Page 52 of Tipping Point

Casey stands off to one side, taking in Bruce in his tuxedo. Bruce is impervious to her appreciative glance. From what I can tell, they haven’t spoken since Monaco.

She’s wearing a blood-red dress, cut low in the back, thin straps over her shoulders. Her face is flawlessly made up, and she tucks her hair over a shoulder to show off her back.

I grab two glasses of champagne when a server passes me with a big tray and hand one over to Casey when I approach the group.

“Holy shit,” Jay says.

“What?” I glance at the group of people he was just filming.

“You look incredible,” he says.

“Legit, Cam, you look great.” Evan nods at me.

Bruce says nothing, but his mouth hangs open.

They’re making me feel self-conscious.

I had washed my hair and put a lot of product in and let it air dry. The curls were long twirling individual strands, that I had then worked into an up do with a ton of bobby pins. As always, some curls have already escaped, and tendrils hang softly around my face.

I had opted for a bold cat-eye eyeliner and an oxblood-red lipstick, avoiding doing a full face of makeup. After our constant filming in the sun, I’ve gotten a bridge of freckles over my nose, and I had dabbed concealer under my eyes and around my nose to hide the natural redness there, ending up with very understated, fresh skin.

The lip, though. First, I was worried it’s too much, but it matches the soles of my shoes so perfectly I can’t resist. Now, with the lace mask covering the top half of my face, they seem more prominent somehow.

We spend an easy hour filming celebrities and dignitaries, film stars and the familiar faces of those in the racing world, all drinking champagne and mingling.

They announce the ballroom is open and we allow the guests to stream inside before following in their wake. It’s so gorgeous the guys don their cameras on their shoulders, and they pan from the crowd of guests to the intricately painted ceilings above, the vaulted ceiling high and glittering with gold chandeliers sparkling in the light.

Tables are set up around the edges of the ballroom and staff members are showing guests to their seats.

We film a young European royal as he gives a short welcome speech and thanks everyone for their support of the charity.

We clap softly along with the other guests.

I implore Jay and Evan to keep to the shadows while filming and rather zoom in on the guests instead of getting close. I want them in all their natural glory, without pretense for the cameras.

Bruce is setting up in a discreet corner. The goal is to ask guests to step over there to film a brief introduction and to get their opinion on the racing season. The background, showing the dance floor and the mingling of guests behind them, will illustrate the opulence and exclusivity of the event.

“It will create a sense of mystery about how luxurious their lives really are,” I instruct Bruce, and Casey shyly steps closer to help him with the lighting and the lapel mike he needs to fit for whomever we are filming.

I can tell Bruce isn’t ready.

“Case, why don’t you approach the guests and ask them if they’d be willing to give us two minutes of their time for the shots?”

She gives me an optimistic smile and disappears into the crowd.

I straighten a stack of disclosure agreements that the guests who will allow us to film them have to sign so that WebFlix Max has permission to air the footage of them.

Evan makes his way back and starts setting up with Bruce’s help.

“Let me get you guys some drinks.”

I walk to the far side of the room where a long bar has been set up, the brass counter glowing golden in the light from the chandeliers.

I order three waters, and as I turn to make my way back, Finn steps up to me.

He’s dressed in a tuxedo, his hair neatly sleeked back and tied up. His full mouth is on display, with the white mask covering half of his face. He’s clean shaven and his brows are low over dark eyes as he takes me in.

“Fuck.”

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