NICK ASSUMED THAT the calendar photoshoot would be simple: one day out of his life, then finished. He’d been involved with team photos before and he’d even let his tattoo artist take some shots to display in his studio. Those had ended up in the newspapers and on websites everywhere. Not that he cared or could have done anything about it if he did. Besides, his body was simply a tool with which to do his job—when he’d had a job.
The next day, however, clued him in that this wasn’t going to be your ordinary photoshoot.
He’d been out for his morning run, as usual, when Anna waved the iPad at him excitedly on his return.
“You’ve had an email from Massimo. It’s been killing me not to read it!”
Rubbing the sweat from his eyes with a towel, Nick frowned as he scanned the email, the furrows in his forehead deepening.
“Well?” Anna asked impatiently.
“They want to do the shoot in Cannes.”
He shrugged, tossing the iPad on the kitchen table.
“The south of France? Wow!”
Anna was excited, but Nick didn’t seem impressed.
“Just think of all the money the calendar will make for charity,” she said half hopefully.
Nick raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a few days out of your life,” she pleaded, unsure why she was still peddling the idea to him. She sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine. Your body, your choice, right? Forget I suggested it.” She hesitated then forced a smile. “Maybe you could help me round up some of your old teammates so I can interview them for my book?”
Nick winced, his gut twisting at the reminder of the empty days stretching in front of him.
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered as he drew in a deep breath. “And I’ll do the calendar thing. Probably won’t sell any with my mug on it.”
Then he stomped out of the room.
Anna’s shoulders sagged, exhausted from tiptoeing around him. She read the email again. Apart from the fact that Nick was required to fly out to Massimo’s studio in Cannes, a few miles southwest of Nice, for three days—one day of prep and then the two-day shoot—Nick had been sent a strict exercise and diet sheet. The diet sheet wasn’t very different from the ones Nick had used at his rugby club, although this was considerably lower in carbs, but even so, it seemed a lot of effort and Anna was slightly appalled when she read it in detail…
Massimo Dieux Du Sport Calendar
One month before, the model will start to lower their intake of carbohydrates and increase their training to create a deficit that will lead to a leaner, more sculpted physique, suitable for this project.
Week 1
Monday
Morning: Back and chest
Afternoon: cardio run, High Intensity Interval Training or circuit training
Tuesday
Morning: shoulder and abs
Afternoon: cardio, run, hiit or circuit
Wednesday
Morning: legs
Afternoon: cardio, run, hiit or circuit
Thursday
Morning: Arms and abs
Afternoon: cardio, run, hiit or circuit
Friday
rest
Saturday
Morning: full body weights circuit
Afternoon: cardio
Sunday
rest
The model should be exercising twice a day, 4-5 days a week, with the emphasis on weights in the morning and cardio later on in the day; a split routine, shoulders and abs, back and chest, arms and abs, legs and mobility.
As Anna scanned down the weeks 2 to 4, her eyes widened. This was a workout very similar to the preparation for a big game day. The main difference was the reduced carbohydrates—the distinct lack of rice, pasta or sweet potatoes.
Suggested menu options
Breakfast: Eggs or omelette with fresh vegetables, kale, spinach, nuts.
Mid-morning: protein shake.
Dinner: chicken breast with steamed vegetables, salad, fruit for dessert.
Mid-afternoon snack: protein shake, chicken salad.
Dinner: salmon fillet with steamed vegetables.
Snack: protein bar.
Avoid caffeine and processed sugar.
Suggested alternatives: green tea, water, herbal infusions.
Preparing for the Photoshoot
For the last three days before the shoot, reduce water intake to a level of moderate dehydration.
Anna grimaced. That was certainly not an instruction that a healthy athlete would follow—hydration was key. But she also knew that a dehydrated body emphasized the muscles and sinews, leading to a super-ripped physique that photographed well.
But it wasn’t healthy.
On the morning of the shoot, the model should go for a run or complete a cardio-based workout.
No food or water, but black coffee is permitted.
Anna gritted her teeth. She’d practically demanded that Nick sign up for this.
What the hell was I thinking?
She could cope with most of it, but the suggestion that he should deliberately dehydrate himself made the corner of her eye twitch.
There was a contract attached to the email, which Anna immediately forwarded to Nick’s former manager. If there was any cause for concern, Mark Lipman would spot it in a nanosecond. Even though Nick was no longer playing professional rugby, and Mark was retired, he’d stayed in touch, earning Anna’s undying gratitude for his kindness and support.
Wondering if she was doing the right thing by forcing Nick into this, she finished dressing, ready for the twice-weekly meeting with her P.A., Brendan.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the front door and Anna smiled, seeing her friend and assistant on the doorstep.
“Annie, darling! Gorgeous as ever. Almost as gorgeous as myself,” he said, bustling inside. “What’s wrong with his nibs? He looks like that grumpy cat meme that everyone thinks is so hilarious.”
Anna pulled a face.
“Yeah, um, that might be my fault.”
“I’ve told you before, Anna,” Brendan grinned slyly, “withholding sex is a great incentive to get your own way. Just hang on in there. Although,” and he fanned his face, “I’d never turn down your delish diva of a boyfriend—excuse me, fiancé.”
“Bren! I don’t … I wouldn’t…” she huffed, while Brendan grinned and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Then she lowered her voice. “Nick’s been asked to do a photoshoot for a calendar—with Massimo Igashi!”
Brendan slammed his coffee cup down so hard that hot, brown liquid spilled onto the table.
Anna threw him an aggrieved look as she wiped it up.
“Stop the press!” he shrieked. “Why am I only hearing about this now? I’m only your best friend! I’m only the best personal assistant you’ve ever had your hot little hands on!”
“Don’t be such a drama queen, Bren.”
“Can’t help it,” he sang. “It’s genetic. Now come on, spill the beans.”
Anna told him everything that had happened, starting with finding Nick at Twickenham the night before.
Brendan looked at her thoughtfully.
“So, basically you’ve bullied Nick into doing a nudie calendar, when he’d instantly dismissed the idea and deleted the aforementioned email from his inbox.”
Anna frowned.
“It wasn’t like that!” Then she groaned and dropped her head to the kitchen table. “It was exactly like that!” she mumbled, then sat up. “But Bren, what was I supposed to do? He’s drifting, lost, and I don’t know how to reach him!”
Brendan sat astride a kitchen chair, his long limbs folding underneath him as he adjusted his glasses, tortoiseshell today, that gave him a hot librarian look as he listened intently.
“All those years he was with different clubs—it’s been nothing but rugby since he was a child,” she tried to explain. “In a way, he’s been institutionalized. He had a whole team behind him: doctors, physios, managers, coaches, agents, publicists, other players—his friends. Now … he just has me.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen this so many times before, but being so close to it—it’s hard.”
Brendan nodded.
“I know. I read in the paper about that retired rugby player …”
Anna shuddered.
“Oh, that was just terrible! That poor guy!”
“He got sentenced to 23 months,” Brendan said. “He was driving at 150mph and police chased him for fifty minutes.”
“He could have killed someone.”
“Yeah, but when they caught him, they had to taser him like five times or something before they brought him down. He just kept on getting up. They make rugby players tough—even ex-rugby players.”
Anna grimaced.
“It’s the kind of story that makes it into all the sports psychology magazines as a case study of how not to handle a career or retirement. Apparently, he was the youngest ever rugby Super League player at sixteen, although he was disciplined many times during his playing years. But prison! What a way to end a career when you’ve played for your country.”
“At least he didn’t rob a KFC like that other ex-player, something,” said Brendan.
They sat in silence, staring into their coffee cups.
“Nick’s doing pretty well by comparison,” Brendan said, at last.
Anna gave a short, disbelieving laugh, and Brendan looked up sharply.
“Comparing him to two ex-players who are currently in prison? Yeah, definitely better than that!”
Brendan raised an eyebrow, a sure sign that he was coming back swinging.
“How long did it take you to go from being a sports psychologist to an Agony Aunt?”
Anna bristled.
“I’m an advice columnist,” she said indignantly.
“It took you … what, six, seven months?”
Anna paled.
“My father had just died. And then all the Press intrusion—I lost my job! I was fired! Publically vilified and humiliated! It was a little different.”
“I know,” Brendan said calmly, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. “All I’m saying is that any major adjustment in your life takes time to get used to. It’s only been three months for Nick.”
“Four.”
“Okay, four months since his testimonial. That’s not very long in the course of a lifetime.” He levelled her with a look. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, Dr. Scott.”
Anna squirmed. She loved and hated that Brendan didn’t let her get away with anything. Even though she was his employer, he’d never paid much attention to those sorts of boundaries—it was part of what made him a fantastic assistant and true friend.
“Am I pushing too hard?” she said quietly, staring down at their joined hands.
Brendan pulled a face and pushed her coffee cup toward her.
“Yes, no, maybe. Does Nick think you’re pushing too hard?”
Anna matched his expression.
“Probably.”
Brendan gave her a sympathizing smile.
“It doesn’t mean that the nudie calendar is a bad idea. I’ve always said that Nick was hotter than lava. I’d definitely buy a sexy calendar of Naughty Nick.”
Anna groaned. She hated the nickname that the media had come up with, or worse, ‘Nasty Nick’—it bore no resemblance to the quiet, sincere man she knew.
Brendan’s grin grew wider.
“Of course, I’d expect mine to be signed, ‘To the incredible and unbelievably gorgeous Brendan Massey, with love.’ You know: something simple, heartfelt.”
“You’re nuts!”
“You’re crackers. Now, when is this photoshoot happening and can I be your on-site P.A.? Don’t even think about saying no.”
“Um, well, it’s in Cannes next month. I wasn’t going to go…”
Brendan gaped at her.
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because this is for Nick—something for him. I don’t want it to be about me.”
Brendan stood up and put his arm around her.
“You’re being a little wuss, Anna-banana. Of course we’re all going. I’ll book the flights and hotel now.”
He pulled his laptop out of his bag and settled at the table.
“Besides, if anyone is going to drool over your hot boyfriend—sorry, hot fiancé—I should definitely be there to see it. And take notes. Possibly some pictures on my phone.”
“What about me?” Anna huffed with a smile on her face.
Brendan waved a hand dismissively.
“You see his Holy Hotness all the time. Give someone else a chance, girlfriend.”