She's doing great

I stood at the edge of the studio, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold.

Freya was, against all odds, actually doing her job.

The shoot was going smoothly, the photographers capturing her in various athletic poses, shifting between backdrops, adjusting lighting, making sure every angle showcased the Vellure brand to perfection.

And of course—she looked good doing it.

I had expected that, obviously.

Freya Vesper was a natural performer. She thrived on attention, on having all eyes on her.

But I hadn't quite anticipated just how well she photographed.

Her movements were sharp, controlled, fluid with an effortless kind of power. The lighting hit just right, emphasizing the lines of her toned arms, the sculpted muscles of her back, and, of course, the ridiculous set of abs she had no business flaunting so casually.

The sports bra and shorts only made things worse.

I exhaled slowly, perfectly composed as I shifted my attention to the assistant beside me.

"She's doing great," the assistant mused, flipping through their tablet where test shots were displayed.

I nodded. "She's always good when she actually puts in the effort."

The assistant grinned, eyes flicking toward me just a little too knowingly.

"Good at her job," they agreed. "And, well, good at other things too, I assume."

I slowly turned my head. "What exactly are you implying?"

The assistant raised their hands innocently. "Nothing, nothing. Just saying—" They gestured vaguely toward the set, where Freya had just stretched her arms overhead, every muscle in her torso shifting in a way that was frankly unnecessary.

"—she's, uh, aesthetically pleasing."

I didn't react.

Not even a twitch.

"Objectively speaking," they added.

"Objectively," I echoed.

The assistant grinned wider, watching me with far too much amusement.

"Lydia, do you have a heart of steel?"

"Yes."

"And zero appreciation for athletic perfection?"

"Correct."

They snorted, shaking their head. "You are fascinating."

I didn't respond, simply watching as Freya executed her final poses, a smirk on her lips, fully in her element.

The photographer called out, "Alright, we got it! That's a wrap!"

Freya immediately relaxed, stretching her arms out before grabbing a towel to dab at the light sheen of sweat on her skin.

The assistant elbowed me lightly. "So, still think she's 'nothing special'?"

I gave them a sharp, unimpressed look.

They just laughed.

Freya made her way toward me, still in the sports bra and shorts, her smirk wide and cocky.

"Well?" she drawled. "How'd I do?"

I lifted my clipboard, skimming through my notes with pure indifference.

"Passable," I said.

Freya grinned wider. "Passable? Please, Whitmore, you were practically drooling."

I snapped my clipboard shut.

"Get dressed," I said flatly.

She laughed, but didn't argue, disappearing into the changing room while I checked in with the campaign team to ensure everything was finalized.

By the time she came back, she was in her usual casual black hoodie and joggers, looking ridiculously comfortable compared to my sharp, professional attire.

"Alright, boss," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "What's next?"

"Lunch," I answered, already walking toward the exit.

Freya perked up instantly. "Oh, now we're talking. Where are we eating?"

I didn't slow my pace. "Something healthy."

Freya let out a dramatic groan, dragging her feet behind me.

"Oh my God. I should've known," she muttered. "You're going to make me eat, like, a salad, aren't you?"

I didn't respond.

Which was, honestly, response enough.

Freya gasped loudly.

"Oh my God. You are going to make me eat a salad."

I kept walking.

She caught up, falling into step beside me, hands in her pockets.

"Lydia, be honest," she said seriously. "When's the last time you ate a burger?"

I didn't answer.

Freya gasped again, even louder.

"You don't even remember, do you?!"

I glanced at her. "You're very dramatic."

She shook her head, deeply disappointed. "No wonder you're so uptight. You're malnourished."

"I am perfectly nourished," I corrected.

Freya sighed. "Fine. Let's make a deal."

I stopped, crossing my arms. "I don't make deals."

"You do now," she shot back. "You let me eat something that actually tastes good, and in return, I—" She thought for a second. "—won't complain for the rest of the day."

I raised a brow. "You're incapable of not complaining."

She placed a hand over her heart. "Lydia, you wound me."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Freya was still complaining as we walked to the car.

"Healthy food is a scam," she declared, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. "It's a scam, Lydia."

I exhaled slowly, already regretting everything.

We reached the car, and before I could open my door, she kept going.

"You know what healthy food is? Sadness on a plate. Vibes completely off."

"Freya—"

"No, seriously," she continued, now pacing around my car like she was preparing to give a full speech. "I get it, I do. 'Oh, Freya, you're a professional athlete, you need to take care of your body.' Blah blah blah."

I raised a brow. "Oh, so you do understand?"

She ignored me.

"But let's be honest here," she said, waving her arms dramatically. "Nobody in the history of mankind has ever been happy eating a salad."

I opened my door, sliding into the driver's seat. "Get in the car."

"You're lying if you say you enjoy eating like a robot."

"Get in the car."

She sighed loudly, finally dropping into the passenger seat.

As I started the engine, she turned to me, eyes narrowing.

"You're going to make me eat something awful, aren't you?"

"You are a professional footballer," I said, my voice perfectly even. "You can't eat bad food."

Freya groaned.

"Look," I said, keeping my eyes on the road as I pulled out of the parking lot. "You have an elite athlete's body. It requires proper fuel."

She slumped against the seat. "Oh God, you sound like a trainer."

"A perfect body needs healthy food," I said, matter-of-factly.

Freya immediately perked up, turning to me with far too much interest.

"Oh?" she mused, grinning. "So, you think I have a perfect body?"

I didn't react.

Didn't blink.

Didn't look away from the road.

"Objectively speaking," I said.

She laughed loudly. "Oh my God, you're trying so hard to stay professional. It's adorable."

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

"Fine," she sighed dramatically. "Fine. If I eat this so-called healthy meal, will you at least let me get one fun thing?"

"No."

"Lydia!"

I ignored her, focusing on the road as she grumbled beside me.