Lilian sighed inwardly, a silent breath of frustration slipping through her chest. She really was too green. Against a man as cunning and calculating as Morrison, she didn’t stand a chance.
Then again, she told herself, it was probably just because she was sick—weak, feverish, and drained of energy. If she were in her usual state, she would have never let him tag along, much less chauffeur her to work.
So, she let him drive. On the way to the studio, she managed to nibble on so breakfast, take her dicine, and even doze off for a while.
It was her phone ringing that dragged her back from that hazy half-sleep. Blinking herself awake, she fished her phone from her bag. The caller ID flashed the photographer’s na.
"Little Washington, you do know we were supposed to start half an hour ago, right?"
The photographer was a familiar partner—professional, but not unkind. His tone was more of a subtle reminder than a scolding.
Bert had gone through several photographers before finally hiring this one—one of the best in the business, and not cheap by any ans. Every minute of his ti was precious.
The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water.
She was late.
"I’m so sorry—I’m in the parking lot now. I’ll be right there!" she apologized quickly before hanging up.
As she unbuckled her seatbelt, she turned on Morrison with a sharp glare.
"We’ve been here this whole ti and you didn’t wake up? Don’t tell you let sleep for half an hour while the car was parked here!"
Based on the ti they left, she should’ve arrived on schedule.
But then she’d fallen asleep—and he hadn’t said a word.
Morrison chuckled, unbothered.
"You were sleeping so soundly. I thought you could use the extra rest."
Lilian: "..."
There was really nothing left to say to that.
She hopped out of the car, grabbed her things, and dashed toward the studio.
Annoying as he was, she had to admit—those extra thirty minutes of sleep made her feel much better. With the dicine kicking in, her body didn’t feel as heavy as it had that morning.
Behind her, Morrison locked the car and strolled after her at a leisurely pace.
Halfway to the entrance, Lilian suddenly stopped, turned, and thrust the leftover slices of toast toward him.
"Here. I didn’t finish these. You didn’t have breakfast, right? If you don’t mind—"
She hadn’t even finished her sentence before he snatched the bag with a bright grin.
"I don’t mind."
His gaze was warm, piercing straight through her for a fleeting second, and she quickly looked away, resuming her brisk pace toward the studio.
Why was she even thinking about whether he’d eaten? His hunger had nothing to do with her. She was just... being polite. That was all.
The studio was massive, with several active sets bustling with crew mbers. Lilian finally stopped in front of the one where her shoot was scheduled.
"Our photographer has this little quirk," Lilian said, keeping her voice even, "He doesn’t like unrelated people watching the shoot. So... you might have to wait outside. Or better yet, why don’t you head back? I’ll give you the house keys. You can pack your things and find a hotel."
Morrison narrowed his eyes at her, voice low and lazy.
"Wow. Cross the bridge and burn it, huh?"
His tone carried that quiet accusation, and for a brief second, Lilian felt a twinge of guilt. It was true—he had driven her all the way here, and now she was shooing him off the mont they arrived. That did sound... heartless.
So she pointed to a nearby set with an innocent smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"That one allows spectators. Why don’t you go there and enjoy the view while you wait?"
There was a distinct glint of mischief in her gaze, and Morrison caught it imdiately. His brows drew together.
"What are they shooting in there?"
He didn’t have to wait long for the answer.
A group of tall, blonde models stepped out of the set, their swimsuits clinging to every curve. Heads turned instantly; the n nearby couldn’t help but stare.
Morrison instantly understood. His eyes darkened as he turned to the little fox beside him.
Lilian tried to hold back her laughter, but her lips curved.
"That’s the swimwear set," she said sweetly.
Then, with a mock-sincere tone, she added,
"I thought it’d be perfect for you. Isn’t that your type? Big up top, big down below, plenty to grab? Go on—have a look. Maybe you’ll make a few friends. That way, your nights in the States won’t be so... lonely."
Satisfied with her jab, she turned to make a quick escape into her own studio.
What she didn’t realize was that beneath her teasing words, there was a faint, bitter taste—a little hint of jealousy she hadn’t even noticed herself.
Morrison caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her from behind. His chest pressed firm and warm against her back, and his breath brushed against the shell of her ear, trailing lower toward her neck.
"You’re wrong," he murmured, voice like dark velvet. "I’m not into won like that."
His lips hovered dangerously close to her skin as he added,
"I like yours—just the right handful, everywhere."
A shiver shot down her spine before she could stop it.
He pressed closer, his voice dropping into a teasing, dangerous murmur.
"Have you forgotten? Back when we were together... every ti, you left completely unable to control myself in bed—"
Lilian had been taunting him, mocking him, but Morrison wasn’t about to hold back anymore. He let his cocky, shaless side show without restraint.
If it was a contest in shalessness, a little girl like her didn’t stand a chance.
Sure enough, her face instantly flushed crimson. She slapped his hand off her waist and, without looking back, bolted into the studio.
Morrison’s lips curved into a satisfied, triumphant smile as he watched her flee. That was the cost of provoking him—mocking him, teasing him.
Inside the studio, Lilian imrsed herself in the shoot while Morrison waited outside.
There was a bench nearby. He sat, pulled out his phone, and handled a few emails. A part of him worked, a part of him just enjoyed watching her indirectly.
His phone buzzed. Sean was calling with a work update—and a minor complaint session.
"Boss, when are you coming back?" Sean whined.
"Monna might be pregnant. The mont Norton got off work, he ran ho to be with his wife. Left here, working my ass off all alone."
Sean didn’t miss a beat.
"I think you’re not busy enough. Let give you so more tasks, so you won’t have ti to complain about it here."
Morrison snorted and hung up, his patience already thin.
Between Norton’s wedding drama and now Sean’s news that Monna might be pregnant, Morrison felt exasperated. Sean clearly had too much free ti, barging in with updates that only served to disrupt his already fragile good mood.
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