Mistress's Good Boy (BWWM)

Chapter 41

"Now don't forget to clip your nails and wash your hands before tomorrow's lessons." I nod waving at the woman from behind the large doors of Irene's palace. Charlotte slides her lithe fingers into a pair of onyx black gloves, once they're secured, she brings her other hand up to press against her red lips. She blows the kiss and then opens and closes her hand in a wave disappearing into the sleek white limousine. When the only thing that's left is grey smoke, and the after scent of burnt tires, I glance up at the tumbling clouds and sigh watching as the dark mass creeps ever so slow. It was going to rain.

"We leave in five minutes." Irene says through clenched teeth. I pull the door shut letting the heavyweight croak close which sends an ominous noise echoing up the stairs to dissipate through the hall.

"Do I need to change?" The woman eyes me down before waving her hand in dismissal. She tugs the brown fur collar of her long coat higher against her neck and embraces the material.

"No, go in that you can change when we get there," I hear the first tinkle of pattering rain just as Irene flairs the bottom of her coat. Her eyes trail towards the large windows framing the door, and she groans massaging her temples. "Meet me in the car." A servant scurries after Irene with an umbrella hooked on their arm and within seconds they disappear from the front entrance. Lingering by the door, I continue tracing the trails of dripping water from the windowpane.

"Huh...I wonder if it's raining at the manor." I whisper to myself as I grab an umbrella from the stand.

°♡°

By the time we arrive at the studio, the roads are blackened from the clouds and rain and the outside has this earthy concrete smell lingering in the nose. A chauffer hurries around the car, water drenching his suit as he holds the umbrella out for me. I thank him while scooting in close.

"The weather is atrocious today," Irene grumbles to herself while walking up the stairs. She tilts her umbrella causing little pellets of water to plop to the ground. "A storm must be coming soon." She continues. I hum in agreement, clasping the wooden handle of the umbrella. As we approach the spinning doors, a small woman with wild curly hair rushes out; a clipboard cradled to her chest and a black device wrapped snug around the shell or her ear. She taps against it breezing through her words fast. She turns to Irene and as if a switch has been flicked, the woman begins conversing in French. Once the conversation falls, Irene waves her umbrella towards the girl who then nods waving us around the front desk and down a long corridor with tall opaque glass walls, and polished white floors.

"She says they're ready for you," Irene finally says to me. She flicks her wrist in towards herself and skims across the hands of her watch. She tries sighing to herself, but I can hear the displeasure in her voice and can tell by the movement of her eyes that she does not want to be here. We finally make it to the photoshoot area, crowded with people and equipment. Many of the models are walking around with towels in their hands or robes draped across their shoulders.

"Welcome! Welcome! I'm Cherry, I'll be helping you get dressed today." She exclaims. The girl lightly places her hand against my shoulder and leads me to one of the dressing rooms, she turns back towards a few others and yells loudly for them to come over and help. They all come scuttling over fast fretting along with her.

"We're going to get you right as rain!" Cherry says while manhandling the short strands of her hair into a tiny ponytail. Glossy black strands escape from the band, but the woman seems unbothered. She unhooks the satchel from her hip unraveling the bag to reveal many makeup brushes and tools. And this look of full-blown concentration swamps her features, and she takes the bottom of her lip between her teeth.