Beneath Your Beautiful: A Neighbors to Lovers Romance [COMPLETED]

11 - Holding on

Two weeks later, Noah modeled for a Burning Man-themed shoot in the Mojave Desert. He'd been excited about it for months because he'd be posing for Lance Madela, a high-profile photographer he hadn't worked with before.

The other four models—three men and one woman who were part of Noah's production knew him either in passing or from previous shoots. And because the heat was brutal that day, they spent every minute of downtime huddled together in the air-conditioned trailer, catching up and chatting about Madela's pioneering work.

Prepping for the semi-naked shoot was the usual procedure: push-ups to look pumped, lotion to make the skin look smoother, and lastly, getting a little aroused—so his package looked nice and presentable. Thanks to the image of Jaya naked and moaning still fresh in his mind, the latter didn't take much effort.

Fifteen minutes into the shoot, Madela, a skinny guy in his sixties, coaxed Noah and the other models into increasingly sexualized poses. He wanted to trust that the photographer knew what he was doing, but when the man asked them to do a pose suggestive of gang rape, Noah voiced his concerns. "I don't think this is a good idea, Lance." He had sisters and a niece. The thought of someone forcing them—or anyone—into such a position made him sick.

"No one asked you to think, pretty boy," Madela said, dismissing him. "Do as I say so we can wrap this up."

Noah huffed. He didn't know what was worse, the guy's disrespect or the lack of support from his colleagues. The other four models were inspecting their fingernails as if a sudden manicure mishap had struck them. How could he be the only one who thought this was a bad idea? No matter how much he tried to make eye contact with the people around him, they all averted their eyes.

Madela lowered his camera. "They said you'd be a pleasure to work with, that you were a pro at this, but here you are, telling me how to do my job. I don't have time for your airs and graces." The man made a shooing gesture as though Noah was a pigeon trying to peck at his sandwich.

Noah remained where he was. "What you are asking us to do glorifies violence against women and girls. I don't mean to be difficult, but pictures like that cause great backlash."

"Ah, I see." Madela tapped a finger to his temple. "Afraid your little girlfriend won't approve?"

"Excuse me?" Noah swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It was like a billion degrees out here, which only amplified the pressure cooker atmosphere building between them. The lid was bound to blow off any minute now.

"I heard you've been fraternizing with the enemy ever since you met this delirious sociologist on that stupid talk show. Did she brainwash you with her false righteousness?"

Noah balled his hands into fists. Count to fucking ten, he reminded himself, this is career suicide. "I can think for myself."

The man had the audacity to laugh. "You're getting paid to look pretty. No one cares what you think. Now do your damn job."

***

Jaya checked the time on her phone again: a quarter past ten. Noah said he'd pick Penelope up around eight, and it wasn't like him to be late without letting her know.

Did he fall asleep on the couch after work? She went upstairs to see if she could spy any sign he might be home. Darkness enveloped his home but for a dim light in the living room. On her way downstairs, Jaya grabbed her phone from the workbench and dashed across their backyards.

Penelope started barking when they reached Noah's patio door, which stood ajar. They let themselves in. Noah was on the sofa squeezing one of those stress balls the puppy liked to play with.