Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 112: Hired

Hailey

I’m frozen in place, my camera hanging limp in my hands as Josh stands before me, shirtless and somehow part of my photoshoot. My career-defining, absolutely cannot go wrong photoshoot.

"You know our model?" Marcus calls down from his glass perch, his voice carrying that dangerous edge I’ve already learned to fear.

"I—" My voice catches. Every eye in the studio is on me. "We’re acquaintances," I manage, shooting Josh a look that I hope communicates both ’what are you doing here?’ and ’please don’t ruin this for me’ simultaneously.

Josh smiles that infuriating, charming smile. "We’re old friends."

Old friends? We’ve met exactly three times.

Marcus descends the stairs with deliberate slowness, each step echoing through the now-silent studio. He approaches, eyes moving between Josh and me like he’s solving a particularly fascinating puzzle.

"Interesting," he says finally. "And does this... friendship... affect your ability to direct him professionally, Ms. Jameson?"

There’s a challenge in his voice that makes my spine straighten. "Not at all," I say, finding my voice. "In fact, it might help. I know his angles."

I don’t know his angles. I barely know him. But something in me refuses to show weakness in front of Marcus.

Marcus studies me for a long moment, then nods once. "Then, let’s not waste any more time."

I exhale slowly as he leaves me alone again.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss at Josh when I’m sure Marcus is out of earshot.

Josh looks embarrassed. "Would you believe I was just in the neighborhood?"

"In New York? When you live in Portland?" I adjust my camera strap, trying to appear professional while having what feels like an out-of-body experience.

"I followed you," he admits quietly.

"You what?"

"After the airport. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I got on the next flight."

My heart does a stupid little flip that I immediately try to squash. This is not the time for romantic gestures. This is my career.

"And you decided to crash my photoshoot by pretending to be a model?" I whisper.

"That part wasn’t planned," he says with a small grin. "And how do you know I am not a professional model? The lady in black said I’ve got the right cheekbones for it."

I laugh despite myself, a short burst I quickly disguise as a cough when I notice Tammy watching us.

"Look," I say, keeping my voice low. "I can’t deal with this right now. This shoot is everything to me."

Josh’s expression sobers immediately. "I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go—"

"You can’t leave now," I hiss, glancing at Marcus, who’s observing us with narrowed eyes. "They think you’re the model they hired. If you walk out, it reflects badly on me."

Josh runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair—courtesy of the makeup team. "So what do you want me to do?"

I take a deep breath. "Just... follow my directions. Try to look..." I wave my hand vaguely at his admittedly impressive torso, "...moody and fashion-y."

"Moody and fashion-y," he repeats, his lips quirking. "I can do that."

"Ms. Jameson?" Marcus calls. "We’re waiting."

"Right!" I straighten, in professional mode, engaging like a shield. "Places, everyone!"

I position the other models, the actual professionals, then turn to Josh.

"Stand by the concrete pillar," I direct, slipping into the voice I use when I’m behind the camera. "Lean against it, one shoulder touching. Look toward the window like you’re waiting for someone who might never come."

Josh follows my instructions with surprising ease, his body language transforming as he settles into the pose. The sharp afternoon light cuts across his face, highlighting those cheekbones Tammy mentioned.

I raise my camera and look through the viewfinder.

Oh.

He actually looks... good. Really good. The kind of good that makes my finger hesitate on the shutter release.

"That’s it," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Now look down, like you’re lost in thought."

Click. Click. Click.

I move around him, capturing different angles, finding my rhythm despite the surreal circumstances. As I shoot, I can’t help but notice the way his muscles ripple under the lighting.

Josh follows each instruction perfectly, his gaze intense when I ask for intensity, vulnerable when I need vulnerability. My eyes linger on his chiseled jawline and the way his shirt clings to his toned torso, a warm flush creeping over my cheeks.

"Now interact with Alessandra," I direct, nodding toward the female model, trying to maintain my professionalism. "Like you’re drawn to her but holding back." Josh approaches her with confidence despite his amateur status, and I feel a flutter in my stomach as I watch him move with such ease and charisma.

Click. Click. Click.

"Beautiful," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. Good god...I hope Josh doesn’t notice me ogling at his body.

The shoot flows better than I could have imagined.

When we break two hours later, I’m buzzing with creative energy. The images on my preview screen look incredible. Different from what I’d planned, but somehow better.

Marcus appears at my shoulder, his hawkish gaze fixed on my camera’s display. I tense, bracing for criticism, but he simply nods—a barely perceptible movement that somehow feels monumental.

"The chemistry works," he says cryptically before striding away.

I exhale slowly, turning to find Josh watching me, a towel draped around his shoulders, water bottle in hand. He approaches cautiously, like he’s afraid I might still be angry.

"So... how’d I do?" he asks, his voice low.

I should be furious. This man followed me across the country, infiltrated my career-making photoshoot, and could have ruined everything. Instead, I feel something dangerously close to gratitude.

And attraction.

"You were..." I search for a professional-sounding word and fail. "Good. Really good, actually."

He grins, and I notice a dimple I hadn’t seen before. "Natural talent, I guess."

"Don’t push it," I warn, but I’m fighting a smile. "We need to talk about this whole stalking situation."

"Technically, I prefer ’spontaneous cross-country pursuit,’" he corrects, taking a sip of water. "Stalking sounds so... felonious."

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Josh, seriously. What were you thinking?"

His playfulness fades, replaced by something more earnest. "Honestly? I wasn’t. For once in my life, I just... acted. Saw something I wanted and went for it."

"Something you wanted," I repeat, my pulse quickening.

"Someone," he amends quietly.

I’m saved from responding by Tammy’s approach, clipboard clutched to her chest.

"Marcus wants to see you," she tells me, her expression unreadable. "Both of you."

My stomach drops. This is it...we have been caught. Josh’s hand brushes mine briefly as we follow Tammy toward the glass office, and I feel a jolt of electricity.

Get it together, Hailey!

Marcus is standing at the window when we enter, his back to us, hands clasped behind him. He turns slowly, his steel-gray eyes landing first on Josh, then on me.

"Sit," he commands.

We obey, sitting on the edge of two minimalist chairs facing his desk. I resist the urge to fidget with my camera strap.

"I’ve been in this business for thirty years," Marcus begins, his voice measured. "I’ve seen every trick, every shortcut, every desperate attempt to stand out." He pauses, studying us. "But I’ve never seen someone smuggle their boyfriend into a major shoot by passing him off as a professional model."

I open my mouth to protest, but Marcus raises a hand and silences me.

"The thing is," he continues, "it worked. The photos are...compelling."

I feel heat rush to my face. "He’s not my boyfriend," I stammer, though the words sound unconvincing even to my own ears.

"Irrelevant," Marcus says with a dismissive wave. "What matters is the result." He taps his finger on a tablet, spinning it around to show us the images from today’s shoot. "These have an authenticity that’s rare." He looks at Josh. "You are hired."

"Eh...what?" Josh murmurs.

"Yes, hired," Marcus repeats, his expression impossible to read. "You have a natural presence in front of the camera. Raw, untrained, but effective." His eyes flick to me. "And you, Ms. Jameson, clearly know how to direct him."

I blink rapidly, trying to process what’s happening. "You are not... angry?"

Marcus leans back in his chair, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I don’t care about protocol, Ms. Jameson. I care about results. These photos..." He gestures to the tablet. "They tell a story. That’s what sells magazines."

Josh shifts beside me. "So you want me to keep pretending I’m a professional model?"

"No pretending necessary. You’re on the payroll now." Marcus stands abruptly. "Both of you, be here tomorrow at seven. We’re moving the night shoot forward."

With that, he strides past us and out the door, leaving Josh and me staring at each other in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen?" I whisper once the door closes behind him.

Josh runs a hand through his hair, messing up the stylist’s careful work. "I think I just got hired to be a model for Luxe Magazine."

A bubble of hysteria rises in my throat, and before I can stop it, I’m laughing, a deep, uncontrollable laugh that has me clutching the edge of the chair for support.

"Um...Hailey. Are you okay?" Josh sounds worried.

"This is insane," I manage between gasps. "You followed me across the country, crashed my shoot, and now you are part of it?"

"When you put it that way, it sounds crazy," Josh admits.

"It is crazy!" I exclaim. "I should be furious with you," I say softly.

Josh’s smile fades. "Are you?"

I consider the question, searching my feelings. "I don’t know what I am right now."