Mandy Makes Her Mark by Ruby Laska

they had chosen on the beach, under the shade of a clump of palm trees. The wardrobe assistant sorted through a portable canvas wardrobe and the makeup artist was arranging her supplies in the cabana that had been set up with chairs and mirrors and lights.
    Everything was ready for the shoot. Now all that remained to be seen was whether Lark would allow it to proceed with Mandy standing in for Jayde.
    â€œShe did have a recent breakup,” Mandy said lamely. “Her, um, mental health is in jeopardy.”
    â€œI don’t care about her breakup. Don’t you have contract clauses for this sort of thing?”
    Deirdre leaned close and murmured something to Lark. Mandy caught Tad’s eye, mostly by accident. She was determined to do her best to say as little as possible to him today. But he didn’t look the least bit chagrined. He’d been the last to appear, ambling down the beach at a minute before seven, his hair still wet from the shower. And now, in addition to looking well rested, he looked…amused. Happier, at any rate, than he’d looked in months.
    Lark’s scowl deepened. “Deirdre thinks you’ll do,” he muttered.
    â€œActually, what I said was that you have lovely presence,” Deirdre said brightly. She was famously kind, a favorite among the models, and Mandy was grateful even if she was lying. “And I’m sure the gowns will work just fine.”
    One of the assistants made a derisive snort, then tried to cover it up with a coughing fit. Mandy didn’t blame them; they were the ones who’d be taking up hems and clothes-pinning garments, to give the impression that the gowns fit perfectly. Only in this crazy world would Mandy, who was the same size as the average American woman, be considered “plus” sized.
    After another few moments of glowering, Lark crumpled the coffee cup he was holding and threw it on the sand. “Fine. Every minute we stand here is wasting time. Let’s get started. And do not mess this up for me, Ms. Leif.”
    He stomped off toward the manor, leaving the rest of them staring at each other.
    â€œWell,” Deirdre said, clapping her hands together and forcing a smile. “Shall we begin?”
    #
    By the third change of clothes, Mandy had ceased feeling self-conscious. She knew modeling was challenging and exhausting; she’d been on dozens of shoots and watched her sister and the other models at work. But as she peeled off a fuchsia two-piece gown with a peplum and a deep slit in the skirt, she ruefully acknowledged that she’d never truly understood the strain of working the dozens of poses and putting her face through the many expressions until she found the one that Deirdre was looking for.
    A pin had stabbed her in the waist as she pirouetted. Sylvie had stepped on her instep, leaving a gash with her pointed stiletto. And every time Tad offered her his arm, she experienced a head rush that had as much to do with the fact that she didn’t dare eat anything, as it did with the effort it took not to think about what they had been doing together mere hours before.
    The whole exercise seemed to amuse him. Mandy had peeked in the cabana that had been designated his changing room. Because he’d change only once or twice over the course of the day, he was mostly just lounging in a canvas chair, reading a paperback novel and drinking one Dr. Pepper after another.
    By contrast, the cabana that Mandy shared with Sylvie was jammed with dresses and shoes and accessories. During each change, all four of them—Mandy and Sylvie and both assistants—jammed into the small space. Irons, steamers, and sewing machines were plugged in and ready to go, and Mandy quickly learned to keep her mouth shut and her limbs loose, ready to be stuffed or sewn or slid into each change of clothing. Sylvie gave her more than one “I told you so” look, but had the grace not to say anything out loud.
    In the