Page 114 of The Bad Girl

Chapter 39

Nadine

We show up at the photoshoot to a frenzy of activity. Flowers are placed, a Grecian column is being positioned, props are being staged, and there are racks of dresses waiting for us.

Because Allison agreed to the photoshoot, she did have to compromise a bit on the dress, which is completely reasonable considering it’s going to be in a popular fashion magazine. The dress is going to represent the InStryde brand, Maxwell himself. The level of planning is genius because it will attract a younger crowd, but it’s placed in a magazine that the older demographic doesn’t read, so it won’t alienate his fanbase.

After scanning the racks, we decide on bridesmaids’ dresses that are teal with a twisted wrap top and a long slit up the thigh. The quality far exceeds any off the rack option, even though they were rushed.

Despite the fact that this shoot is for her, and it’s freaking AMAZING, Allison acts somber the entire time, wearing forced smiles and refusing to engage in conversation. I get that she’s upset she can’t have the wedding dress of her dreams, but come on—this is even better!

“Places everyone!” A woman with a clipboard calls out after we’re dressed, and our makeup has been done.

We spend the next three hours being carefully staged. I’m forced to grin so hard, my jaw begins to cramp as Maizey snaps hundreds of shots.

My biggest takeaway from this is my newfound respect for models, Nola Laybecks, in particular. Adding a bunch of lobsters to my hairpiece would only push me further to the edge I’m at the cusp of.

“Take twenty!” the choreographer says, and I rush to get a seat so I can get my aching feet out of the sandals that are pinching my toes.

As I’m rubbing my arch, I grab a magazine that’s set out on a table, and the image on the cover fills me with dread.

It’s Maxwell Stryder, on his knees, looking up at Akinyi Adebayo, her stilettoed foot pressed against his chest as she looks down on him.

It’s sexy. It’s authoritative. It’s so fucking hot. It’s the bad girl I’ll never be, the one Maxwell tried to mold me into.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

I look up to see Prince Harry looking down at me.

“Yeah, sure,” I look around for another chair, “you have to go grab a—.”

“I wasn’t asking for another chair, I was asking for yours.”

Despite being morose, I break out into laughter at Harry’s familiar banter.

“How’s work been?” I ask.

“So much easier now that Maxwell’s cleaned house.”

“Hey!”

“Oh look, the groom and groomsmen are here.” Harry nods to Eric, Tom, and three other men walking onto the set.

Because the shoot was more about the wedding gown itself and who is wearing it, the groomsmen were able to skip the first half of the shoot.

Harry whistles. “Tom looks like quite a treat.”

Yeah, except for the fact that he’s GAY, and I’m TOTALLY into my boss…or rather, ex-boss.

“A total package,” I agree.

“And now that you’re living off a generous severance, you can spend all day snacking,” he says with a wink.

“Oh,” I let out a laugh, “that would never happen.”

His head snaps in my direction, eyes narrowing accusingly. “Did Little Miss Mouse get rejected again? Was this merely a poor-quality sequel?”

“Kinda, but not in the way you might think.”