Page 70 of Wicked Duty
This is almost as humiliating as the photograph from last night.
I just fucked my entire career.
I bury my face in my hands, trying to stem the tide of overwhelming despair coursing through me.
As the assistants help me out of my dress and back into the outfit I wore to set, I do everything in my power to stop myself from falling apart. But, damn, it’s so difficult.
I’m almost afraid to leave the dressing room. I’m not sure I can handle people watching me with pity and judgment.
I suck in a wavering breath. Somehow, I need to power through this disaster.
Even if powering through involves crawling.
At least Callum’s probably happy. My spectacular, chaotic display means I’m done, and his job gets that much easier. No more heightened risk from the Runway Revolution staff and assorted spectators. Who knows? He might even throw me a party.
When I finally step out, Warren Tanglewood, the photographer, beelines for me. “Lucy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry about the set?—”
“Don’t be. Look.” He shifts to my side, angling his camera so I can inspect some of his shots.
Unexpected delight fizzes through my veins.
The photos are incredible.
Warren’s talent for photography is insane. He caught the entire display, but instead of a fiasco, the images are breathtaking.
Even without the retouching and editing magic that comes in post-production, I’ve never looked so alive.
I’m an avenging angel, fabric flowing around me in the air currents, the broken geometric pieces scattered on the net below creating dramatic depth.
Even my frozen, terrified expression works. Every element of the last photograph is in beautiful balance with the others, and I’m so beside myself with surprise that I don’t know what to say.
“Lucy, your fearless performance up there was incredible.” Warren beams. “You’ve gone viral already.”
My jaw couldn’t gape more. “I’vewhat?”
He holds up his phone, showing me his Instagram feed. Photos and videos of my shoot are stacked on top of each other like building blocks. Comments fly past, lauding the “raw authenticity” and “powerful vulnerability” in my expressions.
And one comment I keep seeing over and over again…people pledging to vote for me.
The lead weight in my body melts away like morning fog.
I lift my eyes and meet Callum’s burning green gaze from across the rooftop.
Guess his job isn’t going to get any easier quite yet.
Chapter 27
Callum
Back at the hotel following Lucy’s destructive aerial catastrophe, my emotions and nerves refuse to settle. The sight of her demolishing that set replays on an endless loop behind my eyes. I can’t stop reliving her plummeting through the air.
Even though she survived that brush with death, adrenaline is still racing through my veins.
On top of everything else, Lucy doesn’t seem to care. That stunt catapulted her into the final round of this godforsaken competition, so she’s walking on cotton candy clouds as we push through the door of our suite.
She glides toward the bedroom with a spring in her step, like risking her life for awho’s the prettiestcontestwas totally worth the risk.
