Oliver Creek is a paradise, a town with a large shifter population rapidly becoming a foodie and artists’ mecca, but I’ve lived here my whole life. As an artist, I find the quiet atmosphere of my home and studio a bit outside of town perfect for my work and my peace of mind. I have an upcoming show in the city, but I need one more piece to make it perfect. So I place an ad for a model on the community web page. I had no idea there were any professional models locally, much less the one who walks in my door and turns my world upside down.
I saved for years to buy my shaved ice cart. Modeling let me put away the necessary funds, but it’s not the job I want for the rest of my life. When I go to make the final payment and pick up my cart, my account has been emptied by my ex who I’d been foolish enough to have as a signer. So it’s not theft, technically. I can sue him, but that will take time. I need some quick money, or they will sell my cart to someone else. And there’s not a lot of modeling in the small, charming town of Oliver Creek. Or, rather, there’s only one job available, and it’s a whole lot less clothed than I’ve done in the past. It might be easier if my polar bear wasn’t chanting Mate from the moment I walk into the studio.
