Coffee splashed everywhere, making me shriek as the liquid hit my white blouse and began running down my cleavage and into my bra. “Shit,” I said under my breath. “Shit, shit, shit.” This was my first time helping out with a photo shoot, and I was already making a mess of things. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and threw them down on the spill, hoping to contain it while I dealt with the coffee ruining my new top. If the marketing director saw the mess I was making of the craft services table, or of myself, for that matter, he’d flip a gasket. The shoot was already running a day behind, the models were restless, and he was taking out his anxiety on all of us at whatever chance he could get. I suppose it’s not easy pleasing the CEO of a company that designs and sells yachts to the wealthy, but the man could still use a serious attitude adjustment. “Please, baby. Just get back on top of the set piece. You’re at sea! You’re loving life! How hard can it fucking be, sweetie?!”
