Free A High Heels Haunting by Gemma Halliday Page A

the sexiest thing I owned, a white, clingy dress that ended just south of my derriere and plunged just north of my belly button.  I contemplated the white slingbacks Danielle had prompted me to buy, but instead I picked up the discarded red heels.  They were what started this whole thing.  It seemed only fitting I wore them to end it.
    I pulled up in front of the Victorian on Market that the receptionist had directed me to and was quickly ushered into a room much like the previous set I’d been on.  Only this one was dressed up to resemble a scene from ancient Greece.  White columns, grape vines and lots of gold streaking through the background.  Crew members ran back and forth putting the finishing touches on the set and arranging the array of lights as a man in all black stood behind a camera lining up shots.   I caught a glimpse of a petite blonde that I recognized as the designer, Maddie, shouting last minute directions at everyone.   
    Blake was already there, next to a wardrobe rack, being fitted in a white toga.  I had a moment of doubt as he flashed his lopsided grin at me, raising a hand in greeting.  But I swallowed it down.  Angel did not kill herself.  And Blake was the only other person there.
    I pasted a fake smile on my face, holding onto that thought as I waved back.
    “There you are, my love,” R.J. said, bustling up beside me.  Alec followed a step behind, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the set.
    “And don’t you look fabulous today?” R.J. exclaimed, giving my dress a once over.  He shot me a grin showing off all five hundred of his teeth.  “Got a hot date later?”
    I glanced over at Blake.  “I hope so.”
    “Well, let’s get you in wardrobe,” Alec prompted. 
    “As promised, you will be fully clothed this time.  You’re the Goddess of Shoes,” R.J. said.  “And Blake gets to be your love slave.”  He winked.
    I felt bile rise in my throat.  My love slave.  Like he’d pretended to love Angel?  Like he’d made love to me?  God, I wasn’t sure I could pull this off.  I looked down at my heels.  But I had to try.  For her.
    “Great,” I forced out.
    R.J. continued to fill me in on the mythology behind my character as a thin, mousy wardrobe girl whisked me into a white, draping dress that ended just below my knees.  It was shot through with gold accents that the hairdresser mirrored in my locks, gold ribbons pulling my curls up into a crown around my head.  And on my feet were a beautiful pair of gold high heels – a strikingly modern touch to the ancient scene.  The photographer in black led me out onto the set and posed me, leaning my back against a white pillar.  Blake appeared a moment later.
    I bit my lip, squelching the rush of emotions at being so near him.  Disgust at what he’d done mingled with the memory of the night I’d spent in his arms.  How could I have been so wrong about him?   
    The photographer told Blake to kneel at my feet.  He did, giving me a secret smile that said he was enjoying the intimate pose.  I did my best dominatrix look back.
    "Perfect!" I heard Maddie yell, then the photographer started clicking away.
    “You look hot in a toga,” Blake whispered.
    “Shh.  I’m working, slave boy.”
    His mischievous grin grew.  “Yes, goddess.”
    I turned my head the other direction, hardly able to look at him without wanting to throttle the man. 
    Somehow I made it through the shoot without vomiting.  Even with Blake giving me the moon eyes the entire time.  By the end, I felt like I’d run a marathon, though the shoot had lasted only a couple of hours.  When it was over I quickly rushed back to wardrobe, changing into my own clothes.  I took a few deep breaths, telling myself I could do this.
    “Hey, kid, you okay?” R.J. asked, coming up behind me as I was strapping my shoes on.
    “Yeah, fine,” I lied.  “Why?”
    “You sound like you’re hyperventilating.  What’s wrong?  Something going on