Page 104 of Plus Size Player

“No, we’re not all good,” I clarified. “And my name is Nina.” I turned to Remedy. “I’m top-heavy and this bra tape has no support, so me jumping is not a good idea.”

“This is my photoshoot. I’ll decide what’s a good idea for my shoot,” he snapped.

“And this is my body,” I returned, just as forcefully. “I’ll decide what’s a good idea for me.”

Remedy’s eyes were large as she looked between the two of us. “Okay.” She clasped her hands together and took a step back. “She doesn’t do the leap.”

The photographer’s face turned red, and I could almost see steam coming from the top of his head.

“Can you lift your arms up and turn toward the sun?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want to ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

I lifted my arms and let the sun shine on my face. I moved deliberately, playing up my angles.

“Is it too much to ask for you to drop into a squat?” he asked sarcastically.

I squatted.

He sighed loudly. “Lower.”

I squatted lower.

“Lift your chest and squat lower.”

I was basically sitting in an invisible chair. He had me hold that position for ninety seconds. I know he was hoping I would break, but I was in the gym five times a week. I had one more minute in me.

In a stony silence, he snapped some pictures. When I had to stand after two and a half minutes, he smirked and then unceremoniously stopped.

“Where’s Mr. Long? Can you get Mr. Long for me, please?”

An assistant ran toward the exit.

I dropped my arms to my sides and waited. Unsure of what I was supposed to do, I looked over at the other models. They also looked confused. Slowly, I made my way to them.

“What’s wrong?” Remedy asked, rushing to his side.

The photographer glanced at me. “The vision I pitched to Mr. Long isn’t able to be executed if one of the models is difficult and uncooperative.”

My face twisted. “Difficult?” I muttered.

“I just texted him. Difficult how?” Remedy asked.

“Being unable to do the poses necessary to execute the vision.”

“I see.” She nodded slowly as she checked her phone. “So you can’t do your job?”

He looked insulted. “I can do my job. It’s her—”

The door opened, and Russ walked our way. His long legs carried him across the roof swiftly, and the photographer turned his back to us in order to address the man in charge.

“Finally! Mr. Long, we need to talk,” the photographer called out.

“What’s going on?” Russ asked, slowing down a few feet in front of him. His handsome face was unreadable as he stared at the man. “What’s the problem?”

“You know the idea I told you about? The one you hired me for? Well”—he turned and gestured to me—“you didn’t tell me that there was a fifth model or that she’s a plus model—”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Russ interrupted.

“She’s making it difficult to get the shots.”

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