“Look, you know I’d love to have you but it’s not worth it.”

“No, it’s nothing to do with Ben.”

“Darling, you know exactly what will happen if he finds out.”

“I know, I miss you too, but I am not letting you throw away your future.”

“Yeah it worked out eventually but you didn’t see what I had to do first. I’m not letting you put yourself through it for the sake of a few bloody weeks. I promise, midnight on the dot, April eighth, I will book your damn ticket myself. Just hold out ‘til then, okay?”

Gingerly, a nervous intern by the name of Sarah reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. Involuntarily she held her breath. Lord, she’d just touched Emilia Adair-Hamilton. There she was, intent in a phone conversation, and she’d interrupted her. She was going to throw some fit wasn’t she?

“Hold on… yes?”

Blinking like a rabbit in headlights, Sarah was less prepared for the normal reaction and neutral expression than she would have been for a tantrum. The supermodel hadn’t started screaming or glaring or tearing strips off her for daring to approach her. She’d turned in her chair and was giving her full attention.

“I’m so sorry, Ms Adair-Hamilton, but you’re needed in make up.”

“No problem. And call me Millie, please, Ms Adair-Hamilton sounds like a headmistress.”

Sarah was trying not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she’d just got herself onto a first name basis with one of the most famous women in the word. ‘Millie’ however had already turned away. She was giving her attention back to the person on the end of the phone.

“Okay sweetie I have to go but give me a call on Friday when the coast is clear, okay? Love you, bye.”

Sarah was trying to ignore the entire conversation. It wasn’t her business to wonder what coast needed to be clear and who she was speaking to. She hadn’t read the non-disclosure agreement they made her sign but it was long and looked serious.

“Sorry, just needed to hang up with my sister.”

Oh Lord, she’d turned back. Sarah didn’t know where to look. How could she be so daunting when she wasn’t even doing anything? This woman didn’t have a drop of make up on yet, her hair was scraped back in a harsh ballerina bun, and yet she still looked decent. With a clean face it was evident how the expensive stylists were concealing and contouring for photos, but she’d have no problem walking around and still attracting second glances. It was unfair if you asked her. When Sarah wasn’t wearing make up people asked if she was unwell because she looked ‘tired.’

No wonder they paid her the big bucks. They’d barely spoken and she was already feeling like she’d buy anything that had her picture on it.

“No problem,” she squeaked. “I just need to take you over.”

“Great, thanks.” With obscene grace she stretched her long legs down from the footrest and stood up. She dwarfed Sarah by a good six inches. “What’s your name?”

“Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. So what do you do on set?”

It was the voice too. It was cut glass and everything Sarah would have expected from every episode of Downton Abbey she’d ever watched. The woman even sounded like she was born in a castle somewhere.  

“I’m an intern with the production team.”

“Ahh, explains why you drew the short straw and get to cart me around.”

Sarah was too dumbstruck at the idea of escorting the celebrity being ‘the short straw’ to respond.

**

“It’s so fuckin’ funny. I thought people lost their shit around you, but they’re practically bowing at this woman’s feet.”

Trace was near cackling, he was laughing so hard. When your best friend was a world famous rock star slash actor slash business man you grew accustomed to people’s dizziest responses. The whispering, the glances, the blatant staring, the screaming and fainting, they ran the gamut and he thought he’d seen them all. There were the haters, the sycophants, the fan girls, all of them. Yet despite all that experience, he had never seen a set full of people melt into goo the way they did because the great Emilia was gracing the room. It didn’t matter how often she insisted on being called Millie, to the world at large she was the more exotic Emilia.

As for the woman herself, they’d been introduced so briefly he couldn’t make any judgments yet. Signs appeared positive, however, since she showed up without an entourage. Trace usually found that the size of the entourage was directly proportionate to the size of the ego.

Justin Timberlake looked over at his best friend from the make up chair and pulled a disbelieving smirk. “Way to exaggerate.”

“Oh it’s true though,” Beth interjected as she continued dabbing powder onto Justin’s face with a brush. “He’s not exaggerating.”

“You haven’t been out of this trailer all morning, how would you know?” He teased.

“I work with her a lot and they’re all the same. Like, intimidated to the point of deferential, which is crazy because it’s not like she’s mean or anything. I can’t explain it, but people just react to her. I don’t know if it’s the whole lady of the manor angle or what.”

“Could just be that she’s insanely hot,” Trace suggested.

“They’re supermodels, they’re all insanely hot,” Justin said. “No, I think Beth’s right. It’s the whole English heritage aristocrat thing. In conjunction with the fact that she’s beautiful.”

“Better not let the boss hear you say that…”

“Shut up.”

Justin glared, but tellingly halted the topic. Trace tried not to let his irritation show. He objected to the casting of said supermodel in his friend’s latest video for this reason. Not because of anything against her, but because he didn’t think he could stand having another one of those socialites around. It was bad enough putting up with the one his friend was dating without hiring another in. He couldn’t cope with watching him scrape and crawl to placate the inevitable jealous complaining.

He didn’t like to think it, knew it was sexist, but he could only imagine the woman was dynamite in bed. It was the only possible explanation. Trace saw nothing else going for her that Justin couldn’t have found in a hundred other women. Ones who didn’t drive his best friend to drink. 

“Well if you stick around you can judge for yourself because she’ll be here any second.” Beth tossed the brush back into her kit and nodded to herself. “You’re all done though.”

“Thank God,” Justin muttered.

He didn’t bother to lower his voice. Beth worked with him plenty and wouldn’t take it to heart. She knew it wasn’t a personal aspersion; he hated wearing make up. He hated the feeling of it on his skin. It was a necessary evil on shoots but nobody said he had to like it.

As if she’d heard them, the door to the trailer opened and in stepped the woman of the hour. Justin twisted around in the chair to introduce himself but found himself caught short. He had to work not to gape at her himself.

He’d worked with plenty of famous beauties in his time, so it wasn’t her looks that caught him off guard. In any event she wasn’t made up yet and didn’t look quite like her catwalk guise. It was the insouciant way she stepped into the trailer and filled the entire space with her presence. Words were unnecessary. She exuded a nonchalant confidence, like she owned the world but it was no big deal. It ought to have been arrogance but it wasn’t. It was impossible to explain.

“Hi Justin,” she said. “I’m Millie, nice to finally meet you.”

“And you,” he said, now recovered from the moment. “Thanks for coming out.”

“No, thank you for having me. I’ve never done a music video before so this is a new one on me,” she said. “Oh Beth, darling! How are you?”

The girls reached out and exchanged air kisses, chattering away to each other. Trace was eyeing the whole interaction with an amused glint. He knew his friend well enough to spot the reaction, and took his own turn to size up the model.

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by her. The preconception was baseless, but she wasn’t what Trace expected. Somehow in his mind he’d thought the exalted Emilia would be either a bubbly giggling debutante or something arch and more calculated - a diva of some kind. She was neither. There was something more reserved and quieter about her. She wasn’t unfriendly though. Her tone was muted and she wasn’t exactly effervescent, but she seemed okay. ‘Beth darling’ could have sounded ridiculous and phony from a lot of people; with her he got the impression it was simply the way she talked.

Before either of the men really took stock of the situation, Millie was already in the chair and Beth was setting to work.

“Oh, honey, what the hell are you doing to your hair?” Beth exclaimed as she took it out of the bun. “This is awful.”

Justin and Trace exchanged a quizzical look. It was blonde and the artful highlights were probably very expensive. How was it awful?

“God I know.” She pulled a face. “I’ve been doing back to back shoots and no time to rest it, it’s getting like straw. I’m desperate to cut it but I’ve been banned until the L’Oreal contract’s up. Apparently I don’t own my own hair any more.”

“Well your skin looks alright…” She took Millie’s chin in her hands and peered critically at it. “Little dry but I can fix that.”

“Oh how I love you and your wonder cream.” The men were finding the conversation more bizarre by the second. “Seriously, can I really not talk you into a launch? I will invest. Just say the word.”

“Well hey now, I didn’t get any wonder cream. Thought I was the star here,” Justin joked.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. She didn’t smile at him, but something about it softened and was a little more congenial.

“Has our Beth been holding out on you? It’s amazing; I swear it’s the only reason my face isn’t red raw. She’s a genius.”

Trace was having a hard time imagining the face of Dior with skin problems.

“Really, you picked up an allergy to something hon?” Beth frowned. “Do I need to avoid anything?”

“No, just working with Massimo too much. He likes to change my entire face and hair every five bloody minutes and they’re taking a battering.”

“Well lucky for you we’ve only got you in one outfit today so you’ll be fine,” she replied. “So what I…

The door to the trailer crashed open and she was quickly drowned out by a loud Manhattan tone. “Justin?”

Trace stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was expending a great deal of self-restraint by not rolling his eyes. He could have sworn she was supposed to be too busy to join them today.

“Hey,” Justin said, stifling a groan. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Clearly.”

He cringed at the way she drew out the syllable. Not only did it hold a sarcastic edge, she was staring daggers at the back of Millie’s head as she said it. This was not good.

It was his own fault for not telling her, but he didn’t feel like dealing with the reaction. She had a jealous streak, sometimes refused to understand that business was business. If it was good for his career to work with someone he needed to do it whether or not she liked the idea. Love interests were part of the acting deal, this woman was big news and a lot of artists tried to score her for videos. Getting her was a coup. His sort of girlfriend needed to live with it.

He purposely didn’t invite her to the video shoot because he figured she’d find it easier to live with if she didn’t know. More to the point, he would find it easier to live with as a result – she was vocal when displeased.

“You didn’t tell me who your co-star was going to be,” she said. That piece of information inspired the visit. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Felicity,” Millie replied. “Long time no see.”

Trace found himself warming up to the model even with that one short phrase. It was evident that the women knew each other. It was equally obvious that the much hated Felicity was not enamoured with Millie. What he appreciated was how little Millie seemed to give a shit and how much that was irritating a seething Felicity.

“No kidding. So what’s new? How’s your father?” The bite in her voice told everyone present that this was meant to be an insult, though Trace was at a loss to understand how.

“Wouldn’t know.” Her voice remained steady and cool. “How’s yours? Not seen him in an age but he’s well I trust?”

Yes, Trace liked this woman. She very clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass.