“Should I keep the lingerie on?” I called as I stripped off my lame, sub-$1000 clothes.
“For now,” replied Ryder.
As in…he’ll be tearing it off me later?Or did he just mean that I wouldn’t wear it in some later shots? I gulped.
When I came out from behind the screen, Ryder had transformed the showroom into a photo studio complete with super-bright LEDs and those weird foil umbrellas on tripods. I sat down on a bench to start putting on the shoes, but Ryder put his hand on mine to stop me.
“Allow me,” he said, taking the shoe out of my hand. He knelt in front of me. I pressed my thighs together to prevent him from seeing right up my dress as he cradled my foot in one hand and slipped the shoe onto me with the other. His gentle touch sent a jolt of desire up through my nylon-clad legs. I pressed my thighs together harder. But then he stood up and the moment was gone. He directed me to stand in front of one of the walls of shoes while he handed Frankie a box fan.
“Strike a pose,” commanded Ryder.
I put one hand on my hip and smiled as hard as I could while the fan gently blew through my hair, giving the illusion of a romantic breeze.
Or at least, that was how I pictured it in my mind.
Ryder snapped a few shots and then clicked through the images on the camera’s LCD display.
“How’d I do?” I asked.
“Uh…”
“Let me see.” I snatched the camera from him so Frankie and I could see the pictures. Frankie immediately burst out laughing so hard that I thought she might pull a muscle. And I couldn’t blame her. The picture was awful. My pose looked so forced and unnatural. And my smile…oh God. Every tendon in my neck was visible. It reminded me of the horrible 2nd-grade school portrait that my mom still had framed in her hallway. The fan didn’t help, either. Rather than creating the illusion of a gentle breeze, it made for more of a reporter-in-a-category-4-hurricane sort of situation.
“Not a bad start,” said Ryder mercifully. “A few notes though… Frankie, let’s dial it back on the fan a bit. And Raven, try not to smile so hard.”
I took a deep breath. I wanted him to think I was sexy instead of adorable. This was my chance to prove that I could be.I’ve got this.I went back to the wall and struck another pose. Ryder told me it looked great and then…proceeded to change literally everything about it.
Damn it.
“Both hands on your hips,” he said. “Shoulders back. Neck out - no, not that far. Turn a bit. Good, good. Butt out. Suck in your stomach. Tits up. Shoulders back again. Pop that elbow a bit…”
“Am I modeling or trying out for Cirque du Soleil? What kind of contortionist do you think I am?” I was seconds away from falling over.
He ignored me and kept giving more instructions. Once every muscle in my body ached from pretzeling myself into the most unnatural position possible, Ryder finally snapped a few pictures.
“Damn,” he muttered.
Frankie ran over and looked too. “You look hot.” She turned the camera so I could see it.
Holy shit!I did look hot. “What kind of magic did you just use to make me look so skinny and my boobs look so big?”
He gave me a funny look as if I had just revealed his deepest secret. “None. No magic. I just put you into the right pose so that the camera would capture your true beauty. It’s hard to make a 2D image look as good as the real thing.”
Do I really look that good?Seeing that picture coupled with the way Ryder had looked at me earlier had given me a newfound confidence. I got back into position and got ready for more pictures.
“Okay, the last thing we need to work on is your face,” said Ryder.
Well, crap. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“It’s beautiful, but you need it to tell a story.”
“And what story should I tell?”
“Well…these shoes are supposed to be sexy. Fierce.”
“Got it.” I squinted to try to do sexy-eyes.
“Good, good,” said Ryder as he snapped photos. “But I want more. Here, try sayingprune.”
