He doesn’t say anything to me directly, but I can feel his eyes following my every move, even as I take the change of costume to Amber, who’s talking to the director. When I look behind me, though, Lucas is already gone. My boss takes the lingerie from me without as much as a single glance and holds both hangers up for the director obligingly, waiting for his seal of approval. “I picked this out earlier as a standby,” she explains, her apologetic smile awkward on her sharp features. Of course this is the same lacy outfit that I had suggested to her a couple hours ago, but I’m smart enough not to remind Amber of that. The director gives his bald head a swift nod and motions to the petite blonde woman who’s reclined against mounds of pillows on the king-size bed with her legs crossed at the ankle. Pouting, she shimmies to the edge of the mattress, knocking the silky white bedspreads to the floor, and walks on the tips of her purple-painted toes over to us. “Lucas is being difficult, Christina,”
