Objectified: Episode 02 - "Depth of Field"

Three days after fucking Sophia against my window, I was back at LENS Studios. This time, it was for a group editorial--five models, including both Sophia and Vi, for W Magazine's "Next Generation" issue. The irony wasn't lost on me that Vi, at twenty-seven, was positioned as part of the "next generation" alongside girls half a decade younger.

I arrived early, before Marco or any of the models. The studio assistants knew me by now, nodding as I moved through the space, setting up according to the lighting diagrams I'd received the night before. I worked methodically, precisely, each movement economical.

"You're making the rest of us look bad, you know."

I glanced up to see Trent, one of the other assistants, watching me with a mixture of admiration and resentment. Mid-twenties, film school dropout, desperately trying to network his way into a directing job.

"Just doing my job," I replied, adjusting a soft box.

"Yeah, but you don't have to be so fucking good at it." He laughed, the sound hollow. "Marco's been talking about you. Says you've got 'the eye.'"

I shrugged, not taking the bait for elaboration. Trent hovered a moment longer, then wandered off when I didn't engage further.

The truth was, Marco had been showing increased interest in my input lately. After the Vogue Italia shoot, he'd asked to see some of my personal work--black and white street photography I shot on film, nothing special but technically sound. He'd studied them longer than courtesy required, asked about my background. I'd fed him the story I gave everyone: middle-class family from Portland, photography degree from a state school, moved to New York to pursue fashion work. Just enough details to satisfy without revealing anything that mattered.

The studio doors opened, and Sophia walked in, followed by two other models I recognized from agency rosters--Elise Chen and Mariana Alvarez. Sophia spotted me immediately, her face lighting up with a smile that was a little too familiar.

"Danny!" she called, breaking away from the others and approaching me. She leaned in for a kiss on the cheek, her hand lingering on my arm. "You didn't tell me you'd be here today."

I returned her smile with a measured one of my own. "Marco likes consistency in his team."

The other models watched our interaction with undisguised curiosity. I could see the calculations happening behind their eyes--the assistant was fucking Sophia, which meant he might have Marco's ear, which meant he might be worth knowing.

"Elise, Mariana," Sophia said, turning to them. "This is Danny Marshall, Marco's right hand."

A stretch, but I didn't correct her.

"Nice to meet you," Elise said, offering a slim hand. Chinese-American, elegant features, reputation for professionalism. "Sophia mentioned you helped with the lighting on her Vogue shots. They turned out incredible."

"Marco's vision," I deflected. "I just execute."

"Modest too," Mariana commented, her Venezuelan accent adding music to the words. "Unusual in this business."

Before I could respond, the doors opened again, and Marco strode in, trailing assistants and stylists like remoras after a shark. He spotted me and nodded his approval at the lighting setup.

"Danny, come see," he called, beckoning me over to his laptop. I excused myself from the models and joined him. He showed me the concept boards for today's shoot--stark, architectural styling against soft, ethereal backdrops. "What do you think about adding a hard light from the left? Create more shadow play on the sculpted pieces?"

I studied the boards, aware that the models were watching this exchange with interest. "Could work. We'd need to adjust the key light to compensate, maybe lower the ambient fill."

Marco nodded thoughtfully. "Set it up. Let's test when the first girl is ready."

I returned to the lighting rig, conscious of how this interaction would be perceived. Marco Visconti asking an assistant's opinion, then implementing it? It wouldn't go unnoticed. As I worked, I saw Sophia watching me, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She thought she understood what was happening--that I was using her to climb the ladder. She didn't realize she was just one rung.

The studio doors opened once more, and Vi entered, followed closely by the fifth model--a willowy redhead named Taylor. Vi wore the same impenetrable expression as always, sunglasses despite the indoor setting, wrapped in what appeared to be a different but equally expensive cashmere coat. She scanned the studio, taking in the scene--Sophia and the other models watching me, Marco directing the styling team.

For a moment, her gaze lingered on me. I kept working, not acknowledging her attention, but I felt it like a physical touch. Then she turned away, heading for hair and makeup without greeting anyone.

The shoot progressed efficiently. Marco worked through the models one by one, then in pairs and finally group shots. Throughout, I adjusted lighting, suggested angles, remained the silent professional. But I made sure to touch Sophia casually whenever she was nearby--a hand at the small of her back, fingers brushing her arm. Nothing inappropriate, nothing that could be called unprofessional, but enough to establish a claim that everyone, including Vi, would notice.

Vi herself remained aloof, perfect in front of the camera, invisible when not actively being photographed. She would disappear into a corner with her phone, or speak quietly with her agent who had arrived midway through the shoot. Not once did she engage with the other models beyond what was necessary for the photographs.

But I caught her watching me twice more--once when I was showing Marco a lighting effect on my phone, and again when I handed Sophia a bottle of water, my fingers deliberately lingering against hers.

Each time, Vi looked away the instant I might have caught her, but not before I registered something in her expression. Not interest, exactly. More like... puzzlement. As if I were an equation that didn't quite add up.

During a break in shooting, I overheard Mariana and Elise talking near the craft services table.

"Who is that assistant?" Mariana asked quietly. "The one Sophia's all over."

"Danny something," Elise replied. "He's new, I think. But Marco seems to like him."

"Sophia certainly does." Mariana's tone was knowing. "Wonder if he's as good as she claims."

"Since when does Sophia share details?"

"Since last night at Soho House when she had three martinis and wouldn't shut up about the 'mystery assistant with the magic hands.'"

They both laughed, then noticed me approaching and quickly shifted to discussing an upcoming casting. I pretended not to have heard, getting coffee before returning to the set.

So Sophia was talking. Good. Let the whispers spread.

Near the end of the shoot, Marco called for a series of solo shots of Vi. She emerged from a wardrobe change in a structural white gown that seemed to defy gravity, her hair now swept up to expose the elegant line of her neck.

"Danny," Marco called, "bring the hard light in closer. I want more definition on the dress."

I moved the light as directed, stepping into Vi's space. This close, I could see the fine texture of her skin beneath the makeup, the almost imperceptible tension in her jaw. I adjusted the light, then paused, studying the effect.

"It's washing out the detail on the right shoulder," I said to Marco.

"Hmm." Marco frowned. "What do you suggest?"

I hesitated, then looked directly at Vi for the first time. "May I?"

A flicker of surprise crossed her features--perhaps at being asked permission, perhaps at being addressed at all. After a moment, she gave a curt nod.

I reached out, not touching her but indicating the fabric on her shoulder. "If you could turn about five degrees to your left, the light will catch the pleating detail."

Vi held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then turned exactly as I had suggested. The light caught the architectural folds of the dress, creating precisely the dramatic effect Marco wanted.

"Perfect," Marco said, already shooting. "Danny, you have good eyes."

Vi didn't acknowledge me again, but I had felt it--that momentary connection, the first time she had actually seen me as something more than furniture. It was infinitesimal, but it was there.

When the shoot wrapped, Vi left immediately as usual. Sophia lingered, clearly expecting to continue where we'd left off three nights ago.

"Dinner?" she suggested, sidling up to me as I packed equipment. "I know a quiet place in the West Village."

"Can't tonight," I said, giving her a regretful smile. "Meeting an old friend."

Disappointment flashed across her face. "Tomorrow, then?"

I pretended to consider my schedule. "I should be free. I'll text you."

She brightened, leaning in to kiss my cheek again. "Don't keep me waiting too long," she murmured, her voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. "I've been thinking about that window all day."

After she left, Marco approached as I finished storing the last of the equipment.

"Drink?" he offered. "I want to talk to you about something."

---

Marco's "something" turned out to be an offer: a promotion from assistant to second shooter on his team. It would mean more money, more creative input, and most importantly, more visibility within the industry. I accepted with just enough enthusiasm to seem grateful but not desperate.

"You have potential," Marco said over scotch at a dark bar in the Meatpacking District. "More than these other kids running around with cameras thinking they're the next Testino."

"I appreciate the opportunity," I said.

Marco studied me over his glass. "You're fucking Sophia Miller."

It wasn't a question, and his tone held no judgment--merely stating a fact.

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Your business. But word travels fast in this industry. You should know that."

"I'm aware."

"Good." He swirled his scotch. "Because I don't care who you fuck on your own time, but I need someone focused when we're working. The moment it affects the job, we have an issue."

"It won't."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "There's a shoot next week. Fragrance campaign for Dior. Vi's the face." He watched me carefully as he said this. "You'll be handling the behind-the-scenes content. Still and video."

I kept my expression neutral despite the surge of anticipation. "Sounds good."

"She's not an easy one to work with," Marco continued. "Brilliant in front of the camera, difficult everywhere else. Especially with new people."

"I've noticed."

"She requested a different team, actually." He said this casually, but I could tell it was significant. "Said she wanted people she's worked with before."

"And yet here we are."

Marco's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Here we are. The client insisted on me, and I insisted on my team." He leaned forward slightly. "Don't make me regret that."

"I won't."

He sat back, apparently satisfied. "One more thing. There's an event tomorrow night. Bulgari launch at The Standard. Industry people, some clients. You should come."

An invitation to step out from behind the scenes. I nodded my thanks, and we finished our drinks discussing technical aspects of the upcoming Dior shoot.

---

The Bulgari event was exactly what I expected--beautiful people in expensive clothes pretending to care about watches and jewelry. I arrived fashionably late, dressed in a black suit tailored just well enough to suggest money without screaming it.

Sophia found me within minutes, wearing a slip dress that left little to the imagination. "You didn't tell me you'd be here," she said, slipping her arm through mine.

"Last-minute invitation from Marco."

Her eyebrows rose. "Marco personally invited you? Things are moving fast."

"Apparently." I guided her toward the bar. "Who else is here?"

"Everyone," she said vaguely, scanning the room. "Oh, Elise and Mariana are over there. And I saw Vi earlier with that banker she's been seeing--Xavier something."

I followed her gaze to where Elise and Mariana stood with a group of models and photographers. No sign of Vi yet.

"Drink?" I asked Sophia.

"Vodka soda, lime."

I ordered her drink and a whiskey for myself. As we waited, Sophia pressed herself against me, making sure everyone nearby could see her territorial claim. I indulged it, my hand resting lightly on her hip.

"You look good tonight," I murmured in her ear. "Good enough to eat."

She shivered slightly, her pupils dilating. "Don't start something you can't finish right now."

I smiled, taking our drinks from the bartender. "Who says I can't finish it?"

Her breath caught. "Here?"

"Not here." I guided her through the crowd toward a hallway off the main space. "But nearby."

The Standard was a maze of dark corners and service corridors if you knew where to look. I led Sophia down a hallway, past the restrooms, to a utility door that was--as I'd anticipated--unlocked. Inside was a small storage room, dimly lit by a single bulb.

"How did you know this was here?" she asked as I closed the door behind us.

"I make it my business to know things." I set our drinks aside and backed her against the wall. "Now, I believe I mentioned something about eating you."

We

I dropped to my knees in front of her, pushing her dress up around her waist. She wore nothing underneath, as I'd suspected from the way the fabric had clung to her.

"Someone could come in," she whispered, even as she widened her stance.

"Better be quiet then."

I buried my face between her thighs without preamble, my tongue finding her center with practiced precision. She gasped, one hand flying to my hair, the other pressed against her mouth to stifle her moans. I worked her methodically, one hand gripping her ass, the other sliding up to pinch her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

Sophia was already wet, had probably been thinking about this all day. It didn't take long before she was trembling, her thighs tightening around my head as she approached her peak. I pulled back just before she could come.

"Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper.

I stood, turning her to face the wall. "Hands flat," I instructed, echoing our first night. "Don't move them."

She complied instantly, pressing her palms against the wall as I unfastened my pants. I positioned myself at her entrance, then paused.

"Tell me what you want," I demanded quietly.

"You," she breathed. "Please, Danny."

"Not good enough." I ran the head of my cock along her slick folds, teasing but not entering. "Be specific."

"I want your cock," she said, her voice strained. "I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please."

I thrust into her in one smooth motion, burying myself to the hilt. She bit back a cry, her body accepting me easily. I established a relentless pace, one hand gripping her hip, the other covering her mouth to muffle her increasingly vocal responses.

"You're going to go back out there," I said into her ear as I fucked her, "with my come inside you. You're going to smile and network and pretend you weren't just bent over in a storage closet, begging for my cock."

She moaned against my hand, her inner walls clenching around me at the words.

"And every time someone asks you how you're doing," I continued, punctuating each word with a thrust, "you'll think about this. About being used. About how much you love it."

Her orgasm hit suddenly, her body convulsing around me as she came. I kept my hand firmly over her mouth, muffling her cries as I continued fucking her through the aftershocks. Only when she began to come down did I allow my own release, driving deep one final time as I emptied myself inside her.

For a moment, we remained frozen against the wall, catching our breath. Then I slowly withdrew, turning her to face me. Her makeup was smudged, her hair mussed, her eyes glazed with satisfaction.

"You're going to ruin me for anyone else," she murmured as I helped straighten her dress.

I smiled, tucking myself away and refastening my pants. "That's the idea."

After making sure she was presentable, I handed her the vodka soda, now watered down from melted ice. "You go first. I'll follow in a few minutes."

She nodded, still looking slightly dazed, and slipped out the door. I counted to sixty, finished my whiskey, then followed, stepping back into the party as if I'd merely stepped away to take a call.

I scanned the room, noting that Marco had arrived and was deep in conversation with several men in expensive suits--clients, most likely. Sophia had rejoined Elise and Mariana, her face flushed but otherwise composed. And there, across the room, was Vi.

She stood with a tall, impeccably dressed man--Xavier, presumably--engaged in conversation with what appeared to be a magazine editor I recognized from masthead photos. Vi wore a black dress that managed to be both modest and arresting, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She looked bored but was hiding it well, nodding at appropriate intervals, her posture perfect.

As if sensing my attention, she glanced in my direction. Our eyes met across the crowded room. This time, she didn't look away immediately. Her gaze lingered, something unreadable in her expression. Then Xavier said something that recaptured her attention, and the moment was gone.

I made my way to Marco, who introduced me to the men he was speaking with--executives from Condé Nast and Hearst, looking for fresh talent for upcoming campaigns. I played my part perfectly--the humble but confident young photographer, grateful for the opportunity to learn from a master like Marco, passionate about the craft. They seemed impressed, exchanging cards, making vague promises about future projects.

Throughout the conversation, I was aware of Vi's location in the room. She moved from group to group, Xavier always at her side, playing the role of industry darling with practiced ease. Not once did she approach where I stood, but twice more I caught her looking in my direction.

The third time it happened, she was alone at the bar, Xavier having stepped away to speak with someone. Our eyes met, and this time, I held her gaze deliberately. After a moment, I excused myself from Marco's group and began making my way toward her.

She watched my approach, her expression giving nothing away. When I reached the bar, I stood beside her, not too close, and signaled the bartender.

"Macallan, neat," I ordered, then glanced at her nearly empty glass. "And another for the lady."

She arched an eyebrow. "Presumptuous."

"Efficient," I corrected. "You were almost finished."

The bartender placed our drinks before us. Vi didn't thank me but did take a sip of the fresh cocktail--a gin martini, I noted.

"Enjoying your evening, Ms. Reyes?" I asked.

"It's adequate." Her voice was cool, precise. "You seem to be making the most of yours."

Something in her tone made me wonder exactly how much she had seen. I smiled slightly. "Networking is important in this industry, I'm told."

"Is that what you call it?" Her eyes flicked briefly to where Sophia stood across the room, then back to me. "Interesting definition."

I took a sip of my scotch, watching her over the rim of the glass. "Does my personal life concern you, Ms. Reyes?"

"Not in the slightest." She turned slightly to face me, her posture still perfect. "I simply find it curious that someone who was adjusting lights last week is now being introduced to publishing executives this week. You move quickly, Mr...?"

"Marshall. Danny Marshall." I extended my hand. "And yes, I suppose I do."

She looked at my hand but didn't take it. After a moment, I withdrew it, unconcerned.

"Marco thinks highly of you," she said, making it sound like an accusation.

"Marco recognizes talent," I replied. "As do you, I imagine."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What does that mean?"

"Simply that someone in your position doesn't waste time with mediocrity." I held her gaze. "Which makes me wonder why you're bothering to speak with me at all."

For the briefest moment, something like surprise flashed across her features. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual mask of indifference.

"Professional courtesy," she said dismissively. "Nothing more."

"Of course." I finished my scotch and set the glass down. "I should let you get back to your date. I'm sure he's wondering where you've gone."

"He's not my date," she said automatically, then looked annoyed at herself for the correction.

I smiled. "My mistake. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Reyes."

I walked away without waiting for her response, feeling her eyes on my back as I rejoined Marco's group. The seed had been planted--not interest, not yet, but awareness. Vi was now conscious of my existence as something more than background scenery. She was puzzled by my rapid rise, maybe even slightly threatened by it.

It was a start.

Later, as the party wound down, I watched as Vi left with Xavier, his hand possessively at the small of her back. Her posture was rigid, her expression closed. A beautiful accessory on the arm of a wealthy man.

Sophia appeared at my side, slightly drunk now, her body warm against mine. "Take me home?" she asked, her meaning clear.

I nodded, guiding her toward the exit. As we waited for the valet to bring my car, she leaned up to kiss me, her mouth hungry, demanding.

Over her shoulder, I saw Vi watching from her own waiting car, Xavier beside her obliviously checking his phone. Our eyes met one final time. I kept kissing Sophia, but I was looking at Vi.

And for the first time, she didn't look away first. I did.

Let her wonder. Let her question. Let the first hairline crack spread.