Tuesday afternoon.

The transition happens in a blur of activity. The "Creative Team" migrates toward the sparkling blue of the swimming pool, their laughter and the clatter of gear echoing through the house.

Cherie, however, is miles away. She’s finished her yoga, her skin still tingling from a cold shower that did very little to dampen the fire Alexis started in her mind. She’s retreated to the master bedroom, the door closed against the "disorder" of the shoot. The bedroom is bathed in the muted, afternoon light filtering through the heavy curtains. It is a room of "Order"—Chad’s territory—but as you drift through the door, you bring the chaotic, thrumming heat of the living room with you.

Cherie is lying on her side, her silk robe parted slightly at the knee. She is staring at the pages of her medieval romance, but her eyes are static, her mind clearly looping back to Alexis’s whispers and the way Mike’s shirt strained against his chest.