"I want the cameras mounted and ready. The lighting should be perfect, and models well dressed and prepared. Oh, and make sure the makeup kits are ready as well, there'd be no promotion without them," Gabriella commanded as she moved around the spacious studio, conversing with the crew and ensuring the absence of technical difficulties before the shoot progressed.
The studio was a hive of activity, with large softboxes casting a soft, even glow over the scene. Backdrops of various colors and textures lined one wall, ready to be swapped out as needed. The floor was covered in thick, protective mats to prevent any damage from heavy equipment being moved around.
If she wasn't speaking to the lightwomen about making necessary adjustments, she was with the makeup artists, counseling and prepping them to do their jobs perfectly. The makeup stations were meticulously organized, with palettes of every conceivable color, brushes of all sizes, and mirrors surrounded by bright, flattering lights.
"I don't want to see flaws," she would constantly say to everyone working on set. Often making quick walks from one end of the room to the other, she would point out errors that most professionals wouldn't notice and immediately chastise them for it. If the background wasn't clear enough, she'd yell at the stage designers to make proper adjustments. If the light fixtures were too dim, she'd order their luminosity increased.
"You!" she hollered at a woman wearing a headphone-speaker set with a tablet in her hand. "Water." The woman noted the request before scurrying to a fridge only a few steps away. The fridge, a sleek stainless steel model, was almost camouflaged against the similarly metallic walls, blending into the modern aesthetic of the studio.
She returned a few seconds later with a full bottle in hand. Gabriella snatched the bottle, uncapped it, and began to viciously gulp its content. Water splashed down her chin and onto her shirt, but she didn't care. The crew nearby stifled giggles at the sight. Content, she brought the bottle down and checked her watch: 15 minutes past nine, the apple accessory read, and she clenched her jaw.
Her marketing juniors had yet to show up, leaving her as the sole bearer of the burden of coordinating the big photoshoot. As a believer in delegation, this caused her several angry outbursts despite herself.
The camera crew was busy adjusting the lenses and setting up tripods, ensuring each angle would be perfect. The photographers, dressed in casual yet functional attire, compared notes and discussed the best strategies to capture the desired shots. In another corner, the stylists were fussing over the models' outfits, making final adjustments to ensure every detail was impeccable.
Gabriella's sharp eyes caught every little mistake, from a stray hair out of place to the tiniest wrinkle in the backdrop. Her presence was felt throughout the studio, a whirlwind of energy and precision, driving everyone to meet her exacting standards.
"We're here. We're here!" Voices called out, the sound of approaching footsteps mixing with their urgent tone.
Gabriella turned sharply, her eyes landing on Eva and Selene as they approached, panting slightly. Their guilty expressions were impossible to miss as Eva tried to explain, "Gabs, we're so sorry, there was—"
"Shut up and get to work," Gabriella cut her off, her voice like a whip. Anger coursed through her, her eyes narrowing into a steely glare. It was beyond comprehension how professionals like them could make the blunder of being late. If their carelessness continued, it might influence Ortega, who was already the most prone to slacking off among the team.
"You both know what to do, so do it and get it done. Properly." Her tone was icy as she gave both women a stern look, her authority unquestionable. Her eyes then shifted away from their faces, taking in the sight of Dina and Bloom, who were already hard at work. The pair was coordinating the organization of the set, their movements precise and efficient despite having just arrived.
"Like them," Gabriella pointed out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "They didn't come to me to tell stories." Eva and Selene exchanged surprised glances before turning to look at their diligent coworkers.
"You're still here?" Gabriella hissed, the impatience in her voice cutting through the air. The words seemed to jolt Eva and Selene into action. There was a brief, awkward moment of silence before the two exploded into work mode, barking orders and directing preparations with newfound urgency.
Gabriella folded her arms, her sharp eyes scanning the bustling scene in front of her. The studio was now alive with activity. Technicians scurried about, adjusting lights and setting up cameras, while assistants moved props into place and organized equipment. The hum of machinery, the clatter of footsteps, and the murmur of voices created a symphony of productivity. Yet, Gabriella's frown remained. Things were running smoother now, but it wasn't enough.
...Almost.
"What's taking him so long?" she muttered under her breath, her gaze flickering towards the entrance. The absence of Ortega, their thought leader, was a thorn in her side. Her patience was wearing thin, and the clock was ticking.
Her eyes snapped back to her team. "Eva, make sure the lighting is perfect. Selene, double-check the props. I want everything flawless," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. Her presence was a storm, and everyone moved with haste, desperate not to be caught in its fury.
Gabriella's no-nonsense demeanor was a force of nature, propelling everyone into overdrive. The set was transforming before her eyes, inching closer to her exacting standards. She took a deep breath, her mind already moving to the next potential problem. There was no room for error, and she would ensure that everyone knew it.
***
Ortega whistled a jaunty tune as his urine splashed into the sparkling silver bowl of the female lavatory. The sound echoed slightly in the pristine room, adding an unintentional beat to his melody. BeautyPlus, in all its cutting-edge glamour, had no male bathrooms. Thus, Ortega had been allocated a personal "executive restroom" inside the loo, courtesy of the janitress, a formidable woman in her mid-forties with a no-nonsense attitude and a heart of gold.
The janitress, Mrs. Rodriguez, had taken it upon herself to create a makeshift office for Ortega, complete with a small desk, a potted plant, and a motivational poster that read, "Aim High." She had even put a sign on the door that said, "Ortega's Office - Do Not Disturb (Unless It's an Emergency or You Have Snacks)."
Ortega chuckled to himself, remembering Mrs. Rodriguez's deadpan delivery when she showed him his new workspace. "You're a man of many talents, Mr. Ortega," she had said, arms akimbo, "but using the ladies' room won't be one of them. So, here's your throne room. Keep it tidy, or else."
As he finished up, he couldn't help but marvel at the sheer absurdity of it all. The gleaming tiles and spotless mirrors reflected his amused expression. He gave a little bow to his reflection and zipped up, still whistling.
Stepping out of his "office," Ortega bumped into Mrs. Rodriguez herself, who was pushing a mop bucket with the efficiency of a seasoned general. "All done with your 'business meeting,' Mr. Ortega?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile.
"All wrapped up, Mrs. Rodriguez. Thanks again for the accommodations. Truly a five-star establishment," he replied with a grin.
"Just keep aiming high, Mr. Ortega," she shot back, pointing to the poster. "And remember, snacks are always welcome."
Ortega gave her a mock salute and strutted back towards the studio, his spirits lifted. He knew Gabriella would be fuming about his lateness, but at least he had a good story—and a new executive office—to soften the blow.