Alfred Frey’s office occupies an entire floor of a Century City high rise. I guess I should have expected no less from a legendary Hollywood agent.
I’m escorted to his door and cross what feels like miles of marble flooring before reaching his desk. He doesn’t even look up before muttering, “Sit down.”
When he finishes doing... whatever he’s doing... he finally lifts his head, moves his eyes over my face and hair, and grunts, “Yes. Yes, it’ll work,” then drops his gaze back to his paperwork.
Though clearly not human, Alfred doesn’t look exactly like the Elves I’ve seen all my life. He is shorter, less attractive, and yet his face is so interesting it holds its own brand of appeal. If he’s really been a top agent for the past thirty years, then the Hollywood crowd undoubtedly assumes he’s keeping a plastic surgeon on standby for regular touchups—like all of the Fae, he has an ageless quality about him.
He wears a well-cut suit that has an expensive-looking sheen, a large shiny watch, and several rings. A beautiful turquoise tie matches his eyes and contrasts well with his thick, black hair and deep California tan.
Uncomfortable with the silence, I try to make conversation. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from my fa—”
“Your father wants this done as quickly as possible,” he interrupts in a no-nonsense tone. “From what I understand we have no time to waste in getting you launched. I’ve got you booked on go-sees every day this week, but first you’ll need a portfolio. It won’t be easy to whip one up so quickly. You’ll be working with Stephen Dutton all day—perhaps into the night to get it done.”
“All day?” I repeat dumbly.
My online research last night revealed the art school isn’t too far from the address of the photography studio listed on the itinerary I was given. I’m hoping to finish the shoot in time to walk the few blocks to the school and check it out before my driver comes back to pick me up.
It might be my only chance to visit the school in person this week. My go-sees could be in different counties or even the other side of the city for all I know—Los Angeles is huge.
“Yes—all day.” Alfred’s tone is withering. “You’re not here for a vacation. We all have to do our part—even Davis Hart’s daughter.” The way he worded it and the disgust in his voice makes me wonder—is this guy my father’s friend? He doesn’t sound all that “friendly.”
Chastened, I nod and mumble my thanks then follow the secretary who’s come to escort me out. I let out a long, shuddering breath as I leave his office. Whatever Alfred Frey is, he is not an ally.
* * *
The Santa Monica studio is cold, with immensely high ceilings and vents that seem to blow from every direction. Shivering in the bikini I was instructed to put on, I try not to wobble too much in my towering heels or squint in the overly bright lights.
“You’ll warm up in a minute,” the photographer, Stephen, informs me with a deep chuckle that says he’s hosted many a shivering girl in this studio. “We have to keep the temperature down in here because of the equipment, but the lights will have you sweating like you’re in a sauna pretty soon. So, Alfred says it’s your first time in front of a camera, huh?”
I nod, forcing a small smile in his direction, though I can’t really see his face with the glare in my eyes.
“You’ll do great, don’t worry. Alfred knows what he’s doing. He’s never steered me wrong yet.”
I shudder again, but not necessarily from the cold. Alfred sort of creeped me out. He wasn’t a lech or anything—he’s got a fan pod full of sweet young things if teenaged girls are what he’s into. No, it wasn’t the way he looked at me, but the way he didn’t. Though we’d only just met, I got the distinct impression he didn’t like me.
Stephen’s voice pulls me back to the moment. “Hey, Sofie, can you powder her again? Thanks.”
The photographer was right. I am warming up, and apparently, getting shiny as a result. A small Latina woman steps forward and dusts my face with sneeze-inducing translucent powder, adding another layer to the already thick-feeling makeup on my skin. One more new thing to get used to.
“All right. Give me some movement.” Stephen gets behind the camera and starts clicking.
Suddenly movement seems completely beyond my physical capabilities. I have no idea what to do. I feel stiff and super uncomfortable, like my arms and legs aren’t actually parts of my body anymore, but these strange unwieldy things hanging from my joints. I shift from side to side, tilt my head in different directions, but I can sense the disappointment in the room.
In my peripheral vision, the makeup artist and hairstylist lean their heads together and whisper. I’m sure they’re talking about how terrible I am. To make up for my lack of “moves,” I smile wider and wider until my face aches.
“Maybe vary your expressions for me, Vancia? We’ve got plenty of smiling,” Stephen says. I can almost hear the grimace in his voice.
“Oh. Sorry.” If he wants expressions of mortification and dread, then he’s getting a lens full now.
So I try to look serious, or fierce like that model show on TV talks about. I should have watched that more often.
Stephen steps to the side away from the camera. “Um... let’s take a break everyone.” Motioning to me with a finger, he says, “Come here Van.”
The nickname reminds me of Carter and triggers a sudden bout of homesickness that surprises me. “Are we done?”
His answering expression is a mixture of pity and if-only-we-were longing. “Listen kiddo,” he says in a gentle tone. “Let’s get out of the studio for a while. We have to do some location shoots anyway, and you’ll probably have more fun with those.”
My shoulders fall. I knew I’d suck at this. “I’m sorry I’m so terrible. I’ve never—”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. It’ll come together. You just need to relax a bit. Ever been to Venice beach?”
His imperfect grin really works with his twinkling brown eyes, and suddenly I do feel a bit more relaxed. “Not since I was a kid.”
“Well, grab your cover-up and let’s go. I’ll even buy you a snow cone when we get to Ocean Front Walk.”
“Not a cherry one!” The makeup artist warns as she rushes to pack her case and follow us out the studio door.