<h4>Chapter 165: A Smile</h4>


    Hailey


    I’ve been at the studio since sunrise, my breakfast consisting of a single gran bar and two-and-a-half cappinos.


    The camera feels good in my hands. Today’s shoot is styled city-cool and I’m aiming for kic: models walking, talking, hair moving, uncontrolledughter. The premise is that beauty is found in motion. It’s a little on the nose, sure, but the energy is wee after weeks of glossy, frozen perfection.


    Tammy’s perched on a stedder, calling out queues to the models. "Wait, yes, L, do that again—like you just told a bad joke!" She poses with her hand on her chest, feigning outrage. "Perfect. Hailey, did you get that?"


    I snap, snap, snap through theughter, and the preview on my digital monitor practically throbs with light.


    "You’re killing it," Tammy sings, blowing me a kiss as she shimmies down. "Marcus is going to wet himself."


    At the mention of his name, I instinctively nce at the row of ss-walled offices above the main shooting floor. He’s there, outlined against the city, talking with someone in a sharp suit, his entire bodynguage humming with Yes, I Own This. Heughs at something, tipping his head back just a touch too far, like he’s not afraid to show his throat.


    Weirdly, he’s been in a disturbingly good mood all morning. Not the menacing, coiled-predator kind of "good," but actual, almost-human cheer. He even offered a "Nice shot, Jameson" when he passed through earlier, which is not only rare, it’spletely unheard of for Marcus.


    I’m not the only one who notices. Even the crew is specting. If the hair girls are to be believed, Marcus greeted them this morning "like he was starring in an Applemercial."


    Perplexing.


    L, the baby-faced model with cheekbones sharp enough to slice smi, drifts over. "Hey. If you want the action shot, you’re going to have to get my right side. My left eye lookszy when Iugh."


    "I’ll take your word for it," I say, flipping through the test shots. "But honestly, they’re all good. You’re one of the only people I’ve ever seen who looks better blurry than in focus."


    He grins, showing off a gap between his front teeth that’s be his signature. "You’re nicer than I expected. Marcus said you’re a total hardass."


    I cough, almost dropping my camera. "Did he now?"


    "He told me you made a model cry once, for chewing gum on set."


    "That was an exaggeration." I pause. "...She cried because she got gum in her hair and <i>then</i> tried to lie about it while standing under a key light. I just happened to be the one who called it out."


    Lughs. "So, not a hardass. Just terrifying in a moralpass kind of way."


    "I can live with that," I mutter, refocusing my lens as the next round of models lines up for their mark. But my thoughts have already drifted back to Marcus.


    Why is he in such a good mood?


    He has been acting like someone slipped joy into his espresso. The man who once told me the only emotion he trusted was ’relentless ambition’ is now apparently cracking jokes with interns andplimenting my lighting choices.


    I wonder if Reba has something to do with this.


    Tammy breezes past again, all swish and grin. "Lunch in twenty. And by lunch, I mean standing on the loading dock with a stale muffin and pretending we’re not slowly dying inside."


    "Sold," I say, but even as she vanishes behind the scaffolding, I nce up at Marcus’s office again.


    He’s alone now. Leaning against the ss, scrolling through his phone. And then he <i>smiles</i>. Not a smirk. Not a PR grin. A <i>real</i> smile—quick and sharp, lighting up his whole face before it fades again.


    "Oh my Jesus," Tammy hisses. "Did Marcus just smile?"


    "You saw that too?" I whisper.


    Tammy grabs my forearm like we are in the middle of a horror movie and just spotted the killer taking off his mask to reveal <i>feelings</i>. "How could I miss that? It was blinding."


    "Oh my God," I murmur, still watching him through the lens of disbelief. "Do we need to call someone? Like—HR? Or an exorcist?"


    Tammy fans herself dramatically. "I need a sedative. This is like watching Batman giggle."


    It’s absurd, really. Marcus doesn’t <i>smile.</i> Not like that. Not unless he’s closed a multi-million-dor deal or destroyed a rival with nothing but a smirk and a pen.


    But this? This wasn’t power.


    This was pleasure.


    Soft, <i>personal</i> pleasure.


    "Who the hell is he texting?" Tammy mutters, her eyes narrowed like she’s about to storm up there with a warrant.


    I already know the answer, but I pretend not to. "Maybe he’s watching cat videos."


    Tammy scoffs. "Please. Marcus would only watch a cat video if the cat filed taxes and overthrew a government."


    I can’t stop staring. Reba. He is talking to Reba, I just know it.


    "You know what this means, right?" Tammy says, deadly serious.


    I tear my gaze away. "That the world is ending?"


    Tammy groans, rubbing her temples. "If he starts whistling, I’m leaving the country."


    "If he starts <i>singing</i>, I’m throwing myself into traffic," I deadpan.


    I can’t help but wonder, what did she <i>say</i> to make the ice king melt?


    "You should go ask him," Tammy says.


    I frown. "What? Why me?"


    "Because he likes you, Hailey. Not just to sleep with you, but likes you as his employee and coworker. Besides, it was your friend he is going gaga over right now," Tammy says.


    I blink at her. "You think Marcus still likes me after I rejected him?"


    Tammy raises a brow, like I’ve just said something deeply idiotic. "Hailey. You’re the only person in this building he doesn’t speak to like a Bond viin. He trusts you. He respects you. Which is either terrifying or weirdly ttering. Maybe both."


    I shift my weight, ufortable. "He respects my work."


    "He respects you," Tammy insists. "And if anyone can get the truth out of him without being dismembered by eye contact, it’s you."


    I nce back up toward the ss office.


    Still alone. Still scrolling. Still smiling that secret smile.


    "Even if I wanted to ask him, which I don’t, I wouldn’t even know how to bring it up. ’Hey, boss, why are you glowing like a man who just discovered joy? Is it because my friend identally set your emotional repression on fire?’"


    Tammy snorts. "Perfect. Lead with that."


    I stare at Marcus for a second longer, then shake my head and turn back to my camera. "Forget it. I’m not poking that bear."


    Tammy makes a mock-sad face. "Coward."


    "I prefer the term self-preservationist."


    Still, despite my best efforts, my eyes wander back to him once more. He’s typing something now, fast and focused, thumbs flying.


    I wonder what Reba is saying back.


    Damn, I’m curious.


    I grip my camera tighter and refocus on L, who’s now bncing on one leg like he’s auditioning for America’s Next Interpretive Dancer.


    "Let me know if I look stupid," he calls.


    "You always look stupid," Tammy replies cheerfully, wandering off toward the craft services table.