“Chin up. Just like that—hold it.”

Click.

Jordan lowered the camera slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. The late afternoon sun spilled through the studio windows, catching the soft glow of your skin — which, of course, he was responsible for. But this wasn’t one of his shoots. Not really. This was for you.

Your new product line. Your business. Your face.

“You’re gonna be the reason this brand takes off, you know that?” he murmured, adjusting the lens. “Not just the product. Not the logo. You.”

You smiled shyly, brushing a hand over your hair. “You really think so?”

He clicked again before you could drop your gaze. “Don’t move. That look right there? That’s the one.”

You were trying to stay professional, trying not to let your heart pound every time he praised you — but it was hard. Especially with him in a worn black tee, sleeves rolled, camera strap slung around his neck like he belonged in a damn magazine himself.

Jordan moved in closer, the camera forgotten for a moment.

“I’ve worked with models who can’t pull off what you just did without even trying,” he said, softer now. “That light in your eyes? That’s all you.”

You blinked at him, surprised. He leaned in, brushing a stray lash from your cheek.

“Let me help you build this,” he whispered. “Not just the brand. Everything.”

And the way he looked at you — like your future was already in focus — made it hard not to believe him.