Page 48 of By A Thread

I’d secretly slobbered over a similar model in an electronics store a few weeks ago and added it to my Future Ally List. Right under a mango margarita with a long straw.

“You wantmeto tellyouwhy you need a computer and a phone to do your job?”

I had a feeling Pigtails was one second away from unplugging me.

“Never mind,” I said, taking the boxes and backing away. If it was a mistake, someone would tell me about it sooner or later. In the meantime, I could dabble with fun new technology. “Thanks.”

Pigtails didn’t respond.

* * *

Linus hadan office down the hall from Dalessandra’s and was unfortunately also two doors down from Dominic’s frozen den of grumpiness. But I didn’t have time to worry or fantasize about Dom. Linus, in black trousers and another black turtleneck—I wisely swallowed the twinsies joke on the tip of my tongue—gave me a generous twenty seconds to stow my stuff at an empty desk before following him.

He flung instructions at me over his shoulder as we dodged assistants and makeup artists and delivery people.

There were models partially dressed in athletic wear pouting for makeup artists and working frantic thumbs over phone screens while stylists attacked their hair.

Still more people were organizing endless rolling racks of clothing.

“I need you to track down the size-eight Nikes because Colossus over there lied about her shoe size,” he said, waving a dismissive hand toward a barefoot model dressed in running tights and a crop top. Her hair was classified as wind-machine-Beyoncé fierce.

Size eight.

“Once you do that, get the crew’s coffee order. We need these people caffeinated.”

Coffee order. Easy.

From what I could tell, everyone present had already downed multiple espressos.

The photo studio was a circus. Busy worker bees unfurled white backdrops while photographers and assistants tested lighting and barked orders. Tables with every hair and makeup product known to humanity cut an L down the middle of the space. On the far wall was another table with sad-looking low-carb snacks.

“What about lunch?” I asked hopefully.

Linus stopped in his tracks, and I bumped into him. “Ally, these people don’teat. They drink, and they smoke, and they work very hard. Then they go home to drink and smoke some more.”

“No lunch. Got it,” I said.

He stormed on, weaving his way through a crowd of model assistants. I could tell they were assistants because they were dressed and made up to the nines but had their phones trained on their bosses.

“Then you need to go to this address, pick up four dogs, and bring them to the Balcony Bridge at Central Park no later than two p.m. We have a very tight window with the permits and the light. Do not. I repeat. Do not fuck this up.”

“Hang on,” I said. “Dogs?”

Linus spun around and gave an elegant eye-roll. “You are not here to have all of your life’s questions answered. You are here to cross off items on my to-do list.”

“Dogs. Linus. I don’t have a car. What am I supposed to do? Take them on the subway?”

He retrieved a black silk handkerchief from a pocket and daintily dabbed at his forehead. “Try not to be completely useless, Admin Ally. You will take one of the company SUVs. Preferably one that won’t need to be used tomorrow so the driver can get it cleaned before God forbid someone important gets dog hair on their gown. You will go to the address, pick up the dogs, and bring them to—”

“Central Park. Yeah. I got that part,” I said dryly.

I spotted a Nike shoebox shoved under one of the makeup tables and ducked to scoop it up.

Size eight.

Triumphantly, I held the box toward Linus. He held up his palms. “Don’t give them to me. Give them to Colossus, along with a judgmental look for providing fake measurements. Then coffee. Then dogs.”

“Is there anything else? How about a tasty little pastry to go with your coffee?”