Media Darling Read online

  “Okay. Whenever you’re ready, Miss—”

  “Emerson is fine,” Emerson said as she dropped her robe and stepped out onto the marked spot. She took the photographer’s cues to pose this way and that without any complaints. She would make an occasional observation or weigh in here or there, but she appeared to be agreeable to work with. This was a new departure for Hayley. She hadn’t had the opportunity to be on this side of the lens before. There was so much going on behind the scenes, and it was amazing.

  They took a break, and Hayley watched as a few assistants arranged a new scene for Emerson to be photographed in. This area had fake grass and a park bench. The background was filled with tall, deep green hedge-like things that appeared to be real. They looked real. But through the lens the scene looked as if it was summer and beautiful and outside, and they weren’t actually in a rented warehouse space in downtown Boston on a rainy spring day.

  Emerson glanced over to her in between outfit changes and gave her a wave. “Doing okay, Hayley?”

  “Yeah. This is…interesting,” Hayley replied. She was far from bored. Her mind spun as she tried to take in all the happenings around her. She was trying to make mental notes—she didn’t want to miss a thing. If she planned to get to the heart of who Emerson was, she’d need to see as many angles of her life as possible. And Emerson had some really flattering angles. She looked back down at her tablet screen and frowned. She’d made no headway this afternoon at all.

  “If you keep grimacing like that, you are going to give yourself brow lines.” Emerson’s voice sounded over her shoulder and she jumped.

  “Jeez, you’re like a ninja. I didn’t even hear you come over here,” she said as her eyes immediately went to Emerson’s lingerie-clad body before they snapped back up to the perfectly applied eye shadow that accented Emerson’s already showstopping eyes. She squirmed trying to cover up her unintentional leering. “Your makeup is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. The stylist team here in Boston didn’t poke my eye out. It’s a win-win, I suppose,” Emerson said, her expression playful.

  “Having working eyes is helpful.” She had no idea why she said that.

  Emerson gave her an amused look. “Indeed, the better to see you with.”

  Hayley laughed. She motioned around them. “I don’t know how you do all this.”

  “Manage to be incredibly charming while prancing around naked with a bunch of strangers? You mean that?” Emerson replied, her tone teasing.

  “Actually, yes.” Hayley liked the playfulness of their banter now. They had settled into something comfortable. She was all for it. “You’re very comfortable scantily clad, huh?”

  “Asks the woman who took her shirt off in front of me.” Emerson gave her a wink. She was flirting, right? That was a flirt.

  Emerson draped her arm across Hayley’s chair and traced her fingers along Hayley’s keyboard with a shrug, her attention directed into the distance seemingly at nothing in particular. “I spend quite a bit of time wearing next to nothing at all. I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable. I would say…I’m used to it. There’s a difference.”

  Hayley lost herself in the delicate, dancing way Emerson’s fingers moved along her keys, pressing lightly but not enough to engage a letter. She imagined it must be incredibly frustrating for the keyboard, almost getting keyed, but not. Or maybe it was just frustrating for her, wishing she was the keyboard under Emerson’s unbelievably soft looking fingers. Okay, that was enough. Reel it in, Hayley.

  Someone knocked over a clothing rack to their left, and the noise drew their attention. A few people scrambled to clean up the mess as one of the assistants held up two separate outfits and talked to famed Italian photographer Pasquale Marinello. They seemed to be in deep discussion over the choices.

  Emerson nodded toward them. “Which do you prefer, Hayley?”

  “Of the outfits?” They were talking about clothes, right?

  Emerson looked at her, a glint of something in her eye. “Did you think I was talking about the woman holding the outfits?”

  “I, uh…no,” Hayley said, suddenly second-guessing herself. “Were you?”

  “No.”

  Hayley felt herself blush. “Um, the black one.”

  Emerson nodded. “I agree. But I’m pretty into black, so I don’t always trust myself.”

  “Well, don’t use my judgment. I’ve been accused of being boring and uninspired in the clothing department.”

  “Oh?” Emerson took a step back and appraised her. “I like this look. It’s very grunge chic.”

  Hayley pushed her dark-rimmed glasses into her hair and glanced down at herself. She was wearing the same dark jeans from the flight last night and the chunky leather boots that Tremont shamed her into bringing. She loved them, honestly, but still. There was shaming. She laughed when she noticed the shirt she was wearing over her basic black tank top. “See, though? This is what I mean.”

  She pulled the bottom of her favorite black and red flannel shirt away from her body and pointed. “My work girlfriend Alison is super stylish and chic and she thinks this shirt makes me look like a lumberjack.”

  Emerson raised an eyebrow at that. “Girlfriend?”

  “Friend. Who’s a girl. Named Alison. She has a boyfriend named Rob who’s kind of a dickwad. We work together. She’s in fashion.” Hayley paused. “And I’m rambling. Sorry.”

  “Well, I don’t know this Alison person, but I think you look great.” She motioned toward her outfit. “This is a good look on you.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. Wait until Alison heard about that. “You’d like her. Alison, I mean. You remind me of her a bit.”

  “Have you been friends long?” One of the PAs held up a glass of water to Emerson. She nodded and pulled out a metal straw from her purse. She’d told Hayley before that this was to limit smearing her lipstick. Hayley appreciated the environmentally friendly choice.

  “About five years. We started working at the Sun around the same time. She’s got a much clearer vision of her career than I do. She’s got a real passion for fashion. It suits her,” Hayley replied as she made a mental note to call Alison later. There was no way they were having their Chinese food date tomorrow night if she was in Boston.

  “Suits her. That’s cute.”

  Hayley face-palmed. “I wasn’t even trying to be punny. I’m a word nerd. It’s best you just accept that.”

  “No problems there.” Emerson nudged her. “You do have a clear career vision, though, Hayley. You told me so in the car, remember? Hayley Carpenter, Screenwriter. I already ordered your business cards.”

  Hayley laughed. “Someday, maybe.”

  “Why not now?” Emerson asked. She was looking at Hayley intently again. She had a hard time focusing when Emerson looked at her that way. She decided to break up the tension with a little humor. That would help, right?

  “Because right now,” Hayley said as she pointed toward Emerson and pretended to thumb through some notes, “I’m interviewing the incredibly charming and scantily clad Emerson Sterling.”

  “Ha, there does seem to be that.” Emerson paused. “Hey, you never talk about the screenplay. Tell me about it.”

  “It’s more of a work in progress than a screenplay.” Hayley felt exposed talking about her idea, which was ridiculous because Emerson was standing in front of her very literally exposed.

  “Okay, so give me a brief synopsis. Is it current day? Does it feature a dragon? Is it bigger than a breadbox?”

  Hayley laughed. “No dragons, but it’s definitely bigger than a breadbox.”

  Emerson pretended to take Hayley’s imaginary notes from before and add to them. “Got it. No dragons. Does it contain warm bread?”

  “The story?”

  “No, the box that contains it—whatever it is—that’s bigger than your average breadbox.”

  “There’s no box.” Hayley chuckled.

  Emerson made more pretend notes, her expression very serious. “No box. Go
t it. Is there bread, though? Because we haven’t covered that angle.”

  Hayley thought about this. “There is a picnic scene by a lake.”

  “Aha! I knew it. Sandwiches happen at picnics. Most sandwiches contain bread.” Emerson patted herself on the shoulder in congratulations. “Okay, your screenplay is about bread. Continue.”

  Hayley shook her head. “It’s about a woman that goes off to college in NYC and has this torrid affair with her female professor that completely blows up in her face. She survives it—barely—and manages to carve out this whole amazing life in the city but has to give it all up to return home to her tiny little Maine town to fix some mistakes her family made. It’s about her coming to terms with the life she had when she left and the life she’s forced to live on her return. It fractures something inside her. She realizes she’s compartmentalized so much of who she is that she’s lost when among those things that are most familiar to her. It’s kind of like a coming-of-age story about self-discovery amid tragedy and accepting the mistakes of the past that you can’t avoid forever.”

  “Well, color me interested.” Emerson’s expression was sincere. “That sounds fantastic. When can I read it?”

  “Read it?” Hayley had been trying to drink some water, but she nearly choked when she heard that. “Uh, it’s not even done. I have loads of work to do on it still. It may never be done. Who knows? Maybe it’s just a pipe dream.”

  Emerson frowned. “That is not an answer I can accept, sorry. Why haven’t you been working on it? The idea is solid. It’s exciting. I’m hooked. Don’t leave me hanging here.”

  Hayley sighed. “Dreams don’t pay bills, Em. I must work to afford the food which I must consume to live. One day, I’ll finish it. Maybe.”

  Emerson shook her head. “You’re too busy with work. That’s what’s stifling your creativity.”

  Hayley rolled her eyes. “Yup. Work is a real drag. You cracked the code.”

  Emerson looked at her seriously, the playfulness from before a distant memory. “Hayley, you’re fired.”

  Hayley did choke this time.

  Emerson patted her on the back as she gasped for air. “Fine, fine. You’re not fired. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Through the tears in her eyes she could see Emerson’s smile. Emerson kept her hand on Hayley’s back when the coughing subsided, and even though Hayley was pretty sure she’d get pneumonia from all the water in her lungs, she appreciated the gentle, soothing circles Emerson was making between her shoulder blades.

  “But I did mean what I said about the screenplay. You need to foster it. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I’m officially invested.”

  Hayley didn’t know what to say. Anytime someone offered her encouragement, she felt grateful because it made her feel like she wasn’t alone in this endeavor. She felt inspired by another person’s belief in her. But Emerson’s encouragement—and offer to help—made her feel unworthy. And at the same time, incredibly lucky. It was a confusing set of emotions made no clearer by the warm hand that now rested on her low back.

  A PA entered through the side door of the room with a trash can, and Emerson shivered as a gust of cold air entered the studio. She glanced back at her abandoned robe and frowned. “I’m not sure why they keep these places so goddamned cold. They must spend all their time photoshopping out people’s nipples.”

  Try as she might, Hayley could not stop the automatic trajectory of her eyes toward Emerson’s chest. She shook her head and shrugged off her soft flannel shirt, then handed it to Emerson. “Here, let’s not give those horny bastards any more fodder, eh?”

  “Thanks.” Emerson took the shirt with a grateful smile and pulled it on. She left it unbuttoned and loose as she sipped from the glass of water. Hayley watched as Emerson took the straw between her lips and closed her eyes. She leaned against Hayley’s chair in the process.

  “Tired?” Hayley asked. She closed her tablet and shuffled it back into her bag. There would be no words right now. It was a practice in futility.

  “Always.” A sad smile formed on Emerson’s lips as the lead photographer interrupted them.

  “Emerson! I love this.” Pasquale reached out and ran his fingers along her shoulder. “Take off the bra and let’s have the lapels hang over your chest—it’ll make those boy shorts look fantastic. Great idea, Emerson. The execs are going to love this. It’s very—”

  “Grunge chic?” Emerson said.

  “Precisely. It will really tie in to that movie role you are working on, too. This just screams Willow, doesn’t it? Come, come,” Pasquale said as he clapped enthusiastically.

  Emerson put down her glass and looked at Hayley. “Hay, what size shoes do you wear?”

  “Um, an eight and a half,” Hayley replied, unsure of what to expect next.

  “Good. Let me borrow your boots.” Emerson held out her hand and waited as she called over her shoulder. “Get Amy in here. Tell her to bring the kit.”

  “The kit?” Hayley was feeling a little naked without her boots or trusty shirt.

  “Well if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Time to play the part.” Emerson winked and took Hayley’s glasses off her face as she slipped them into her hair.

  Thirty minutes later, Hayley gaped at the digital shots that flooded the screen in front of her. “Whoa.”

  “She’s such a beauty. I love this look on her—it brings her back to her bad girl roots, you know?” Pasquale dragged the stylus over the screen and highlighted his favorite shots. From time to time he would circle particular angles that he liked and chatter to himself. “Look here, her cheekbones are perfect with that tuck of her chin. She’s such a natural. Always a pleasure…”

  Hayley tried to ignore his rambling, but she could see what he was talking about, albeit for a markedly different reason. Try as she might, she couldn’t get over how freaking perfect Emerson looked in her clothes. The tone of the photo shoot had changed completely when Emerson donned Hayley’s shirt. She was posed on the park bench, dressed only in Hayley’s chunky black boots and plaid shirt. She tried on a few different black bottoms before they chose a cheeky high-cut boy short from the lingerie line. Emerson had Hayley’s reading glasses tucked up into her hair, letting wisps fall randomly as Amy from makeup put on a deep red lipstick. The smoky eye, red lips, and gentle nibble she occasionally applied to the end of the glasses were captivating. Emerson had everyone’s attention in the room—particularly Hayley’s—a fact that made Hayley a little uncomfortable. She was developing a pretty significant crush on Emerson. And seeing Emerson in her clothes was doing nothing to help that. At all. Not even a little.

  “This is the one, this is the cover piece.” Pasquale tapped the glass and nodded.

  He had circled a series of Emerson reclining on the bench. She was stretched out on her side, with one knee bent while the other boot rested on the wrought-iron armrest. Her toned, flat stomach was on display, and her ample chest was just barely concealed by Hayley’s shirt lapels as she arched her back. She had propped herself up on her elbow and had Hayley’s glasses hanging loosely from her blood-red lips while her right hand settled at the waistband of the boy shorts. Pasquale’s favorite of the series was a picture in which Emerson’s thumb had slipped beneath the material just enough to make the already suggestive photo straddle the line of X-rated.

  Hayley had to agree—the shot was gorgeous. Emerson was glorious, all lean muscle and flawless tanned skin. With her light eyes and dark makeup and her hair impeccably coifed to look effortless, she every bit personified a cover girl and movie star. And she did it all without breathing a word. That was something Hayley had noticed over their weeks together. When Emerson spoke to another interviewer or reporter, she only spoke when asked a question and she didn’t elaborate unless it was necessary. Her interactions with Hayley had been vastly different to the exchanges Haley’d witnessed with other press. That was what she had been trying to put into words when Emerson interrupted
her earlier and starting stripping Hayley of her clothes.

  Emerson reemerged in the clothes she had arrived in, with her hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. And just like that, she looked like a regular person again. Well, a perfectly gorgeous regular person, but a regular person nonetheless.

  “Incredible, Emerson,” Pasquale said, and the rest of the people in the room clapped as she bowed her head. There was a lot of clapping around here, it seemed.

  “Thanks, Pasquale.” Emerson stepped in to give him an air kiss. “I’m excited to see the final product.”

  “Go, go, look at the monitor. I need to make some calls, this changes some things.” Pasquale wandered off, snatching up a PA and barking off orders as he went.

  Emerson walked over to Hayley with a shy grin as she handed back Hayley’s belongings. “Thanks.”

  Hayley pulled on the shirt, grateful for its warmth in the cold room, and slipped her feet into the unbuckled boots. As she tucked her glasses into the shirt pocket, she got a whiff of Emerson’s perfume on the fabric. “If I had known that my clothes would be such a vital part of this trip, I would have let Tremont into my closet like he asked.”

  “Oh God. Don’t do that,” Emerson warned. “He’s been known to keep scissors hidden on his person. The next thing you know, your favorite pajama shirt is a midriff-baring sex outfit. Bad news.”

  Hayley pulled the shirt tighter around herself and blew out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the warning. He almost breached the threshold for this trip. My intramural Yale broomball shirt would never have made it.”

  Emerson let out a low whistle. “You dodged a bullet there.”

  “Or scissors, as it were,” Hayley replied.

  Emerson laughed and walked to the monitor to examine the photos. Hayley watched as she scrolled through the dozens of images and read the notes made in the margins. She touched the screen to enhance a shot of her looking off set. Hayley remembered when it was taken because it had been eerily quiet at the time. Emerson had been between poses, and they had just touched up her makeup. Before the next background was complete, Hayley had heard the soft click of a smartphone camera to her right. In the silence of the moment, it sounded like an echo in the room, and Emerson’s head had whipped its direction. She appeared to breathe out a sigh of relief when she saw it was Amy taking a picture of the lipstick combinations on her hand and not of Emerson. She’d glanced at Hayley before returning her attention to the camera. The exchange had settled like a stone in Hayley’s stomach. There was something so incredibly sad about it.