Page 161 of Off Limits Mogul

“The magic of clothing tape,” Shiloh says.

Without it, the dress would slip off my body, exposing my breasts for the world. The seamless panties also keep me prim and proper. “This could pass as a wedding dress,” I say. “It’s so princess-like. I never thought someone my height could pull off a showstopper like this.” I’ve never dared to wear a maxi dress with a train, worried it would look ridiculous on me.

Shiloh’s eyes brush down the length of my body. “You own the dress.”

“I do, don’t I.” I giggle, doing another swirl.

“The dress is va va voom and demure at the same time,” Shiloh says. The provocative back is balanced with the longsleeves. “It’s pure Hollywood glamour. Local designer Angel Suárez is a master at creating these ethereal styles.”

“The guy has talent,” I say.

What I’m wearing is almost angelic, while my makeup is dramatic. Vampy, even.

“The deceptive simplicity will play off nicely against the colorful SCORE Yours headphones and highlights the value proposition. Hence, why the dress is backless.” She draws a vertical line in the air, tracing the letters of my tattoo.

Shiloh Walden is Flint Guthrie’s assistant. From what Arianne tells me, Flint is a big-shot photographer. She assures me it’s a miracle of God he could fit me into his jam-packed schedule on such short notice. I’m standing in the dressing room just about to step on the set for a photoshoot––the first of many as the face of SCORE Yours. The shoot was scheduled for next month, but Rhys, Beckett and Arianne decided to have an emergency photo session to appease the press by throwing them a bone. Instead of focusing on my hush-hush return to LA and my relationship with my boyfriend, we’re giving them something to talk about.

Noah left in the wee hours this morning. He was bummed he’d miss the photoshoot. I promised him a flurry of selfies to make up for his absence.

This is really happening.

“I’m petrified, Shiloh. I haven’t done anything like this in a while… and it’s the first time it’s only me on the set.” I thought Arianne would be here, but she’s trapped in an important meeting with Beckett and Rhys. So, I’m flying solo.

Shiloh moves away from the mirror and comes to stand in front of me. Even in heels, the blonde is much taller than I am and I have to tilt my head back to meet her green eyes.

“I promised I’d put a lid on my fan girl fascination…” She was even more excited than Arianne and Phoebe were when they first met me. “…but you can totally do this,” Shiloh says. “Flint is a tiny bit flamboyant and a lot eccentric, but he’s an amazing photographer. He’s going to do a series of warm-up shots to ease you into it. He spent a lot of time prepping for this by scouring the internet, so he knows your best angles. The fact you’re a natural in front of the camera is a bonus. Once you’re comfortable, he’ll go nuts and snap away like he’s possessed. You’ll just have to sit there and be your beautiful self.”

“Okay,” I say, willing my nerves to calm down.

“You got this, Keira,” she says.

For a complete stranger, Shiloh is amazing at comforting me.

“Thank you for saying that.”

Her phone rings.

She accepts the call.

“Okay, got it,” she says to whomever she’s talking to. Her gaze locks onto mine. “That was Flint. He’s ready for you.”

Oh God.

I take in a deep breath. “All right.”

“Let’s go show the world what SCORE Yours and the new Keira are all about,” Shiloh says.

I channel her confidence. “Let’s do it.”

“My girl is representin’” She singsongs that with a dance move reminiscent of my Lucky Break days.

I can’t help my laugh.

I follow her, balancing on my high heels. My eyes drop to my feet and can’t help but giggle. In Nepal, I lived in flip-flops. That’s also been my footwear of choice since landing in LA. The dazzlers strapped to my feet are quite the departure. To my surprise, they’re quite comfortable.

“There’s our beautiful billion-dollar face,” Flint says. Since I’m trailing right behind Shiloh’s tall frame, I can’t see him yet. He catches sight of me sliding out from behind Shiloh. With ahurried step, he approaches. He’s not tall for a man. In my five-inch heels, we’re nose to nose. However, his unruly curly dark, almost black hair with streaks of gray give him an extra two inches of height. Unrushed, his gray eyes take me in. He walks in a circle around me, doing this thing with his fingers like he’s trying to capture me in a frame. Then he stops behind me. “The back is spectacular. The tattoo is pow!” He shouts those words.

Shiloh wasn’t kidding. Flint is over the top.