Russ (18+) | ✔

21

Charlotte

"My agent says a magazine want a photoshoot and interview with me. Dennis says it'll be good if you go too," Russ announced as he walked into the kitchen, stealing a grape out of my bowl.

"Hey, get your own," I exclaimed with a frown, swatting his hands away. He chuckled as he walked past me, but not before planting a swift kiss on my lips.

He was shirtless, having just gotten out of the shower after working out. I wasn't sure what I thought professional athletes did during the offseason, but it definitely wasn't binge-watching TV, fucking like rabbits, and only wanting cheeseburgers. 

He worked out every morning, for hours, on most days he was alone, but about one day a week he would either visit his brothers, or they would come here to exercise together.

And on the rare occasion that the two did visit, so would his brother in law.

"Don't wanna," he replied, opening the refrigerator and gathering the ingredients for a smoothie. "Now about the photoshoot?"

"Yeah, of course, I've been to a few before, I'll go," I answered with a shrug.

. . .

Torture. Pure, unyielding torture from the very pit of hell. Having your favorite kind of candy so close, but not being able to touch it even though other people were.

Russ was shirtless, and his hair had been artfully pushed to one side. His pale skin seemed more tan beneath the lights, and his makeup looked so scarce that if I hadn't witnessed a team of three women applying it, I wouldn't have realized he wore any.

A man in a tight black v-neck and white pants with several useless zippers held a camera in his hand, bounding from place to place trying to get the perfect shot. His platinum blond hair was dyed purple on the ends, shaved on the sides and the back, and pulled up into a neat ponytail.

He wasn't the director, but he could have been. Jackie Garcia was doing no more than watching me like a hawk, as were the stylists between shots. 

They were obviously searching. Either for a clue about who I was or for me to remove or adjust my mask. I rolled my eyes at their antics instead, continuing my text argument with my little brother. 

I've told you already, I am not visiting. Russ is with me and even if he didn't come, the paps would come! Plus, I have a friggin guard!

Lys: Lunch w/ me @ least? Ur in LA c'mon. :((

LJ, you know I can't.

Lys: It's still early. Coffee?

"Terribile!" The photographer exclaimed in an Italian accent. "You're so bianco. So pale. Get the girl in here! Find her new clothes, change him! Fretta!" He lazily waved a hand in my direction.

"What?" I asked confusedly. Two gentle pairs of hands come around my arms, dragging me from my spot in a chair that had been positioned off to the side. The two women were thin, but strong, gently but not roughly leading me into another room. They stood me in front of a mirror, holding garments in front of my body before finally settling on a dark gray bralette and jean shorts with spikes that would have made them impossible to sit in.

They ushered me into a small curtained area, allowing me to get dressed, only interrupting me to hand me a pair of chunky heels. Hurriedly pulling on the surprisingly soft garments, I stepped out from the curtain, allowing the women to drag me to a makeup desk. 

They worked around my mask, though I had to nonverbally argue against them straightening my hair, instead, coercing them into putting it into a messy fan bun, leaving down a few tendrils to frame my face.

Once we made it back out to the room where the photos were being taken, I noticed that they had changed Russ as well. He now wore a pair of dark wash jeans, though he was still shirtless. His torso had been completely oiled, all the way down his arms, stopping at his wrists.

Now Jackie began doing her job. She positioned me behind Russ, instructing me to wrap my arms around his shoulders, lean my head against his, hide my face and show only my left eye, as well as a variety of other commands. She refused to let the photographer, whose name was Paolo, make any more demands.

"I think the mask is too distracting, don't you think Paolo?" Jackie asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

I heaved a silent sigh, knowing where this was heading. "How about this," I began, grabbing Jackie's attention enough to make her green eyes shine with excitement. "You make the cover one of the pictures Paolo just took, and then on the interview page, you put a different one. One where I take off the mask. You add a couple of questions for me in the interview and make a fuckton more sales because people want to see my face." I raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to question my suggestion. 

I was a publicist. Specifically centered around athletes and musicians, but still a publicist. I knew how to get the right type of attention. 

"Sì! She is brilliant Jacqueline! We must!" Paolo exclaimed, causing a smile to grace my lips.

"It's Jackie," she grumbled, but nodded, instructing the stylist to find new outfits for the two of us.

This time when we were ushered away, Russ and I were together, allowing him to finally speak as he had been looking down at me with worry. "Are you sure Candy? I've heard all the shit with your mom and—"

I shook my head, ripping the mask away from my face with a small grin. "They had to find out at some point right?"

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