“Time frame? But we aren’t even shooting until Wednesday.”
The man hands me an iPad. A bloody iPad. “I was instructed to give this to you.”
“I—what? This?”
“Yes. Instructions and schedules have been uploaded and will continue to be updated if situations change.”
“Brit!” Delilah hollers. She points to a bag on the carousel.
“Yeah that’s mine. Grab it for me, will you?” I turn back to our chauffeur. “Where are we headed tonight?”
He nods to the iPad. “All on the device, I assure you.”
I poorly hide my sigh of frustration.
My team consists of eight models: Delilah, Adam, Jaime, Miguel, Patrick, Chloe, Jessica, and Ella. I have to remember to make sure they’re following me like kindergarteners on a field trip so I know that no one is being left behind. And it’s not like I’m over-exaggerating. I’ve almost lost Adam and Miguel twice. Go figure.
Our shuttle is the shiniest vehicle in the passenger loading area. Black and waxed to perfection, I feel like I’m half-way famous. The windows are even tinted.
While the boys act like gentlemen for once in their lives to load the luggage into the back, I take a seat right behind the driver and power up the iPad.
The only thing installed is Amora Acquisition’s own application. It opens by itself. Hello, Britain. You have two new videos.
Creepy.
I plug my headphones into the iPad before opening the videos. Delilah plops down next to me, which is a surprise, considering she’s been hanging onto Adam the whole trip.
“Hey, bestie,” she says, snuggling up to me.
“What’s up?”
“The boys are being obnoxious and you look a bit lonely.”
Lonely? Do I feel lonely? I feel like a mother trying to round up a bunch of ADHD chickens, but that’s a bit different.
“So Jaime…” Delilah whispers to me right as he walks past us. “Is that like, the Jaime?”
I groan in response.
“Holy shit, Brit! Why didn’t you want to hire him? If that hottie took the time and effort to torment me all throughout my childhood, I’d be his personal slave.”
“Dear God, Delilah,” I mutter. “Have some dignity.”
“I do have dignity,” she argues. “Tons of it. I’m just saying—a boy doesn’t spend his entire life tormenting a pretty, adorably dorkalicious girl like you unless he’s secretly in love.”
I glance behind us. I catch Jaime staring, and he looks away.
“You don’t understand.” I turn back to Delilah. “Jaime was a hellion of a teenager. I was one of his many playthings.”
“Yeah, yeah, Brit. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Let’s not talk about this.” I hand her an ear bud. “Want to watch a super-secret and important video with me?”
“Do I ever.” She pops the ear bud in and leans in close. I play the video.
A.J. Harrison—the A.J. Harrison—slowly fates into the picture. He’s in some old-fashioned study. I feel like I’m watching Masterpiece Theatre.
“Hello, Miss McCulley. I hope that you and your team had a safe flight.” He seems sincere, albeit a bit monotone. “You should be on the shuttle and on your way to our location.”
“It’s like he’s watching us or something,” Delilah says in a hushed voice, like she’s in awe of the technology.
“He’s probably just a good guesser,” I say.
“Your shoot location will serve as your lodging for the next two weeks. Hired staff will be staying with you for up-keeping and catering.”
“Up-keeping?” Delilah asks.
“Picking up our shit.”
A.J. continues. “You will have two break days available to you—Saturday and Wednesday. On these days, please relay to your team that they are more than welcome to tour the area on their own. However, on days where we shoot, all team members should be through hair and makeup by ten in the morning and remain on the premise, even those who won’t be participating in sessions.” A.J. gives a soft smile. “It is best for us to have back-up models at the ready. Also, this experience is an opportunity for all of your models to learn.”
“He talks like he’s some sort of model coach or something. Like he’s Tyra Banks.”
I nod. “It’s all part of the show. He wants me to trust him.”
“I will be continuing to send you videos and messages on your device throughout the course of your next two weeks here. Hopefully they will assist you in managing your shoots. All of my assistants will be entirely at your disposal.” He then lowers his voice. “I have to be clear with you though—none of my Amora employees are used to taking orders from a woman as young and—vivacious as yourself.”
“Vivacious?” Delilah giggles.
“He’s mistaking my mouthiness for high-spiritedness.”
“So please, be patient with them, and also remember that you hold a valuable artistic eye. I hope the collaboration goes smoothly between all of you.
“I’ve attached a second video that may help you imagine what I have in store for this launch issue. Please let me know if you have any questions. Although I cannot make it out to Boston, I hope that we can effectively communicate our ideas and creativity with the use of this device over the next two weeks. Please let me know tomorrow how the process is going.”
I close out the video and open up the other one, playing it as the shuttle takes off from the airport.
The video starts off with the text “East Park Conceptualizations, Fall 2013” scrawled across a black background. Sketches slowly fade in and out. A montage.
I hold my breath as I soak in the ethereal sketches of models on a white background.
“It’s kind of weird to see ‘conceptualized’ boobs,” Delilah says, and it’s my turn to snicker.
But soon, we aren’t tossing jokes back and forth. Because the sketches start getting… well, fetishy, to say the least.
“What the fuck,” I murmur.
Bondage and gore and dark shit that AA must think is reminiscent of Halloween. There are even some orgies thrown in the mix.
And hardcore scenes. Some AA artist has sketched out several hardcore scenes for inspiration.
“Are we…” Delilah gasps. “Are we supposed to be fucking each other this issue?”
I frown, shaking my head. “That was never in the agreement.”
The last sketch fades out, and I shudder.
“That was weird,” says Delilah.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I still have control.”
I hope I do. I hope I still have control.
“Holy shit,” says Adam when we roll up to our shooting location.
I’m too busy with my mouth hanging open to concur.
We’re in the driveway of what looks to be a multi-story, old estate. Red bricks tile the walls and ivy grows around the windows. Pillars line the front entrance, one stamped with a historic building plaque.
“I already feel the nightmares coming on,” says Jessica, my token blonde, skinny model. She sneers in disgust.
For anyone to have disgust for this building is an outright crime. Moss creeps over the static water in the fountain. Curtains are thrown over all of the French-paned windows.
This place is photographer’s gold.
“Welcome to Veda Manor,” says our chauffeur. “This historic building used to be the home of the late Arthur Veda, a wealthy banker in the nineteenth century.”
To my utter surprise, no one speaks a word while the chauffeur continues.
“It was rumored that he and his beautiful wife participated in many unspeakable acts of desire with couples of similar… tendencies. You will find that these fetishes were engrained into their marriage so deeply that the building’s architecture caters directly to their habits.”