Page 3 of Faking the Shot

“Yeah, perfect.” He turned to his assistant operating the camera. “Let’s do a push in. Ainsley, so here is where the camera is starting,” he pointed to above his left shoulder, “and this X on the ground is where I want you to stand because the camera will end up there. I’m going to do a countdown, then when I say action, I want you to pull a pose, making sure you show off those shoes too, okay?”

“Sure.” She pushed her left foot through the skirt’s feathers in front so it could be seen, weight on her right leg, and angled her body into what Trudi called Ainsley’s lean pose, one hand on her hip, chin up, tummy sucked in, shoulders back, ready for a sharp movement that characterized these little videos that made it onto millions of social media feeds around the world. This moment was what Trudi was paid for, what Ainsley had starved herself for, what the designers had loaned her pieces for, just so TV execs would notice her and fans would demand to see her in more projects.

“Ready?”

“Yep.” She’d start with her smallest smile—see, directors, she could do serious too.

“Then let’s go, in three, two, one, action.”

A swift pivot accompanied by a fast-blooming smile, and it was done.

“Amazing, perfect. You look incredible.”

“Really?”

“Want to see?”

He led her to the laptop where the vision of the camera zooming in on her then slowing down showed her transformation from serious to the joy most viewers associated her roles with. “Wow.”

“Exactly. Wow.”

“Well, thank you. God bless you.”

“Take care.”

She blew him a kiss, then glanced around for Jason, who was supposed to help her up the stairs. But he wasn’t here, was off talking on the sidelines to someone she didn’t recognize. Okay. Well, he needed his moment in the spotlight, so hopefully he was making some useful connections. She might loathe some aspects of these nights, but as well as shining a spotlight on important issues, they were excellent for networking.

She spotted some other actors she knew, offering hugs, more air kisses, and the level of chitchat appropriate for these events, then turned to the stairs. Her smile dimmed. She hitched it up. She could make it up these steps, surely. She lifted her heavy skirts and began the slow ascent. People who thought feather skirts would naturally equate with lighter weight clearly hadn’t accounted for the fabric the feathers were sewn onto, which had to be sturdy enough to hold them in position. And when the feathers were ethically sourced—she’d made sure—they were very expensive, and needed even heavier fabric to ensure the feathers wouldn’t come off, like what often happened in cheaper gowns. Which meant she was getting a good workout just by moving in this dress tonight.

She placed her Jimmy Choo on the step, hoisting her skirts and using the shift in momentum to drive herself up. Then paused. Whoa. Head spin. The lack of food meant a lack of energy right now, right when she needed it. Right when she needed Jason, too. Or at least his arm to hold onto. But she wouldn’t interrupt him. He needed his time to connect. So she blinked, then pasted on her smile again, conscious of the photographers and all the anxiety-inducing people around her. She was a pro. She could do this. Just ignore the noise and commotion and get to the top, where she’d be guided to her seat and she could finally eat. Maybe that might clear some of the lightheadedness.

“Ainsley! Ainsley, over here!”

Recognition of that photographer’s voice caused her to pause, to glance over her shoulder in a hands-on-hip pose and smile. She knew she was holding up others, like the Tom Cruise look-alike—in his younger days—waiting behind her in a navy suit wearing shoes and no socks. She hadn’t seen him at a red-carpet event before. Even if the carpet here was white.

“Sorry.” She grimaced.

He raised his hands, his lips tweaked to one side, like he was bemused by the whole event. Phew. Thank goodness he didn’t look too bothered, unlike some people she’d encountered at events like these who would do anything to claw their way into appearing in an extra photograph or a best-dressed list or article. Desperation to be noticed made people do desperate things, and in this industry, it wasn’t unheard of to have stylists poached, or dresses suddenly disappear, or last-minute cancellations from glam squads. Which was why having a trusted adviser like Trudi made all the difference.Lord, bless her.

“Ainsley!”

She turned, but whether it was the heavy skirts or the too-thin heels, or the lack of food, her foot slipped and she lost her balance. Then time seemed to crystallize into moments akin to the thousand-frame-per-second shot of the high-speed slow-motion camera from before. Except this was no glamor shot, rather a horror film, where she was the victim, acutely aware of her impending doom, and could already see it all photographed and spread across the internet and trashy magazines in frame by awful frame.

Her look of shock. Her desperate breath. Panic swelling her gown’s bodice. Arms flailing. Flashes of cameras. All these people pointing, laughing, mocking. She was falling—falling!—and her career would forever be defined by this one moment.

Lord, help me!

CHAPTER2

Zac Parotti might be known for his lightning quick reflexes on the ice but nothing had prepared him for this moment that seemed straight out of a movie.

Time seemed to slow into the thud of heartbeats and stalled breath as he realized what was about to happen to the woman in the overly-long feathery dress who was wobbling dangerously. He’d noticed her earlier. Noticed the way the crowds called for her. The way she air-kissed and hugged and was the center of attention. And while part of him had despised himself for being so weak as to notice the woman who clearly was here wanting to be photographed, another part had been pleasantly surprised to overhear her say something intelligent about tonight’s cause earlier, before other reporters had stolen his awareness.

All this passed through his brain in a matter of mere milliseconds, then he rushed forward and caught the falling princess-wannabe before she hit the deck, capturing her safely in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

Her long dark lashes fluttered as she blinked up at him, the look of terror from before melting into relief. “Oh my goodness—you’re my hero. Thank you.”

Her lips curved into a deep smile, one that squeezed his chest and threatened to steal air from his lungs. His clasp around her waist tightened, his hand reaching to touch her dark hair, strands of which had come loose from the intricate arrangement he’d noticed before. Soft, so soft. Just like the silky feathers of her dress. Just like the smooth skin he couldn’t help but notice as he cradled her shoulders.

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