Free Stolen with Style by Carina Axelsson Page A

His light, sandy-brown hair was long and pushed back from his forehead. It was also greasy in that über-cool fashionista kind of way. Did it look like that because he hadn’t washed it in two weeks, or was it because he just had a lot of product in it? Or both? I couldn’t tell.
    â€œAh, last week Paris, this week New York,” he said with a big smile. “Your modeling career is definitely getting off to a good start, isn’t it?” Then he leaned closer to me and said, “And hopefully, here in New York, you won’t be sidetracked by another mystery—although what incredible luck that you found Belle! But that’s what happens when you’re in the right place at the right time, isn’t it?” He pulled back and winked.
    Instantly the morning chatter focused on my mystery-solving exploits last week in Paris, although fortunately for me, everyone seemed convinced that luck alone had led me to Belle. Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was annoyed that everyone (my mom included!) so readily believed that finding Belle had been nothing more than a fluke…but then again, that’s what I’d told the press after it happened. And continuing with that pretense made sense. After all, the longer everyone continued to believe that Paris had been a one-time case of exceptional luck, the longer I could continue to work as an undercover model.
    I kept this in mind when Trish and Tom arrived a minute later and tried asking me more questions. Again I answered as discreetly as I could and, lying through my teeth, clarified that I was in New York City purely to model.
    Fortunately, between the Chic booking and the various castings I had coming up—which I made sure to mention—this was entirely believable. And Cazzie, taking her cue from me, helped to steer the conversation away from any detective talk. Soon everyone’s focus was back on fashion—and the shoot of the day.
    Cazzie thanked everyone for coming to the studio to shoot a last-minute Chic editorial. “I’m sorry, but as you know, some of the Paris dresses we’d planned on shooting last Friday didn’t make it to the studio in time, and we’d love to have them in the magazine. So as soon as I saw that they’d finally arrived, I booked us back in here. I really appreciate you all juggling your schedules for this. Hopefully we’ll get a great editorial story—and maybe even another cover for the next edition—out of our work today.”
    The part about the dresses coming in late from Paris was true—Cazzie had told me as much. But did Chic really need to photograph the dresses with the same group of people? No—Cazzie could have booked any photographer and model she wanted. It was just a serendipitous excuse to gather Friday’s group together again for my sleuthing benefit.
    Within minutes, Tom started working on Rafaela, while Trish began putting makeup on Chandra (who’d just arrived on an early-morning flight from Miami). Cazzie led Misty and me to the curtained-off dressing area—but not before I loaded a plate at the buffet table with croissants, fresh fruit, and an enormous banana muffin.
    I followed Cazzie as she pushed past the linen curtain that acted as a room divider. As the plans showed, the dressing area formed the shorter section of the large L-shaped studio. To the right as you walked in, a lightweight but opaque fabric blind was stretched across the large east-facing windows, providing cover for the models who were changing clothes. Under the windows was a long trestle table for the stylists’ equipment and accessories.
    Opposite the windows—immediately on my left as I walked past the dividing curtain—a full-length mirror was mounted directly onto the wall. And next to the mirror was another, smaller trestle table. Cazzie indicated that I could use this one too. I set my shoulder bag down on the table next to hers.