Free MANIC: Rook and Ronin, #2 by JA Huss Page A

let you know that, in case Spencer conveniently forgot to mention your face will be made into dolls and put on clothing." He says it in an irritated voice and then Spencer flips him off and turns away, busying himself with his art supplies again.
    "Wonderful," I say to no one in particular. "How lucky am I? Don't all girls want to be turned into Barbie?"
    "Yeah," Ford says, again with the irritation, "but I'm pretty sure Biker Barbie was never part of your girlhood fantasy, was it?"
    I scowl at him. "What's your deal, Ford? I'm a big girl, OK? I'm fine with the doll shit. It's a fucking doll. Who cares, they'll probably make like five hundred of them, people will buy them, break them, lose them, destroy them—whatever—and it will be over. It's not like someone's naming a fucking battleship after me."
    Ford says nothing, just keeps his bad mood to himself over in the corner.
    "OK, well, what's the plan today, Spence?"
    "Bikinis, four of them."
    I shake my head trying to imagine four paintings and photo shoots. 'That sounds like a long day."
    "Well"—Ford is back in action again—"it's not really, Rook. Because the term bikini is used loosely here." I mouth the words shut up at him, but he looks right at me and continues talking. "Because those little postage stamps Spencer is going to paint over your nipples barely count as clothing, or paint for that matter."
    Spencer turns around, his eyes blazing, his whole demeanor screaming fuck you . "That's it, Ford, I warned you. Out. I'm not putting up with your bullshit."
    For a second I figure this is some theatrics for the sake of the cameras, but when I look over at Team Spencer, they start to get uncomfortable. Team Rook steps back, like these two are about to throw. "OK, what's going on? Are you guys fighting? I mean, I just saw you an hour ago, Ford. What's the problem?"
    "The problem is what Spencer plans to do with you today, even though Antoine told him there's no one to help you between shoots, that's the problem."
    "Spencer?" I ask, totally lost.
    Ford continues, not even giving Spencer a chance to talk. "Well, let's walk through this, Rook. Spencer's gonna paint you up in a bikini, but he wants to do four shoots today, so that means that paint will have to be washed off four times." He stops to stare at me. "I think you can put two and two together from there."
    "So Spencer will have to wash me off? Is this the problem?"
    I look over at Spencer and he shrugs. "Rook, I gotta get through this catalog and get back up to Fort Collins by Friday, so we have to get as many shoots as we can. The bikinis are popular, easy, and quick."
    "Hey, I could care less, Spencer. I'm not sure what Ford's problem is, but I'm pretty sure you're not painting on bikinis to feel me up." I roll my eyes. "Let's just do this."
    Ford actually gets up and walks out.
    I look back over at Spencer and he throws up his hands and turns back to his supplies. "Just get naked, OK? Twist up your hair and we'll get started."
    I take a deep breath and look over at the camera people, then say an internal fuck it and whip my shirt off right there. What's the point? They're gonna see me naked whether I strip in that pathetic excuse of a dressing room or right here in front of them. I watch them as I do it too, daring them to even snicker. My look keeps them professional and when I glance back at Spencer he's laughing at me.
    "You are something else, I swear. OK, first up is the white bikini ." He says this last part loud, like he wants Ford, who is all the way across the room talking to Director Larry, to hear him. "White, so we can paint over it ," he yells. "And not have to wash it off ."
    Spencer and I do a collective eye roll and try not to laugh.
    "OK, Rook, just come stand here in the middle of the sheet." Spencer checks for Ford and drops his voice to a whisper and winks at me. "It might get a bit personal, but just know, I'm a licensed professional, Rook."
    "Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah,