Naughty Knickers

TWO:

Bella

I should have stayed in bed.

I should have called Carlisle and begged off on account of the bubonic plague. Elephantitis. Leprosy. Should have faked a migraine or thrown myself down the stairs. Should have eaten something rotten out of the fridge and gone to the hospital to get my stomach pumped.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I went to work. Like a masochist.

I stomped into the museum wearing my power boots and the kill-you-slowly-with-sugar garters that were all pink ribbons and satin roses strapped around my legs. Grey thick-knit thigh highs against the cold winter chill and the black steel-toed clompers that I wore when I needed to gain a couple inches of confidence. Thick soled and tightly laced mid-calf, ready for combat. A tulle skirt to hide the garters and my favorite floppy sweater were as good as armor in my book.

I didn’t know why, but I felt like I was going to war.

The museum didn’t open to the public until midday, so it was eerily quiet at eight in the morning. I’d been here enough to know my way around and I grabbed a pink frosted doughnut out of the staff room before making my way down a long florescent hallway. I had an office way down at the end, smaller than the rest, but with twice the number of windows as any other room. There was a large mirror mounted to the wall and a table shoved up underneath it as a makeshift station, soft track lighting above and a rather comfortable looking chair set before it. A bouquet of pretty white daisies from Carlisle graced the desk and a wall of shelving was already loaded with supplies. A thick plush mat was flopped on the floor beneath the chair. The mat was my one and only request. I would not be standing around on concrete all day long, no way no how, and I guessed that being buddy-buddy with Carlisle had its perks.

Plus, I had my own private bathroom. Not even Edward had that.

A large piece of paper that had been ripped from a sketch book graced the very center of the table, not to be missed. This was obviously Edward’s addition to the room. A written set of instructions accompanied by an irritatingly perfect sketch of a girl covered head to toe in a gild of gold. His handwriting was terrible. Sloppy, lopsided demands for full hair coverage as well as the bottoms of her feet and every crease, fold and embarrassingly private place in between.

All of it.   

I shoved the doughnut in my mouth as I gaped at the paper, shaking my head in amusement. Or fear. It should probably be fear. I was once again contemplating a run for it when someone knocked softly at the open door. She was blonde and a little too skinny for my tastes. Long limbs and big pale blue eyes and really nice skin, if I was honest. She obviously stayed out of the sun and her mother probably taught her to wash her face every night. It showed. The body of a twenty year old and the skin of a lucky six year old girl.

“Hi, I’m Bella.” I smiled a big gooey icing grin at her and held out the remaining half of the pretty pink doughnut between us. She eyed it shrewdly for a moment, as though doughnuts were known to spontaneously explode, nothing but silence for ten solid seconds.

“Jane.” She finally flashed me a brilliant smile as she took the doughnut, shoving it into her mouth with a contented sigh in the back of her throat as she flopped heavily into my chair. I was really fucking thankful she did that. It made me like her a million times more in less than ten seconds. I started getting my equipment together as Jane licked the last of the frosting from her fingertips and got to her feet.”So, Bella . . . you fucking anyone right now?” She asked blithely as she started to strip herself of clothing, dropping all of it in a pile on the countertop.

I froze, mid reach.

“Wow, that was . . . direct of you,” I stuttered, not entirely sure if I was talking about her question or the free show I was getting. Jane shrugged and rumpled her hair in the mirror, pouting her lips as she examined her reflection. She had really nice tits, perky and perfect where mine were kind of lopsided and small. “I guess we’re gonna get to know each other pretty intimately, especially today. Might as well make the best of it.”

I shook my head and turned back to the wall, looking for options to accomplish Edward’s full-coverage demands. Models and their weird lack of privacy . . . they were used to being subjected to all sorts of humiliating treatment at the hands of strangers. Over any given amount of time they tended to become strangely desensitized. The fact that Jane was now winking and blowing air kisses at herself in the mirror only proved that.

“Do you know anything about this guy we’re working for?” she asked me, grabbing her tits and turning to look at herself from the side. “I hear he’s a hot mess.”

I thought back to the snotty guy with the two different colored eyes and the buttery leather suspenders that were good for nothing but tying him up. He’d been such an asshole, eyes slithering up and down me, I’d been tempted to reach out and snap that leather strap against him as hard as I could.

“I don’t know anything about him,” I shrugged, trying not to sound angry. There was a can of gold dusting powder on the top shelf that might work for this project, but judging by the bloody photos I’d seen last night, I didn’t think it was going to meet his expectations.

“Well, I heard he got his heart broken a few months ago and he’s been taking it out on everyone unlucky enough to cross his path. All the other girls think I’m nuts to be here.”

“Why’d you agree to it then?” I asked her, even though I was asking myself the same question. This girl was currently doing absolutely nothing to reassure me that I’d made the right decision by coming to work today. I was once again regretting not catching some incurable disease this morning.

“Oh, I tried to get out of it. My manager didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Jane and I spent the next the next two hours turning her into a goddess, twirling her hair up as instructed and dousing her with powdery gold.

“That is all wrong.”

He was standing not two fucking inches behind me. All hot breath and boy smell, towering over me, and I hadn’t even noticed until he spoke.

“Excuse me?” I turned around, face to chest with a forest colored button down and even more stubble. He’d obviously chosen to forego shaving, along with the showering, because his hair was standing on end, shinier than it should be. His eyes were rimmed with red as though he hadn’t slept at all, the yellow one a brilliant ocher and the other dipped in emerald green. The suspenders were black today, deceptively simple, but if you looked close enough, there was a flowered paisley pattern stamped into the silky fabric.

“Did I mumble?” he snapped and stepped back, eyeing Jane with a healthy helping of malice in his face. “I can still see her skin. I want full coverage, not some ‘sheen of gold’ bullshit,” he spat and swiped a finger down Jane’s arm, a clear trail in the light powder and a golden shimmer on his fingertip when he inspected it. He rubbed his fingers together and shook his head in disgust. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Carlisle,” he grumbled.

Fuck this guy.

I wanted to choke him with his pretty suspenders.

“I can use another product, but it’s not good for her or her skin,” I snapped at him. “It isn’t breathable and she can only be in for short amount of time. You’ll have to work fast.”

“Oh, now that that I can do. I’m nothing if not efficient.” He shoved his glasses back up his nose and hair out of his face before stomping away.

Edward

The apartment that the museum put me up in was decent. In a section of town that was suburban and quiet, but just a short walk to the center of the city. It was sparsely furnished with terrible bulk-buy art work that I took down off the walls my first night there. The kitchen was just big enough to still feel cramped in but there was a fantastic view of the water from the balcony. I pushed the coffee table aside and spread out on the living room floor, pulling everything I could find out of my messy bag, trying to dig up some inspiration. Sketches from notebooks and pages torn from magazines. Newspaper clippings and matchbooks. Napkins stained with coffee and ink scribbled words. My catch-all emptied out before me.

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in the middle of it all.

Woke the next morning, before the sun had even begun to rise, with a glossy photograph of a girl stuck to my cheek, alone again. I lurched to my feet and forced myself to take a shower for the first time in a week. Shaved my face and dug clean clothes out from the bottom of my bag. They were wrinkled, but smelled fresh, and I actually felt ok about everything for a minute. My walk to the museum was peaceful, just birds and early-morning breeze, so early that I was the first one through the door. I left some instructions in several of the offices, glaring at the bouquet of cheap daisies on the desk of the makeup artist, addressed from Carlisle with a chipper ‘good luck!’ and an xo beneath his name. I resisted the urge to throw them away and jotted down some instructions instead.

I should have known to keep my eye on her.

She got it all wrong.

Didn’t even read what I’d written there and when I showed up to check on their progress, she was giving the blonde model I’d picked out a light dust of gold. Completely ignoring my instructions. I stalked into the room and stopped right up behind her. The model’s eyes widened as I approached, but Bella didn’t notice me until I spoke.

“That’s all wrong,” I growled and she shot upright so fast she nearly clocked me in the chin with her skull. She whirled around to glare at me and then had the audacity to argue with me. She did it with her lip curled and her fists clenched, but it didn’t work in that outfit. The frilly little skirt and again with those damn thigh highs. The fucking boots,  jesus, I knew what she was trying to do, but she was failing spectacularly. This was the exact reason why I dated older women. This girl’s feisty fuck-all attitude hadn’t sobered up yet and she was still willing to fling herself around in any risky direction. With age came wisdom and restraint, not to mention a healthy dose of sexual experience and, once again, I found myself thinking of Esme while I eyefucked some girl in her stockings and her tutu.

I had to get out of there. I scrambled back down the hallway to the studio, trying to get myself under control. I was still winging it here and didn’t need to get distracted, so I did everything in my power to prove I was a man of my word. Efficient, and it was the truth. I got the perfect shot no more than four frames in. A golden girl with a back-drop of fireworks exploding out from behind her. Jane was good at what she did, followed directions easily, and didn’t even flinch when the fireworks exploded just inches behind her, no doubt burning her backside. She plastered a look of anguish on her face that helped me get my photo without a bunch of wasted film. She’d come recommended and I could see why. Perfect heart-shaped face, long lithe body, the hint of ribs and an inherent knowledge of how to twist her body to get the best angles of herself. A little bit of narcissism came with such talent, like the un-welcomed side effect of a drug, so it shouldn’t have surprised me when she sauntered over after the shoot and rubbed a big golden smear right up the front of me.

“That was fun,” Jane purred, fingering the buttons of my shirt and rubbing her naked crotch against my leg. “I can keep going, let’s find your perfect picture together.”

“No need,” I muttered, disentangling myself from her and staring down at the mess she’d left on the front of my clothes. “I got what I want.”

I left Jane open-mouthed in the middle of the studio and stormed toward my office, which sat directly across the hallway from Bella’s. I stepped inside and turned to slam the door behind me when I saw her. Standing on tip toe to reach something from the tallest shelf and even those damn boots didn’t give her enough height to reach it. I could have been a gentleman and offered to help. Could have just shut my door softly and left it all alone. Could have slammed the door and hunkered down and stayed there working all night long.

But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead I made a messy show of searching for my jacket, glaring at her through her open doorway as I left, then went home to drink myself stupid. More than half a bottle all to myself. I swayed around my apartment until two am, having a drunken, one-sided argument with that girl and her stupid skirt. Made even worse by the glimpse I caught of what was underneath said skirt as it rode up her legs. Something that involved pink silk and flowers and metal grommets and I knew in that very moment this girl was going to be the damn death of me.

Next

AN: Hadley Hemingway is my one true love.