Call Me Vi | ONC 2024

Chapter 9 | EDITED

And I still wouldn't let myself believe it, let alone feel it.

What would happen when we went our separate ways on Monday? It's not like if I wanted something to happen, it could. The press was already after us for the bonfire. I couldn't imagine what would happen if we actually dated.

I couldn't do it, couldn't let myself fall for her, and that was one of the hardest deadlines to face.

"Hey!" a voice barked. They stuck their arm out in front of me, eyes narrowed and lips turned into a frown. "You can't just walk into this studio without clearance."

I gulped. Somehow in my debate with myself, I'd ended up at the studio where Violetta was having her photoshoot and not at the lake.

"S-sorry, sir," I squeaked out. "I'm, um, here for—er, here with—Violetta Dawson?" It came out more like a question, and Frowny McFrownyPants just glared at me harder.

"That's what they all say," he muttered under his breath, glaring at his clipboard. "Name!"

"Reagan Porter? I don't know if she had time to put me on the list." I wondered if I should flash my press badge at him but then I decided that he'd throw me out faster than I could say 'paparazzi' if I did that. Luckily, the badge was tucked safely in my suitcase, so I had nothing to worry about.

The guard checked his list, making a begrudged hmph when he found my name. "Stage 3. Keep this badge on you at all times." He handed over a lanyard with a plastic 'VISITOR' placard attached.

"Thank you!" I hurried off to find Violetta. It turned out not to be too difficult since all I had to do was follow the blinding flashes of light and blaring music.

And there she was. Front and center, clad in the tiniest of silver fabrics with a feather boa draped strategically across her body. Her hair now fell in bouncy waves, flowing behind her as giant fans whirred behind her. She posed effortlessly. A hand on the hip; a bent knee; a seductive cleavage reveal. Not that there was much hidden anyway.

All of it under the mask of a smile that seemed so different to the one in candid photos, until she saw me. Then her eyes lit up.

"Cut!" she called out.

The photographers frowned, looking at each other.

"Cut, dammit!" she tried again.

The flashing ceased, and Violetta ran over to me out of breath.

"Damn, you don't know how good it is to see you," she said. "I know it hasn't been that long, but I'm glad you get to see part of the shoot."

"Me too." I took in her outfit. From up close, I could see that it wasn't silver she was wearing but sequins. "That looks extremely uncomfortable."

She scrunched her nose. "It is. You can't even believe how much anti-itch cream I had to put around my ass just to keep all the photos from looking like I can't stop scratching my butt."

I snorted. "Sequins are the actual worst creation ever made."

"Violetta!" a woman barked to the left of the stage. "Break's over, hun. Wrap up the social visit and get back up here. We need you for the next set of photos. And—Darryl! We need you with the body glaze over here! Violetta's legs need attention!" The woman gave Violetta a once over, frowning at her long slender legs.

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow, they really treat you like a piece of meat."

"I'm used to it." Violetta sighed. "Anyway, if I want to get out of here this century, I'm going to have to go wrap up this shoot. They're making me shoot a 'bedroom' scene with some male model." She rolled her eyes.