Grace just smiled.
"Do the photo shoot after all Shayera you should be in the entertainment industry!" Grace said. Shayera thought for a long moment though she was wealthy her money went to different places so in truth she was not wealthy though she made so much money. She tapped her finger on the counter top.
"How much are they paying me?" Shayera asked.
Grace's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She clearly anticipated this line of questioning.
"They're offering a substantial amount, darling," she replied smoothly.
"A million dollars for a single photoshoot. They're practically begging you to do it."
Shayera's eyebrows shot up in surprise. A million dollars for a few hours of her time? It was a tempting offer, even for someone as wealthy as she appeared to be. She tapped her finger thoughtfully on the countertop, considering the proposition. While her businesses generated billions annually, much of that revenue was reinvested back into the companies or channeled into philanthropic endeavors. She didn't hoard her wealth; she used it to build and support the things she cared about.
"And what's the concept?" Shayera asked, her voice betraying a flicker of curiosity despite herself.
Grace's eyes gleamed with excitement as she launched into a detailed explanation.
"It's for a new fragrance campaign—'Nuit Étoilée,' meaning 'Starry Night.' The brand wants to evoke a sense of mystery, allure, and timeless elegance. They envision you as the embodiment of that—a woman who is both powerful and ethereal, enigmatic and captivating."
She paused, allowing Shayera to absorb the information.
"They want a series of images set against the backdrop of the Parisian skyline at night. Think dramatic lighting, flowing gowns, and an air of quiet confidence. It's very… you, darling." Grace emphasized the last word with a knowing smile.
Shayera considered it all. A photoshoot? Stepping into the public eye in such a direct way? It was a departure from her carefully cultivated anonymity.
"Alright I will do it time and place," Shayera said and Grace jumped up with excitement.
Grace let out a squeal of delight, clapping her hands together with unrestrained enthusiasm.
"Yes! Wonderful! They'll be ecstatic!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "They're shooting next week, Tuesday evening, at the rooftop terrace of the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. It's absolutely breathtaking up there—the perfect setting for 'Nuit Étoilée.'"
She paused, her expression turning serious for a moment.
"They've already assembled a dream team—a renowned photographer, a celebrated stylist, and a makeup artist who works exclusively with me."
She beamed at Shayera.
"You'll look incredible."
Shayera nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips. Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself intrigued by the prospect.
The Hôtel Plaza Athénée shimmered with understated elegance, its iconic red awnings a vibrant splash of color against the Parisian twilight. Shayera, deliberately understated in her attire—black leggings, a simple black tshirt, and a comfortable grey sweatshirt—moved through the bustling lobby with an air of quiet confidence. She barely registered the curious glances from other guests, accustomed to being invisible rather than the center of attention.
Grace spotted her immediately, waving enthusiastically from across the room. Shayera offered a brief nod in return and followed Grace through a labyrinth of corridors towards the designated dressing room.
As she stepped inside, Shayera surveyed the scene with a detached amusement. The room was a whirlwind of activity—stylists fussing over fabric swatches, makeup artists prepping their palettes, and assistants scurrying around with trays of refreshments.
The dressing room was a stark contrast to Shayera's minimalist aesthetic. It was a riot of textures and colors, overflowing with luxurious fabrics, shimmering accessories, and an array of beauty products. A fulllength mirror dominated one wall, reflecting the chaotic energy of the room.
A petite woman with fiery red hair and a sharp eye for detail approached Shayera with a warm smile.
"Welcome, Ms. Lafayette," she said, extending her hand.
"I'm Isabelle Moreau, the stylist for this campaign. We're so thrilled to have you."
Shayera shook her hand briefly, her gaze sweeping over the selection of gowns laid out on a nearby rack. They were all stunning—flowing silk creations in deep jewel tones, adorned with intricate embroidery and delicate beading. But none of them felt quite… right.
"These are lovely, let's do the butterfly one," Shayera said.
After she was put on a beautiful pink gown her beautiful red hair was neatly in a bun with some of her curly hair out.
Isabelle Moreau's eyes widened slightly at Shayera's choice. The "butterfly" gown was a relatively new addition to the collection—a daring, avantgarde creation featuring a cascade of iridescent silk panels that mimicked the delicate wings of a butterfly. It was a bold choice, particularly for someone stepping into the spotlight for the first time in years.
"An excellent choice, Ms. Lafayette," Isabelle said, her voice laced with genuine admiration.
"It truly complements your… ethereal quality." She gestured to her team, and they immediately began adjusting the gown to ensure a perfect fit.
As Shayera gazed at her reflection in the fulllength mirror, she couldn't deny that the gown was striking. The shimmering silk seemed to capture and refract the light, creating an otherworldly glow around her.
The photo shoot started and each expression they told Shayera to do she did like a pro for a beginner model she was natural. From sad, joy, laughter, fear, frustration, anger, and love she did everything they told her to do.
The photographer was shocked this woman is such a natural she isn't even scared. The photographer was having so much fun.
The rooftop terrace of the Hôtel Plaza Athénée was a breathtaking spectacle. The Parisian skyline stretched out before them, a tapestry of twinkling lights and historic landmarks. The Eiffel Tower stood sentinel in the distance, its silhouette outlined against the darkening sky. A gentle breeze rustled through the air, carrying with it the scent of rain and distant flowers.
The photographer, a renowned artist named JeanLuc Dubois, circled Shayera with an almost palpable energy. He barked out instructions with a rapidfire cadence, experimenting with different angles and lighting techniques.
"More emotion, Shayera! Let me see that vulnerability! That inner strength!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing across the terrace.
And Shayera delivered. She effortlessly transitioned between expressions—a wistful sadness in her eyes one moment, a radiant joy the next.