“Welcome!” she holds out her hand. As she walks forward, I take it. “My name is Elizabeth and I am head of the staff at Veda Manor. We will be taking good care of you for the next two weeks. Shall I show you your rooms?”

She waits for me to nod before ushering us inside Veda Manor. The sound of our rolling suitcases is like a stampede.

Immediately, it’s like I’ve walked into another world. Although the sun is just starting to set, it feels like midnight. Shades are drawn everywhere, and the walls are all illuminated with the glow of soft, warm lanterns. They are deep crimson, bordered and finished with oak. A Victorian staircase wraps around the cylinder entryway. A massive crystal chandelier hangs from the room’s core. Of course, the whole place isn’t really spooksville. It’s not like the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland where cobwebs and dust are added for effect. Everything is spotless, all chrome, crystal, and bronze shining.

I look around at my models, their mouths agape as they stare at our surroundings.

“This is the foyer, and upstairs are your rooms. You should each have your own. I will leave you to it to explore the place by yourselves. Let me know if you have any questions.”

It’s easy for me to lug my suitcase up the stairs because I’m not a diva and I don’t over-pack, but some of the girls are having a hell of a time carrying their stuff. Hell, the guys are too. “What did y’all pack?” I cry. “Rocks?”

“Dildos,” Jessica responds. Some of the boys guffaw.

The second floor is the girls’ floor (not like it matters—everyone has seen each other naked anyway). My room is placed right in the middle of Delilah and Chloe. I know because a bronze plaque with my name engraved onto it is slid into the tag holder on the door. That’s some fancy shit right there.

Even Evan has her own room. Not like she’s going to be able to stay at the manor at all during the next two weeks. I talked to her last night, and she said that even though she’s only been in school for two weeks, she has homework up the ass and will probably to leave to go back to Cambridge right after her shoots.

Speaking of Evan…

I grab my phone from my back pocket and text her before entering my room:

You’ve gotta see the place we’re shooting/staying at. Can’t wait to see you tonight!

I tuck my phone in my pocket and open the door to my room.

I shouldn’t have expected anything less than a bedframe of polished wood and a thick, ruffled canopy. The linens are obviously new—straight out of an insanely expensive department store like Anthropologie. I’ve got to say, while it’s too girlie for my everyday tastes, vacation-Britain is saying hell yes to this bit of extravagance.

There’s a huge fireplace and mantle next to a door that must lead to the bathroom. I check out the vintage tile and the footed ceramic bathtub, realizing I share the space with Chloe. She peeks her head in from the other side, her eyes bugging. She points to the tub. “I will definitely be soaking in that all night.” She grins at me.

“Go for it,” I say as she swings back into her room.

I walk over to my bed and fling myself onto it. Ugh. I don’t understand how flying can be so exhausting when I’ve been sitting all day.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out.

Evan: I simultaneously miss you and want to murder my lab instructor. It’s a strange feeling. I can’t wait either.

I text back: Apparently the staff is supposed to wait on our every whim. Maybe I can have someone go on a vodka run.

Evan: Sounds divine. See you in a few hours.

As soon as I set my phone down, the iPad chimes. No rest for the weary.

This time, the message is from Elizabeth. Please tell your team that dinner will be ready in one hour.

I send a mass text letting everyone know, wondering if I can get a quick nap in before dinner is ready. I kick off my shoes and rest my head on my huge plush pillow, my eyes losing focus until my vision suddenly snaps back again.

I’m staring at a painting.

Not a family portrait, either, or some cute painting of a pond and ducks. Nothing that you’d normally assume would be in an old manor from the 19th century.

I hop out of bed and whip out my phone again, snapping a photo of the portrait and sending it to Evan. Here’s a taste of how nuts this place is.

The portrait is of a young woman in an elegant ball gown. Her hair is wild, and the ball gown is pulled down so that her voluptuous breasts are spilling out. She sits on a wooden chair with a dress hiked up to her hips, a man in trousers and suspenders—probably a peasants uniform at the time—with his head between her legs. The woman looks like she’s mid-orgasm.

Evan: What the actual fuck.

Me: Inorite?

Evan: I have GOT to get myself over there.

Me: Yes. STAT.

I have a really strong feeling that this isn’t going to be the weirdest picture I find in the manor.

* * *

I’ve never had a dinner in my life like the one I am having tonight.

First of all, there are name tags by everyone’s plate. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever had an assigned seat was at a crappy wedding when the bride and groom wanted everyone to have no fun and forced us to sit next to total strangers.

Secondly, all of us are drinking from crystal goblets and fine china. I don’t know WHOSE crystal goblets and fine china—if they’ve been purchased for us by AA, rented from the catering company, or property of the Manor itself (the latter would be creepy). There are two turkeys, piles of rosemary potatoes, and vegetable platters. There are also skinny versions, from vegan options to gluten-free options. Catering for models must be such a pain in the ass.

We’re all sitting down and halfway through our delectable meal when Evan enters the dining hall.

The room, like it is fine tuned to dramatics, drops silent, and Evan says, “What is this? Are we at fucking Hogwarts or something?”

Suddenly, all of the awkward tension has evaporated. Some of the guys give Evan a standing ovation (including Jaime. Of course he would). And Evan smiles sweetly, strutting to my end of the table. She wears a long-sleeved, loose dress that drops to her thigh. It shimmers black and red in the light of the candles.

She takes a seat next to me, and I mutter, “You just had to make an entrance, didn’t you?”

“Duh,” she replies. “Ok, I’m about to eat a horse. Point me to the vegan shit.”


Half-way through dinner, one of the staff members hands everyone at the table a schedule for tomorrow. The AA assistants are taking a red-eye tonight and will be in Boston tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll start to shoot. Even though I’m completely capable of photographing without them, but whatever.

“So we have no idea what the shoots will consist of until tomorrow?” Evan asks.

I turn the volume all of the way down on the iPad and show Evan the creepy sketch video beneath the table. By the end of it, she’s horrified.

“Wrangle your emotions, dude,” I mutter. “People are starting to look at you funny.”

“We can’t do that shit! I’m not going to actually fuck anybody!” she hisses.

“Take a chill-pill, okay? Hopefully these are concept images and EPE isn’t actually going hardcore.”

“And all that weird bondage stuff?”

“Evan.” I take her face between my hands and force her to look at me. “I promise you, I am going to do my best to make this shoot as classy as I possibly can… given the circumstances. Think of your student-professor shoots with Dallas. I’ll go that route.”

Evan winces.

“For real? You need to get over him. Like now. Aren’t there decent looking guys at Harvard?”

Evan rolls her eyes.

My phone starts buzzing on my lap. I look down.

Dallas.

Speak of the devil. I forgot to call him back. Whoops.

“I gotta take this,” I say, standing up.

“Who is it?” Evan asks, but I don’t respond. Of course I don’t respond, because if I told her, she’d be right over my shoulder, listening to my every word.

I duck into a nearby hallway and put the phone to my ear, “Whattup.”

“Britain. You didn’t call me back.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s been kind of a circus trying to direct everyone. All the guys are dipshits, you know? You were the only one who wasn’t a special snowflake.”

“Whip them into shape. I believe in you,” he says.

I smile. Damn him and Evan for breaking up.

“Listen,” he says. “I called you earlier because I had just gotten off the phone with A.J. Harrison.”

And then he tells me his news.

“Britain? You there?”

I finally gather myself just enough to respond.

“No fucking way.”

Chapter Five

Evan


Britain wants to take a few sample shots of me to see how the lighting is in the manor. Also, it gives us both a chance to explore the place.

She’s been acting strange since she got off her call. She told me it was just an AA assistant letting her know their flight was on time so far, but I have a really hard time believing her.

Whatever it was, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“How’s your underwear?” she asks as we duck out of dinner early and make our way up the stairs.

“Black lace and matching. Come on, Brit. I always wear nice underwear every time I’m doing anything for EPE.”

I’m about to mention that I know she likes to pull stunts on me like when she made Dallas and I shoot in the back of her car, but even thinking about it sparks way too many emotions.

Walking through the second floor hallway, I see my name on one of the doors. Too bad I won’t actually have time to use my room. I’d love to spend time in this weird place simply for the sake of curiosity.

“Whoa, whoa!” Britain says, stopping me and turning toward a portrait on the wall. She starts giggling like a school girl. “Apparently I was too distracted to see this when I came up earlier.”

I feel bile rise in my throat. “Oh my god, is that—bestiality?”

“That is way too weird for my tastes.”

“You think?” I hiss, a shiver running down my spine. A Halloween launch issue and now this—EPE is getting a bit too fetishy under the reigns of Amora Acquisitions.

Thank God I am ducking out now.

We make our way to the third floor, trying our best to not stop at any more creepy photos. The chandeliers above give off just enough light to allow us to see where we’re going but not enough to relieve us of all the creepy, shadowy corners.

I moan and shake out my hands.

“Dude, chill out,” Britain hisses, but even she is whispering, like she’s afraid some ghoul is going to overhear us.

Britain breaks the eerie silence by telling me about EPE’s newest male model, Jaime, and how he’s from her past.

“Wait. Jaime. The Jaime?”

“God,” she says. “You and Delilah have really good memories.”

“Oh my God, Brit.” I place both of my hands on her shoulders to stop her. “Screw with him!”

She looks at me like I’m from Mars. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I sigh, thinking of a way to explain. Britain’s the kind of girl that never toyed with power. She simply demanded it—at least, for as long as I’ve known her. I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, trying to think of everything Britain told me about Jaime. “This is the guy that embarrassed the shit out of you when he tried to kiss you in front of everyone at that party…”

“Because he wanted to prove to an entire group of people that I had never been kissed before….”

“And if you rejected him, the hottest guy in town, then everyone would know that you were afraid of men, yada yada, okay okay, I remember this now.” I push my finger against her chest. “You need to hit on him.”

She gapes at me. “Excuse me?”

“Once you show that he no longer has control over timid little Britain, he’ll back off.”

“Unless he takes the bait the wrong way!”

I shrug. “Then you have a sexy affair. So what? You’re the one who told me all those fantasies.”

“Shh!”

I laugh because no one is on this level to hear us. It’s funny to see something actually get to brazen, ballsy Britain.