by Cat Schield
Nor had he been in control at Harvard. The circumstances surrounding his father’s disappearance led him to act out. Partying and doing drugs had been a deep dive into his anger that his father had abandoned them all.
“Control,” she murmured, her bitter tone deepening Oliver’s fascination. “What’s that like?”
Control was choice. He’d learned in therapy that everyone responded differently to pressure. Josh had chosen responsibility. Jacob decided to retreat. Oliver’s refuge had been oblivion. Until rehab had taught him a different way to cope.
“I like being in charge.”
Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “I imagine you do.”
He considered the scene between her and the man who’d left. “You should try it.”
“Maybe I should.” She swiveled on the stool, facing him. “How do I start?”
“You might start by dumping the boyfriend.”
“Too late.” Her gaze rolled toward the exit. “He already gave me the heave-ho.”
Oliver greeted the bit of news with a nod while satisfaction fired in his chest. His mood was lightening with each passing second in her company. “His loss is my gain.”
Her eyes widened in surprise at his blunt statement, but she made no move to shut him down.
“Earlier you said you’re a model for now,” he continued, eager to learn more about what made her tick. “Are you thinking of quitting?”
“I’ve been modeling since I was one year old. Twenty-five years in the business is long enough, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “I only modeled for five.”
“And quit at the top of your game,” she pointed out. “How come?”
“Always go out with a bang,” he quipped, before thinking the better of his answer. This woman was contemplating a major life change and deserved better than a flippant reply. “If I kept going with modeling, I’d be dead.”
Rather than shock her, his stark declaration caused her to nod. “It really is a terrible business,” she said in complete seriousness. “Why do so many want to break in?”
He wanted to banish the shadows filling her eyes. Their presence hinted at a painful history.
“Obviously for the fast and easy money,” he said, dark amusement lightening his tone.
“And the short hours,” she added, the corners of her lips twitching into a semblance of a smile.
“And of course,” he added, recalling hundreds of rejections that followed hours and hours spent in casting calls, auditions and go-sees, “the self-esteem boost.”
She dipped her head in recognition. “Nothing like being regarded like a piece of meat.”
They both took a second to absorb the words, and Oliver found himself in sync with someone for the first time in more years than he could count. A second later he noticed that his earlier anger was gone. Conversing with this woman was the distraction he’d been looking for.
“So, if you’re not planning to model in the future, what do you want to do instead?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking crestfallen. “And until I have a plan, I can’t stop modeling.”
The same desire that had prompted him to dump a drink on her date and pay her bar tab swept through him now. Having little patience for weakness, he’d never championed anyone before. He had no explanation for why now and why this woman except that since she’d entered the bar, his mood had improved, and he didn’t want the distraction to end.
“Maybe I can help.”
* * *
The wild pounding of Sammi Guzman’s heart drove the breath from her body. She gaped at Oliver Lowell, astonished how readily her teenage crush flared back to life.
And yet, was it really a surprise? In snug jeans, a white T-shirt and worn bomber jacket, the man exuded raw male charisma and swoon-worthy sex appeal. She’d been more than a little giddy since he’d sat down beside her at the bar. Now, with his penetrating gaze fixed on her, all sorts of reckless urges were awakening.
“Help how?” she wheezed out, unable to believe her luck.
“Let me take your picture.”
Disappointed, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he echoed, a muscle jumping in his square jaw.
Convinced she’d insulted him, Sammi smiled to soften the rebuff. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say, and I’m flattered that the incredibly talented Oliver Lowell wants to photograph me, but I’m looking to escape my modeling career, not turn up the heat on it.”
Long moments passed while he pondered her response in grim silence. She fiddled with the untouched martini Ty had ordered while her nerves jangled and her thoughts raced. The last time she and Oliver had occupied the same room, she’d been seventeen and he hadn’t known she was alive. In the eight years since, he’d added muscle to his tall frame, changing from a willful pretty boy with an aggressive stare and petulant mouth into a gorgeous hunk with guarded eyes and a commanding presence. One thing that hadn’t changed was his reputation for brilliance and a volatile temper.
“This will be a photo just between us.”
His enigmatic words scrambled her emotions. She didn’t understand his interest in her. For months and months after walking in the same runway show, she’d imagined a different sort of encounter with Oliver, where his penetrating blue eyes wouldn’t look past her or through her, but where she would have his full attention. She’d indulged romantic daydreams where he swept her off her feet and overwhelmed her with soul-stealing kisses.
Of course, nothing like that could ever have happened. Even if Oliver had been interested in her, Sammi’s freedom was limited by her mother. A reckless thrill spurred her racing pulse to greater speed. Although Celeste hadn’t relinquished her influence over her daughter, Sammi was no longer a child.
“Is this your version of come up and see my etchings?” she asked, wincing at the awkwardness of her banter.
He arched his left eyebrow, the one split in half by a scar. Far from taking away from the perfection of his face, the flaw enhanced his appeal.
“No,” he said, even as something hot and unsettling flared in his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “This is a legitimate offer.”
“So this isn’t some elaborate come-on?”
He blinked in surprise. From his startled reaction to her question, she’d read his invitation all wrong. Mortified heat stung her cheeks as she contemplated the bad impression he must have of her. First, he’d seen her badgered and then abandoned by Ty. Now she was misunderstanding his offer to help her.
“Maybe I should explain what I’m talking about.”
“That would be great,” she murmured, determined to stop making a fool of herself.
“What I love about being a photographer is how I get to see the world through the lens of my imagination.” Oliver began his explanation slowly, his gaze directed toward the rows of bottles behind the bar, but his attention was turned inward. “After I quit modeling, I went back to what I’d loved to do when I was still in high school.” His features went as still as stone as he reflected on his past. “Initially I started with what I knew, but being a fashion photographer was nearly as boring as being a model. But I needed to eat, so I took the jobs that came my way. To supplement my income I also helped up-and-coming models build their portfolios. It was in those portrait sessions that I discovered my true passion. And those photos led to my work being noticed. Suddenly I was in demand, with offers from magazines to shoot celebrities and other people of note.”
Oliver paused in his story and shook free of his past. He raked the long fingers of his left hand through his wavy dark blond hair and suddenly seemed younger than his thirty-two years.
“While celebrities are accustomed to being photographed, they wear their public personas like a mask. I became interested in what made
them tick.”
“And did you find out?”
“It often took a long time. I took thousands of photos in a session and often wore them down to the point of exhaustion. It becomes difficult to maintain a facade as the mind grows tired.” From the expression on his face, he’d gone to a moment far away from this hotel bar. “The photos I took in the minutes after we wrapped were sometimes the most fascinating pictures of the day. But they weren’t magazine quality. They were for me and my subjects.”
His deep voice had drawn her into his tale, and she caught herself leaning forward to catch his every word. Shocked to realize she’d dropped her guard, Sammi straightened her spine. Her breath gave a little hitch as her retreat caused his gaze to glance off hers.
Wondering what he’d glimpsed in her eyes, Sammi cleared her throat. “So you showed them the photos?”
“I print one, something that captured their essence and revealed their true nature, and deliver it.” Oliver sounded as indifferent as if he discussed the weather. “It’s up to them to decide what to do with the picture.”
Sammi shivered as a fanciful notion took root. Some cultures believed that taking a person’s photograph was like stealing their soul. For someone who’d spent her life in front of a camera, she’d always kept her emotions hidden and portrayed what the client wanted to see. She’d never observed a single image of herself that came close to exposing all she was.
What would Oliver Lowell lay bare?
“Having your greatest vulnerability captured...” Sammi shuddered. “That sounds terrifying.”
He nodded in understanding. “For some it can be.”
Sammi thought this sounded presumptuous of him. No doubt growing up in an affluent family left him indifferent to what others might struggle with. Through this entire encounter her perception of Oliver had been shifting. At first, she’d been thrilled that her teenage crush had finally noticed her, but she was fast discovering that he possessed more layers than she’d imagined.
“So, what do you say?” he prompted, breaking into her troubled thoughts.
“About?”
“Letting me take your photo?”
Sammi thought about the difficult evening that stretched before her once she returned to the apartment she shared with her mother. Explaining that Ty had broken up with her would result in a lengthy lecture on her foolishness. Celeste was obsessed with financial security and saw her daughter’s relationship with a successful ad executive as a positive thing. In fact, without her mother’s pushing, Sammi would have ended things with Ty long before his resentment had led him to grow abusive.
“I don’t know,” she hedged, conscious that she’d already made her decision.
“You can trust me.”
And in a moment of sudden and shocking clarity, Sammi realized she did. “It occurred to me that I probably can’t afford what you normally charge to photograph people. Just out of curiosity, what do you charge for these private portrait sessions?”
“Usually a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Seriously?” She gaped at him. “No offense, but why are people willing to pay so much?”
“Privacy.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “I show them something no one else has captured before. Something they might not wish the world to see.” His self-assurance hummed like a high-voltage wire. Get too close to this man and it might prove fatal. “They are paying for my integrity. No picture I take of them will never find its way into the public domain unless they choose to release it.”
She gusted out a breath. “Well, I guess that means that this photo shoot isn’t going to happen, because I don’t have a hundred thousand dollars to give you.”
“I didn’t expect you did.” He gestured toward her purse. “How much money do you have with you?”
“Let’s see.” Sammi pulled out her wallet. “Twenty-three dollars.” She pulled out the bills and flashed them.
Oliver plucked the bills from her hand and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. “Then for twenty-three dollars, I will take one picture of you.”
“Photographers take hundreds to get the perfect shot,” she said, knowing he was doing her a favor but unable to stop herself from pushing back. Earlier when he’d spoken of capturing the essence of his subjects, she’d been both intrigued and filled with skepticism. Most people guarded their true selves and reluctantly gave up their dark secrets to their shrinks, much less allowed them to be exposed to a camera. “You’re going to do it in one try?”
“Are you challenging my ability as a photographer?”
Understanding dawned. This was the game he played. The challenge that he set for himself with each new client. It wasn’t enough for him to take amazing photographs for magazines. He had to do something that proved he was a master of his craft.
If Oliver seemed annoyed by her continued resistance, he gave no sign. They relocated to a cozy couch in the Grand Bar and Lounge, where Oliver ordered a sampling of small plates and a club soda for himself. Determined to keep a clear head, Sammi followed suit. While they ate, Oliver shared stories of the celebrities he’d photographed, and Sammi described her modeling experiences overseas.
He watched her with rapt focus. Not like a predator, preparing to pounce, but as if she was some rarity and he an avid collector.
“What?” she demanded, equal parts intrigued and terrified beneath his curious stare.
Was she imagining that something was happening between them? She no longer believed his sole purpose in approaching her had been to get her into bed. His mysterious behavior made him impossible to read, and that only enhanced his sex appeal. She wanted to be alone with him, to immerse herself in his kisses and let her body be in control for a change.
Something must’ve shown in her expression, because he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“I find you fascinating.”
The remark...the confession...or maybe the awe in his voice set her on fire. What had once been a teenager’s unrequited crush became the beginnings of a woman’s full-blown obsession.
The air around her grew too thin to breathe. Dizzy, she gripped the sleeve of his leather jacket to steady herself as his warm breath feathered across her cheek. She was on the verge of turning her head and meeting the lips that hovered so near, when he eased back. But even as disappointment flowed into her, Oliver stood and extended his hand to her.
“Let’s get out of here.” There was both command and entreaty in his tone.
“Where to?” Seized by something momentous and exhilarating, she grasped his long fingers and let him draw her to her feet.
“You paid me for a photo.” His deep voice rumbled through her. “It’s time I deliver.”
Neither spoke as they exited the hotel and strolled along the sidewalk. Sammi settled her hands deep into her coat pockets and resisted the urge to take his arm. She wasn’t accustomed to initiating spontaneous acts of affection. As Sammi grew up, her mother had often treated her more like a client than a daughter, claiming Sammi needed to develop a thick skin if she was going to survive in the fashion industry.
He escorted her into a building several blocks from the hotel and directed her toward the elevator. As the car rose, Sammi’s nerves begin to buzz like an angry hive of wasps. By the time the doors opened on the eighth floor, anxiety had completely overwhelmed the feverish attraction that had compelled her to accompany Oliver Lowell to his SoHo loft. What was she doing here? Yet she didn’t flee as he unlocked a door and gestured her inside. Instead, she hid her uneasiness behind a polite, practice smile, and entered the space.
Fifteen hundred square feet of open loft greeted her, looking similar to every photography studio she’d ever worked in. She surveyed the industrial vibe of the place, gaze roaming over brick walls interspersed with large windows, bleached-white walls and gleaming wood floors. The only furnishings were a couple of couches and some
worktables. She spied computers, lighting equipment and a white screen.
Sammi exhaled, releasing the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. “This is your studio,” she said, surprise in her voice even as disappointment hung like a stone in her chest.
“Were you expecting something else?” He arched that sexy split eyebrow and made her heart flutter.
“When we first entered the building, I thought maybe you lived here.”
“I do. Upstairs.” He indicated an open staircase off to the left. “Do you want a tour?”
The offer astounded her. Given how little was known of his private life, she guessed he guarded his privacy zealously. Should she feel honored that he’d offered her a glimpse? But at what price?
“Maybe later.”
Turning her back to him, she set her portfolio and purse on a nearby table and stripped off her jacket while she sorted through her conflicting moods. What had seemed like a daring lark at the Soho Grand Hotel no longer felt inconsequential.
“Although I’m sure your mind is racing,” Oliver said, “I can’t for the life of me tell what you’re thinking.”
That I’m completely out of my depth with you.
Sammi trembled as he strolled toward the worktable that held the cameras. What would he see? What would she betray of herself? Her inner turmoil? Her failures? All her life she’d taken for granted that she was beautiful. When he cracked her psyche and exposed her soul, would she be ugly? What could possibly be more terrifying? She wondered how many of his photographs existed. How many people were strong enough to keep a visual representation of their greatest failures and most shameful secrets?
It was a struggle to keep from rubbing at the goose bumps on her arms. “Where do you want me?” she asked, needing to get this over before her courage failed.
“Where would you feel most comfortable?”
