Date Shark

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lack of Faith

Utter chaos rained down around Leila in the form of shoes, beads, bras, and pantyhose. The models may have looked coiffed and perfect as they marched down the runway, but backstage they were terrors screaming at whoever would listen to help them find their next outfit, or crowding around mirrors and scrambling about like mice about to get their tails cut off. Playing model wrangler wasn't exactly in the job description when Ana hired Leila, but she was backstage doing it anyway. Leila tossed a pair of stilettos at one model and zipped up another one before shoving her toward the runway.

Leila stepped back into a massive cloud of hairspray and choked on the fumes. Molly mumbled a quick sorry before taking her flawless hair over to the clothes rack to yank out an equally flawless pair of jeans and baggy beaded tee that left one shoulder exposed and hung in a way that managed to accentuate her thin frame rather than hide it. Leila's own hair and clothes were a disaster. Her hair started out in a bun, but has since fallen out into a sloppy ponytail. The jeans and button down plaid shirt her sister gave her for her birthday looked halfway decent when she arrived that morning. Leila was now missing a button that popped off when Gloria tripped on her heels and grabbed her in an effort to steady herself. Her jeans had a smear of mascara on the hip and foundation spilled down the side. Fashion poster child Leila was not.

When the last model finally exited the stage Leila was spent. It was after midnight, but she was the only one who dropped. Her butt landed on the steps leading to the runway with a thud. She watched in disbelief as the models pulled on new clothes fit for clubs and bounced out the door like they had all the energy in the world. They were insane. All Leila wanted to do right then was go to bed.

Knowing she should get up, Leila tried, but the farthest she got was looking up in time to be blinded by a flash of light. Blinking rapidly cleared the spots to reveal a grinning man with a camera staring at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't resist."

"Who are you? And what are you doing back

here?"

"I'm Luke Deveron." When Leila stared at him, unsure of whether that should mean something to her, he continued. "The photographer from the Tribune. I called you ... told you I'd be here to cover the show. You are Leila Sparro, aren't you?

Ana told me you were back here."

"Oh! Luke, I'm sorry. It's been a crazy night and I've talked to so many people this week. Forgive me for not being able to keep everything straight." "No problem. By the looks of it, you were lucky to survive back here." His eyes took her in with a smile, reminding Leila of her disheveled appearance. Her hands flew up to try and tackle the worst of it, but Luke said, "Wait, wait. Don't touch anything. Let me take one more."

"What? No way. I'm a mess."

He grinned and snapped a picture. "Exactly. I'll title my article, 'The Cost of High Fashion,' and put your picture in the header, eyeliner streaked across your cheek and all. You look like you're about to wage a fashion war."

"Don't you dare!" Leila exclaimed. She marched toward him, fully intent on grabbing his camera and deleting every picture of herself.

"Stay back," he said, waving his hand at her frantically and drawing a momentary smile from her lips before she could resume her march. The flash startled Leila into stopping. Blinded, she paused. Luke's laughter bubbled around her. She was probably too exhausted to be irritated like she should have been. When Leila could see again, she planted her hands firmly on her hips and demanded he erase the pictures.