Winston delivered Ted to the photo lab and introduced him to Chris, said goodbye, and left. Ted was now getting used to the fact that everyone at Trace Morrison Entertainment was an Adonis. Chris Cartwright was tall and buff with piercing blue eyes and long, blond hair that reached to his shoulders.
“Winston’s notes say we’re going to sell you as a farm boy looking for fun in the big city,” Chris said with the patented Trace Morrison employee smile.
There was that innuendo again—Ted was to become a commodity to be marketed and sold.
“Yeah.” Ted hoped his discomfort didn’t register on his face.
Evidently it hadn’t or, if it had, Chris ignored it because he said, “Let’s go to wardrobe and get you outfitted for that Farmer Jones angle. Follow me.”
Chris led the way through the studio wit
