Shooting him her best smile, Jacy laid the expensive lens and camera in the foam bed inside the case. When he had first disrobed, Jacy couldn't take her eyes off hard muscles on his compact body.
That was before he turned out to be Mr. Hyde. Jacy glanced at the model before turning away. She knew exactly what her problem with the man was, and his manager or agent or boyfriend or whatever he was. She’d never been treated so badly by clients in her life. The “drama king” complained when she didn’t take a face shot, whined for a break every ten to fifteen minutes, argued that this shoot was beneath him; boasted and bragged last year he’d been on billboards and in magazines featuring Calvin Klein underwear. Then his manager had the gall to tell her how to take pictures; she wasn’t holding the camera right, she was too far away; get a close up of—junk, his words not hers, and she was using the wrong zoom lens all while both men hit on her like she stood on a street corner.
...Placing the last lens into the case, she closed the lid, snapping it shut. As far as Jacy was concerned, today had been a waste of time, and Anastasia’s hard earned money. It wasn’t that the model wasn’t gorgeous. Or that the setting was wrong. Or that, even pushing forty or a little past it, his body was a solid mass of muscle. He was and they were. That was the problem. The guy knew it. It came through each shot of his cheesy smile Jacy took.
She felt it in her being; none of the pictures were what Anastasia wanted. Sighing heavily, it wasn’t her call. She took one last look around the one room, rustic cabin. It was homey, if not masculine. Blue plaid curtains covered the windows. A navy spread covered the king-sized bed, pushed up against the window along the back wall. The combination kitchen and living area to her back had state of the art appliances, and the over-sized couch and chair in leather still managed to make the place feel country.