Page 22 of Have To Be Mine

“Very.”

She paled. “They’re going to want specifics.”

“Then give them champagne and tell them to enjoy the view. That’s what they’re here for anyway.”

Krista’s phone was already out, her fingers flying across the screen. She was texting someone, probably Adrian. Probably tattling on me.

I looked around at the chaos. Media swarming. Models who were supposed to be in front of cameras in a few hours wearing swimwear that didn’t exist.

“We could go topless,” I said.

Annika’s eyes went wide. “Are you out of your mind?”

I shrugged. “I’m just saying, it would definitely make a statement. Very European. Very avant-garde.”

“Your mother would murder you,” Annika said. “And then I would.”

Annika had worked for Blackwell Couture for as long as I could remember, and at this point she was nearly family. Which was why she had no problem being honest with me. Over the years, I had learned to trust Annika’s opinion and advice. If she said something was a bad idea, then it almost certainly was.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll put a pin in the topless plan for now.” I rubbed the back of my neck. The sun was already brutal and it wasn’t even noon yet. I felt my phone buzz with a text message.

Adrian: Status update?

I typed back: Handled.

Another buzz immediately: That’s not a status update.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket without responding. I didn’t have time for Adrian’s micromanaging right now. I was about to tell Krista to help instead of running to my brother, but she was on the phone about ten feet away. She was pacing back and forth.

“Hey, Captain K!”

She looked in my direction. She had on aviators but I could just imagine the glare coming from behind them. “I’m working,” she said.

“Yeah, I know. Your work is texting me. Tell him to chill out. I have it under control.”

She ignored me.

“Mr. Blackwell!”

I turned to see one of the set designers jogging over, sweat already pouring down his face. “The backdrop for the main shoot area collapsed. Wind’s too strong. We need to anchor it differently but we don’t have the right equipment.”

“What do you need?”

“Sandbags. A lot of them. And maybe some concrete blocks.”

“How many is a lot?”

“Fifty? Sixty?”

Fuck me. “If I don’t find bathing suits, there won’t be a shoot,” I said.

“What?” He looked horrified.

“Just put some rocks on the stuff for now. I’ll make some calls.”

He nodded but looked very skeptical. I didn’t blame him.

I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts. I needed someone who could get me sandbags and concrete blocks in the next hour. There was a guy in Athens, a fixer who’d helped me out of a jam last year during a different shoot. What was his name? Dimitri? Demetrius?