Objectified: E6 - "double Exposure"

Present Day - Bryant House Hotel

"Good morning, Mr. Marshall."

I looked up from my equipment case to find Vi standing in the doorway of the Bryant House suite, her expression perfectly professional, not a hint of our confrontation at HAZE visible in her composed features. She wore a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail--the embodiment of understated elegance.

"Good morning, Ms. Reyes," I replied, matching her formality. "I trust you slept well?"

"Adequately." She entered the room, maintaining careful distance as she surveyed the space. "I see you've already started setting up."

"I like to be thorough." I continued unpacking lighting equipment, deliberately casual. "The Bryant House team will be here at ten to discuss creative direction."

Vi nodded, moving to the window to examine the view--Manhattan skyline framed in morning light, perfect for the luxury aesthetic the campaign required. Her back was to me, shoulders tight with tension despite her outward composure.

"We should discuss your approach," she said finally, still facing the window. "Your... vision for this shoot."

"Of course." I straightened, watching her reflection in the glass. "Though I was under the impression you preferred to maintain strict professional boundaries between us."

She turned, eyes narrowed slightly. "This is professional, Danny. The campaign brief mentioned 'intimacy' and 'authenticity.' I need to understand what that means to you, specifically."

I smiled, noting the slight color rising in her cheeks. "I think you already know."

Her jaw tightened. "If you're referring to Milan--"

"I'm referring to your voyeuristic tendencies," I interrupted quietly. "The ones you indulged that night at HAZE, long before Milan."

Vi froze, color draining from her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" I moved closer, stopping just beyond her personal space. "The platinum wig didn't disguise you as well as you thought. I knew it was you, watching me with Jenna in the storage room. I knew then, and I know now."

Her breath caught, pupils dilating despite the bright morning light. "That's absurd. I never--"

"You stood in the shadows by the supply shelves," I continued, voice low and certain. "Thought you were hidden, but I caught your reflection in the metal cabinet. Saw you watching us. Saw your expression."

Vi's professional mask slipped, genuine shock replacing practiced indifference. "How long have you known?"

"From the moment it happened." I held her gaze steadily. "Did you think it was coincidence that I positioned Jenna exactly as I did? That I made sure you had the perfect view?"

Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed quickly by outrage. "You knew I was there. You orchestrated the whole thing."

"Not the whole thing," I corrected. "Just... adapted to the circumstances once I realized my audience included you."

Vi's breath quickened, anger and something darker flickering across her features. "Why are you bringing this up now?"

"Context for our current situation." I gestured to the hotel suite around us. "You asked about my vision for this shoot--for 'intimacy' and 'authenticity.' I thought you might appreciate knowing how long I've been crafting that particular narrative."

She took a step backward, bumping against the window. "You're implying--"

"I'm stating facts," I interrupted gently. "That night at HAZE was the first crack in your perfect facade. The first time I saw genuine desire beneath all that careful control."

Vi shook her head, denial automatic despite the evidence of her own reaction. "You're delusional."

"Then why are you trembling?" I asked, echoing our conversation from three nights ago.

Before she could respond, my phone chimed--the Bryant House team, arrived early for our creative meeting. Vi seized the interruption like a lifeline, composure snapping back into place with practiced efficiency.

"We should continue this discussion later," she said, voice steady despite the flush still visible on her cheeks. "After all, we have five days together. Plenty of time to... clarify memories."

She moved past me toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "For the record," she added without looking back, "if what you're suggesting were true--and I'm not saying it is--it would only prove that you've been manipulating situations from the beginning. That's hardly a revelation I find flattering."

"And yet," I replied softly, "here you are. Ready to work one-on-one with the man you claim to find so manipulative. Interesting choice, Vi."

She stiffened but didn't respond, pulling open the door to greet the arriving creative team with a smile that revealed nothing of our exchange.

As introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged, I watched Vi slip seamlessly into her professional persona--charming, engaged, the perfect collaborative partner. No one would guess the turmoil beneath that polished surface, the memories suddenly dragged into daylight after months of careful burial.

Memories of a night that had changed everything, though neither of us had fully recognized it at the time...

## Three Months Earlier - HAZE Nightclub

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Vi stared at the platinum blonde wig in her hands, then back at André, HAZE's floor manager, disbelief etched across her features.

"It's the uniform tonight," André explained, not for the first time. "All bottle service girls in platinum wigs and silver dresses. The client's paying double our normal rate for the fantasy."

"I'm not a 'bottle service girl,'" Vi reminded him through gritted teeth. "I'm a thirty-percent owner of this establishment."

André sighed, apparently prepared for this argument. "And as you frequently remind me, you insist on working one night a month to 'stay connected to the operation.' Tonight happens to be that night, and tonight happens to have a specific theme."

"I could reschedule," Vi suggested, eyeing the wig with undisguised distaste.

"You could," André agreed. "But then you'd miss the investors' meeting at 10 PM, which I believe was your primary reason for choosing tonight."

Vi's jaw tightened. The meeting was non-negotiable--Xavier had arranged it specifically to discuss expansion funding, and several potential investors were flying in exclusively for this. Her presence was required both as a partner and as the club's most marketable asset.

"Fine," she conceded finally. "But I'm only doing VIP section. And I'm leaving immediately after the meeting."

"Of course," André agreed smoothly. "Though I should mention the client reserved all of VIP section 3. Very high profile. Very generous tipper."

Vi nodded absently, already mentally calculating how to maintain her dignity while wearing what amounted to a Barbie costume. The demeaning aspect wasn't lost on her--the wig and uniform would effectively render her anonymous, just another interchangeable pretty girl serving overpriced alcohol to men with too much money.

It was precisely what she'd spent her entire career fighting against--being reduced to aesthetics, stripped of individuality and intellectual identity. Yet here she was, agreeing to it for the sake of business.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

In the staff changing room, she examined the silver dress with critical eyes. The material was higher quality than she'd expected--actual silk lamé rather than cheap polyester--but the cut was exactly as revealing as she'd feared. Low back, high hem, strategic cutouts that would showcase more skin than fabric.

"First time in uniform?"

Vi turned to find a girl watching her with knowing amusement--mid-twenties, curves in all the right places, full lips curved in a sympathetic smile. Her name tag read "Jenna," though Vi had to squint to see it, given its placement directly at breast level.

"Is it that obvious?" Vi asked, managing a tight smile.

Jenna laughed, the sound warm and uninhibited. "Only because you look like you're contemplating murder." She adjusted her own platinum wig, somehow making the synthetic hair look natural against her tanned skin. "It's not so bad once you get used to it. The guys tip better when we all match, for some reason."

"I'm not concerned about tips," Vi replied automatically.

"Right," Jenna said, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You're Vi. The owner." She extended a hand. "I'm Jenna. Been here about eight months."

Vi accepted the handshake, noting the girl's firm grip. "Nice to meet you. Sorry about..." she gestured vaguely at the uniforms. "This wasn't my idea."

"No worries. It's actually fun sometimes, being someone else for a night." Jenna's smile turned conspiratorial. "Plus, the platinum makes everyone look twice. It's like having temporary superpower."

Despite herself, Vi found Jenna's enthusiasm oddly comforting. There was something refreshingly direct about the girl, without the calculated positioning that characterized most industry interactions.

"Need help with the wig?" Jenna offered, nodding at the platinum mass still clutched in Vi's hand.

"Please," Vi agreed, relieved. "I've never worn one before."

Jenna took charge, efficiently pinning Vi's natural hair flat against her head before settling the wig in place. Her fingers moved with practiced skill, adjusting and securing until the transformation was complete.

"There," she declared, turning Vi toward the mirror. "What do you think?"

Vi stared at her reflection, momentarily disoriented by the stranger looking back at her. The platinum framed her face in a way that emphasized its angles, making her eyes seem larger, her lips fuller. Combined with the silver dress, the effect was otherworldly--less Barbie, more alien goddess.

"It's... different," she admitted.

"It's hot," Jenna corrected with a grin. "Trust me, I know these things." She checked her watch. "We should get out there. Andre gets twitchy if we're late for the pre-shift meeting."

Vi followed, still adjusting to the sensation of synthetic hair against her neck, the unfamiliar weight of it as she moved. The silver dress fit better than expected, though she found herself walking differently to accommodate its revealing cut.

The rest of the bottle service team was already assembled near the main bar--twelve women, all now identical in platinum wigs and silver dresses, a vision of replicated beauty that Vi found deeply unsettling. She tried to imagine what Marco would say about the visual--something about commodification of femininity, probably, or the uncanny valley of manufactured sameness.

André outlined the evening's expectations, emphasizing the high-profile nature of the client in VIP section 3. "This is someone with major industry connections," he explained, glancing meaningfully at Vi. "Treat them accordingly. Jenna, Vi, you'll handle their table exclusively."

Vi raised an eyebrow at being assigned directly to a table, but said nothing. Better to handle one high-maintenance client than circulate through the general VIP areas where she might be recognized despite the wig.

"Who is it?" Jenna asked, voicing the question Vi had been about to ask herself.

André consulted his tablet. "The reservation is under 'Marshall.' That's all I know."

Vi froze, the name registering like a physical shock. It couldn't be. Not here, not tonight, not when she was dressed like... this.

"Something wrong?" Jenna asked, noticing her reaction.

"No," Vi said automatically, forcing her expression back to neutral. "Just surprised. It's an unusual reservation time."

It could be coincidence, she told herself. Marshall wasn't an uncommon name. There was no reason to assume it was him specifically, out of all the Marshalls in New York.

Except that she knew it was. The same certainty that had plagued her since first seeing him at LENS Studios--an instinctive recognition that defied logical explanation.

The club was already filling as they completed final preparations, the VIP sections cordoned off until their designated occupants arrived. Vi moved through her tasks with mechanical precision, mind racing despite her outward calm. If it was Danny--and she was increasingly convinced it was--what was he doing here? How had he secured a prime VIP section? And most importantly, why tonight of all nights?

Her questions were answered approximately one hour later, when the main doors opened to admit a group that immediately commanded attention. Danny led the way, followed by a entourage of beautiful people--models, photographers, what appeared to be several fashion editors Vi recognized from events.

Sophia was conspicuously absent, Vi noted with surprise. The two had been inseparable at industry functions lately, Sophia practically draped across Danny at every opportunity. Her absence tonight was... interesting.

"Damn," Jenna murmured beside her. "That's our VIP table? The hot one in front looks like he could eat someone alive."

Vi said nothing, watching as Danny navigated the crowd with practiced ease. He wore a simple black button-down and dark jeans, the understated outfit somehow emphasizing his presence rather than diminishing it. His companions orbited around him like satellites, drawn to whatever gravitational force he exuded.

"Have you seen him before?" Jenna pressed, clearly intrigued. "He looks familiar."

"He works in fashion," Vi replied noncommittally. "Photography."

"That explains it. I probably served him before." Jenna straightened her wig, adjusted her cleavage. "Well, let's go earn those tips. Follow my lead if you're nervous."

Vi almost laughed at the absurdity--Viridiana Reyes, being coached on how to approach someone like Danny Marshall. But the anonymity of the wig was oddly liberating. Tonight, she wasn't Vi the model, Vi the intellectual, Vi the carefully controlled professional. She was just another bottle service girl, indistinguishable from the others in her platinum disguise.

Perhaps it was better this way. Danny wouldn't recognize her--why would he look twice at a nameless server?--and she could observe him from behind this unexpected mask.

The VIP section was already prepared--premium bottles displayed on ice, glasses arranged, subtle lighting creating an atmosphere of exclusive luxury. Danny and his group settled in, claiming the space with casual entitlement. Vi noticed how he positioned himself with his back to the wall, perfect vantage point to survey both his companions and the club beyond.

"Welcome to HAZE," Jenna greeted them with practiced warmth. "I'm Jenna, and this is..." she hesitated, glancing at Vi.

"Viridiana," Vi supplied, the full name feeling strange on her tongue after years of using the shortened version professionally. "We'll be taking care of you tonight."

Danny's eyes flicked to her face, a brief assessment that revealed nothing. If he recognized her, he gave no sign of it. "Thank you," he said simply. "We'll start with the Armand de Brignac. Two bottles."

Vi noted the casual way he ordered the champagne--at $2,500 per bottle, it was a statement of both wealth and status. Not the behavior of a photographer's assistant struggling to make connections.

Jenna handled the service with practiced efficiency, Vi following her lead as they uncorked and poured, their synchronized movements part of the performance expected in VIP. Danny accepted his glass with a nod of thanks, his attention already returning to his companions--a heated discussion about some upcoming shoot in Paris.

As the night progressed, Vi settled into the rhythm of bottle service, the familiar choreography of attentive but unobtrusive presence. Jenna was clearly experienced, anticipating needs before they were expressed, maintaining just the right balance of friendliness and professional distance.

What Vi hadn't anticipated was how Jenna worked the table--the subtle touches as she leaned past clients to retrieve empty glasses, the carefully calculated smiles, the way she bent at the waist rather than the knees when picking up dropped napkins. It was performance art, Vi realized, a carefully calibrated seduction that never quite crossed into inappropriate territory.

And the clients responded, tips growing increasingly generous as alcohol flowed and inhibitions lowered. All except Danny, who maintained the same polite distance throughout, neither encouraging nor discouraging Jenna's practiced charm.

The dynamic shifted when one of Danny's companions--an Italian stylist Vi vaguely recognized from Fashion Week--made a more direct move, his hand sliding deliberately across Jenna's waist as she served him. She deflected gracefully, a practiced maneuver that appeared to welcome the touch while simultaneously evading it.

"Hands to yourself, Antonio," Danny said quietly, his tone light but with an undercurrent of authority. "We're guests here, not customers at a strip club."

The stylist withdrew his hand immediately, looking chastened. "Of course, of course. No disrespect intended, bella," he added to Jenna with an apologetic smile.

Vi watched this exchange with interest, noting how easily Danny had established control without raising his voice or making a scene. It was the same quiet authority she'd observed at photo shoots and events--a natural command that people instinctively responded to.

"Thank you," Jenna said to Danny, genuine appreciation in her voice.

He nodded once, his expression neutral. "Basic respect shouldn't require thanks."

The investors' meeting came and went, Vi slipping away briefly to change into more appropriate attire for the business discussion before returning to her bottle service role. Xavier had been too preoccupied with the potential investors to notice her unusual uniform, for which she was grateful. The idea of explaining why she was dressed identically to a dozen other women was not appealing.

By midnight, the VIP section had evolved into something approaching a private party. Additional bottles had been ordered, more people had joined Danny's group, and the music had shifted to something darker and more insistent. Vi moved through it all with mechanical efficiency, maintaining her disguise, watching Danny from behind the platinum mask.

She noticed how others gravitated toward him, how conversations paused when he spoke, how eyes followed his movements. It was subtle but unmistakable--the natural charisma she'd first detected at LENS now fully blossomed in this social setting.

Jenna, meanwhile, had clearly developed a fascination with their primary client. Vi observed her increasing efforts to engage Danny's attention--leaning closer when serving him, lingering a moment longer than necessary, allowing her hand to brush his when passing drinks.

None of it seemed to register with him. His responses remained polite but detached, acknowledgments without encouragement. It was the opposite of his usual approach, based on what Vi had observed with Sophia and heard about his other conquests. The apparent indifference seemed to intensify Jenna's determination, each rebuff fueling her next attempt.

"He's not interested," Vi found herself saying during a brief moment alone with Jenna at the service bar.

Jenna looked surprised, then defensive. "What makes you say that?"

"Body language," Vi replied. "He maintains the same distance with you that he does with the bartender or security. Professional, not personal."

"Maybe he's just discrete," Jenna suggested, though uncertainty had crept into her voice. "Or playing hard to get."

Vi didn't argue further, recognizing the futility. Jenna had created a narrative--challenge, conquest, validation--and wouldn't easily abandon it.

The situation escalated when one of Danny's companions mentioned Sophia, speculating loudly about why she wasn't present tonight. "Trouble in paradise?" the woman asked, her tone suggesting she hoped the answer was yes.