It was late evening when Ashley stumbled into his apartment and dropped his bags next to the door. The California shoot had gone well, but the flight back had been a nightmare. Delay after delay had thrown the departure time off. To make matters worse, he had a shoot scheduled for tonight. Ashley lurched to the bedroom and glared at the clock next to the bed.
"Shit. I should call Will." Ashley scrubbed at his face. "Ah, man. Later—I'll do it later. I've got to get some sleep."
The screech of the alarm startled Ashley awake. Prying his eyes open, he checked the time and threw an arm over his eyes, groaning. Only three hours before the photo shoot was scheduled to start. Mobly, the crazy ass photographer who was doing the shoot, wanted it done at night so the moonlight could caress his skin while he held this stupid little bottle of cologne.
"Of all the dumb ass things I've heard of. Jesus, just because the cologne is called Moonlight doesn't mean there has to be real moonlight." Ashley rolled out of bed and stumbled to the shower. His directions were not to shave so he had a nice five o'clock shadow.
Glancing in the mirror, he frowned. "Well, I certainly have that, now don't I? Along with some very nice bags under the eyes. Dammit. Hope they hired a good make-up artist. I'm gonna need it."
Thanks to his heritage, he had the deeply tanned skin people paid ungodly amounts of money for. The same heritage gifted him with straight, coal black hair, high cheek bones, and a strong jaw.
The photo shoot in California had been very long and tiring, but very profitable. Now, he had another one. And he had to deal with the ultimatum Will gave him right before he left. He still had no idea what he wanted or what he was going to say to Will.
With a sigh, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "If they weren't paying through the nose for my face to sell this crap, I would've turned them down. God, I'm exhausted."
He showered quickly. Throwing on a pair of old ripped jeans and a blue T-shirt, he crammed his feet into biker-style boots. The drive alone would take close to an hour; the shoot was located in a field out in the middle of nowhere. A field, for God's sake. There would be nothing out there but a whole lot of nothing. The icing on the cake was the photographer, Mobly. He was an ass who hated the very air he breathed. Probably because he came on to Ashley and got turned down. The guy was a sleaze. Rumor was the photographer had a fetish—for black-haired, blue-eyed male models. Ashley was one of the few men who wasn't a notch on the guy's bedpost, and he was damn proud of the fact. He hadn't needed to sleep his way to the top, his looks got him there.
Dressed, he glanced at his watch. "Time to get a move on."