Her fingers paused over one before moving to the next. She looked up at him questioning.
“Whatever one calls to you,” he told her.
Victoriously, she plucked an oversized men’s watch from its box and held it up to him.
“Perfect. We can work with this. Now, let’s talk wardrobe.”
Fifteen minutes later Branka, dressed in only a crisp white men’s oxford and murderously sharp stilettos, leaned against the dingy window surveying the city sky line. Her watch hand was planted firmly on the glass, her other at her hip. Nat was pouting in the corner after having lost a round of “this isn’t the look we were going for” with Niko.
Impervious to the drama, Niko consulted his light meter, made a few adjustments and started with the test shots.
He checked the screen and grunted in approval. “Okay, let’s do this before we lose the light.” He moved in, alternating his distance to Branka, capturing full body shots and close-ups. Emma could tell he was still warming her up, feeding her translator instructions. Her anticipation built.
“Okay, now I want you to look at that city like you own it. Manhattan is yours.”
The translator fed Branka the line and even from her vantage point, Emma could see the slight curve in the models lips, the change in her eyes.
“Yes! That’s what I want!” Niko announced from behind the camera. There was no language barrier to his enthusiasm, and Branka went with it. A queen surveying her kingdom, the men’s watch catching the light on her wrist.
Click. Click. Click.
“Oh, hell yeah,” Niko said, handing the camera over to an assistant. He offered a palm to Branka, and she slapped him an enthusiastic five.
They crowded around the monitor setup clicking through the shots, and Branka clapped her hands when they saw it. The spark. The woman who owned the world.
“Damn you, Nikolai,” Nat sighed. “That’s not what we were looking for.”
“Tell me it’s not perfect,” he dared her, a cocky grin pulling on his lips. “Tell me.”
“Let me send the test shot up the ladder and see what the powers that be think.”
She instructed one of the set assistants to upload the file, and Niko strutted back to Emma. He pulled up a stool in front of her. “So what did you think?”
He was incredible. Magical. Watching him work left her a little shaky and breathless just knowing what genius lay beneath that beautiful exterior.
“You are really, really good at your job,” Emma admitted. “And I definitely want to tear off your clothes.”