“If she says yes, get me her manager’s contact information. Before making a proposal I need to be sure she doesn’t have any feud going on with a designer or a photographer.”

“Feud?”

“A Kanye West vs. Taylor Swift sort of thing, know what I mean?”

Richard stares at me blankly. “No.”

“It’s probably better that way. Anyway, as soon as you have news, please let me know.”

“Will do.”

I walk back to my station and sit at my desk, not at all triumphant. As I pull names for potential sponsors and photographers, I try to shake off the image of Richard asking Saskia as they lie on rumpled sheets after hours of mind-blowing sex.

***

Saskia agrees to the shoot. Was it because Richard gave her the best seeing-to of her life? Or are they genuinely friends? I don’t let myself care. Instead, I wire my brain to professional mode and, in record time, I whip together the photo shoot of the season.

Photographer: Adam Bell

Sponsor, clothes, and accessories: Angelika Black. In-house stylist (Mandy)

Location: Grunge rooftop in Brooklyn

View: Manhattan Skyline

Makeup artist: Hire two just in case. All unexpected events must be covered.

So it is that the following Saturday morning by six o’clock, I’ve already been working for three hours. The set had to be ready early to shoot Saskia in the flattering light of dawn.

Our star arrived at five. We went through the racks of clothes, together with the stylist from Angelika Black, and Saskia agreed to every single outfit. She’s so irritably nice. Honestly, I’d hoped she’d turn out to be a diva to compensate for her perfect genetics. But no, Saskia Landon is professional to a T.

More than that, she’s super kind to everyone and even cracks jokes with the staff. Why would Richard ever look at anyone else?

The boss didn’t come to the shoot. The only other person from Inceptor Magazine here is Saffron, our social media expert. She wanted to take some edgy backstage pics to build our Instagram feed.

As I watch the photographer take one perfect shot after the other of the most beautiful woman on earth, my emotions swing wildly between editorial lust and primal female jealousy. The stylist, Mandy, has no reservations. She can’t stop clapping and squealing as she watches the shots appear on the screen after every click of the camera.

By seven thirty, we have enough frames to build two editorials: one for spring and one for the fall. To get the most out of this opportunity, I asked Mandy to bring some items from next year’s collection as well.

Adam clicks his camera one last time and looks at me with an interrogative frown.

I clap my hands and call, “It’s a wrap, everyone.”