"What?!... Took the day off?... Why?!?... Well screw it." Gabriella sighed, ending the phone call.
She pinched her brows and bit her bottom lip, looking at the neatly arranged set with an exasperated expression.
Everything was now in place, but what did it matter? Their lead supermodel was absent and all they had prepared were amateurs. For most of them, this would be their first commercial shoot!
"We're ready," Dina called out, her voice echoing in the tense silence.
Gabriella shot her a glare, frustration evident in her eyes. "Come here, all four of you," She demanded, her tone brooking no argument.
The four women walked over backstage to where Gabriella stood and looked at her, awaiting orders.
Gabriella took a deep breath before she began, "Laura's not coming. Her agent called me. Said she's been overworked lately and needs rest." She let her gaze travel over each of them, ensuring her words sank in before she continued.
"You all know how crucial Laura was to executing this project. Now she's not here."
Her eyes lingered on Selene, wondering how much the blonde knew about Laura's sudden absence.
Selene shifted uncomfortably under Gabriella's scrutiny and the curious glances from her coworkers.
She pursed her lips, "She's my cousin, not my twin. I wouldn't know exactly what she's doing even if I tried," Selene said, almost whispering.
Gabriella softened slightly. "Of course," she acknowledged, her voice losing some of its edge.
"We'll have to improvise. Any ideas?"
Dina stepped forward, her tone brimming with confidence. "I think we can pull this off without a high-profile celeb. What we need is to create relatability, to make the product easily accessible to the average woman..."
Eva, who had been listening intently, nodded. "So we can make up for our lack of aesthetic appeal by focusing on a more authentic outlook?" she asked, her voice calm and measured.
"Exactly," Dina agreed, a smug look crossing her face as if she had just solved an unsolvable puzzle.
Gabriella considered this, her mind racing through the possibilities. "Alright," she said, finally relenting. "But we'll need to really nail the concept. We have to show real women, real stories. Authenticity is key."
Selene, still feeling the weight of her cousin's absence, spoke up, "We could start by sharing our own stories. What this product means to us personally. It could make the campaign more genuine."
Bloom, who had been quietly observing, finally chimed in. "And we could invite some of the crew members to share their experiences as well. It would show that this product isn't just for models, but for everyone involved in creating this campaign too."
Gabriella's eyes lit up with a hint of hope. "That could work," she said, nodding. "Let's get to work. We don't have much time, but if we can convey real emotions, we might just pull this off."
***
Ortega heaved a sigh of relief as he finally stepped through the entrance of the huge, aesthetic studio. The grand space was a testament to creativity, with its lofty ceilings and ambient lighting casting a soft glow on sleek, modern furnishings.
He had been going in the wrong direction initially, navigating a labyrinth of hallways that led him to places he shouldn't have been, witnessing things he shouldn't have seen.
A woman, nondescript and forgettable like a background character in a film, had eventually shown him the way.
Ortega could barely recall her features; she was a blur in his frazzled memory.
The studio was a floor above the marketing department, situated in the heart of the creative zone.
The set was stunning, meticulously arranged to capture the essence of elegance and style.
Ortega's eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight: a handful of women, simply yet stylishly dressed, gathered in a specially reserved area. The glint of mirrors catching the light as they were frequently brought to the women's faces confirmed Ortega's suspicion—they were models.
The crew, dressed entirely in black, moved like shadows against the dark backdrop. The walls were painted a deep ebony, and thick, plush rugs absorbed any light that might have strayed.
The stage seemed to float in a void, making it nearly impossible to discern the figures behind the cameras.
They were like ninjas, blending seamlessly into the darkness.
Not a single man was in sight since he started working here. Ortega wasn't complaining; in fact, he found the constant presence of women soothing, a balm to his once anxious interactions with the opposite sex.
Conversations felt lighter, and his confidence grew as he realized his charm had an effect on them.
His job was a gateway to potential romantic escapades, a tantalizing promise of unrestrained, wild experiences.
For a virgin like him, it was paradise.
Despite the allure, his job remained a priority. It was the bridge to his desires, and he wasn't about to let tardiness sever that link.
Ortega flashed a smile at the models as he passed, their curious glances and shy smiles feeding his ego. The attention was addictive, but he pressed on.
He had more pressing matters—namely, a very likely livid boss.
He exhaled deeply as he approached his colleagues, who were huddled together like a basketball team strategizing before a big game. Nervousness clawed at him, knowing that Gabriella's reaction would be far from welcoming.
His doctor's appointment wouldn't suffice as an excuse; he had made a promise:
"My situation has never come in the way of my job, and I will keep striving to maintain that."
Desperation drove him to say anything to keep his job, even making heartfelt promises he couldn't follow through on.
Ortega stopped short, noticing the group was too engrossed in their conversation to see him. He muttered, "Better," raised his chin, and walked forward, his face set in a mask of calm determination.
His mind raced, crafting excuses—his health, the lack of clear directions—but he knew they would sound weak.
He needed to show strength.
"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," he announced, his voice cutting through the chatter. The women turned to him with varying expressions, but Gabriella's glare chilled him. She was furious, her disappointment palpable.
"Explain yourself."
Ortega swallowed hard, the iciness in her tone cutting deep. He cleared his throat, "Appointment took longer than necessary."
Her silence was damning, her eyes demanding more. He met her gaze, his own firm. "It won't happen again. Ever."
She continued to stare, unsatisfied.
Excuses felt flimsy, so he opted for honesty. "I know how my tardiness has affected the team, and I apologize. I'm working on making sure it never happens again."
He stood tall, his chin slightly raised, ready to face the consequences.
The silence that followed was suffocating, every eye in the room fixed on him. The tension was unbearable, but he held his ground.
Gabriella's judgment hung in the air, and he braced himself to hear her verdict.