by Ella Steele
“Thanks,” he says, smirking at me, his eyes shifting to my fingers as I pick and flick. When the piece of polish lands on the carpet, we look up at the same time. “I’m thirty-eight by the way
I’m not old, he means, I have a lot I could teach you.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat and lean forward. I’m tactless, crass, and rude. Everything he wouldn’t want, yet he is looking at me like there is nothing he wants more. That gleam in his eye tells me that something is off. I redirect, trying to offend him, “Like I said, not that old.” I pat his knee like he’s a geriatric patient who got lost in the mall parking lot and lean closer, speaking a little too loudly, “I know things are changing fast and that’s why interns are good—they’re young and can help older people in our industry with shifting trends.” I wink at him and lean back in my seat. My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s the most brazen thing I’ve ever said to someone’s face. I slammed his age, ability, and company in one breath.
“Really?” his expression is hard to read. Leaning back, he steeples his fingers and taps them one at a time, his eyes never leaving mine. The room fades away and the only thing I can see are his eyes, dark as sapphires, and glinting like he’s amused—or pissed—I can’t tell which one. Damn it. Why does he hide his reactions so well? It’s obvious that I don’t belong here, and yet, he’s still talking to me.
“Yeah, of course.” I shrug and lean back, draping my arm over the back of the chair. In the back of my mind I’m thinking that he should have ended this already and shown me the door, but he prods me to talk. And the more I talk, the more insane I sound. Pretentious brat doesn’t even come close to some of the trash coming out of my mouth.
“Coming here would be a risk for me though,” I say. “People say you’re losing your edge—that it’s only a matter of time before Le Femme is replaced by someone else.”
“And what do you think?” he taps his index fingers together once and waits for me to answer.
I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants, making up passive-aggressive insults for over twenty minutes. I decide to give him the shove he needs to show me the door. Glancing at my arm draped over the back of the chair, I pause and then look back up into his face. Maintaining a calm exterior is getting harder and harder. I’m lying, blurting out anything I can think of to get him to dismiss me as some arrogant twit.
Looking him square in the face, I answer, “I think you’re already past your prime. I mean, come on. Let’s be honest. Your work’s been slipping for years.” I feel bad saying such a thing. I may not like his subject-matter, but Cole is a good photographer. Saying anything else is a lie, but I need to get him to show me the door and he hasn’t.
When I finish, no one speaks. His expression is neutral even as I verbally bitch-slapped his company, and then him personally. It’s clear that I think he’s a has-been. At least I think it’s clear. Cole just stares at me from behind his palms, occasionally tapping his pointer fingers together.
I stare back.
We watch each other in silence for a few moments. When Cole speaks, he’s looking at the table. Suddenly he moves and pulls a cell out of his pocket and rests it in front of him. The light stubble on his cheeks is distracting me a little. He is easy on the eyes, even if he is nearly twice my age.
Cole’s voice is deep and rich, “You know what I think?” He glances up at me from beneath his brow. He takes his phone and taps it on the table, then continues, “I think that you’re trying to blow this interview—that you don’t want this job.”
CHAPTER 3
I start to say something, but Cole talks over me. Holding up his hand to silence me, he says, “And for the life of me, I can’t understand why. What would make you so incredibly cocky that you would walk in here and tell me to my face that I’m just another old man with a camera?” He’s grinning at me now, like he knows something I don’t. He taps the phone again.
Before I realize I’m doing it, I’m wringing my hands, my gaze lingering on his cell. I have no idea how he figured that out. Arrogant and crazy must look the same in his brain. I didn’t tip my hand. I didn’t blow my cover. At least I don’t think I did, but I’m a big girl. I can admit it when I’m busted.
“I’m sorry,” I say, utterly embarrassed. I can’t look at him. “I didn’t mean to waste your time,” I say softly. I start to stand, but he leans forward, stopping me. I feel the light touch of his hand on my wrist.
“Wait,” he says. I look up at him and our eyes lock. My stomach tingles at his touch before he slides his fingers away. There’s a slight pause before he leans back, saying, “Tell me where else you applied and why you want to work there more.”
“Are you serious?” I blink at him, thinking I’ve already wasted enough of his time.
He nods, “Yes. If you have no desire to work here, then I’m obviously doing something wrong.” He tilts his head back, the corners of his lips seem like they want to pull into a smile, but they don’t.
Since I don’t see the harm, I sit back down. Hesitantly, I say, “I applied at Sottero, Couture, and here. I thought they’d be better suited to teaching me what I want to pursue. Both are wedding photographers. The University requires diversification during the interview process. This was my third interview.” He nods as I speak, his eyes flicking up from the table to my face as he tilts his head and leans back listening to why I didn’t chose Le Femme. “Both Sottero and Couture are self-made. They pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and became two of the best studios in Manhattan and—”
“Both are women,” he interrupts. He says it like it’s a bad thing.
My brows pinch together. I’m not sure where he’s going with this—if he wants to help me or if this is payback for wasting his time. Cole Stevens makes me uneasy. I nod my head slowly, replying, “Exactly. And I think that’s an asset.”
“Not to you,” he says, shaking his head. “You said on your resume that you wanted to be a wedding photographer for the rich,” he lifts the paper and looks at it, before looking back up at me, “Was that true or did you lie about everything?”
My cheeks flame and I squirm in my seat. Regret washes over me. I wish I didn’t listen to Sophia. I should have come in and said what I usually say and leave. Instead I’m sitting here with my stomaching twisting and doing my best not to wring my fingers and dive under the table. Mortification doesn’t look good on me.
I press my lips together and look up at him. At least I try to. I feel foolish for getting caught. My voice is soft and steady, “I didn’t lie. My resume is real. My accomplishments are true. I just felt like I’d do better somewhere that was more...”
“More like what you already do. Anna,” he pushes away my resume and looks straight at me, “internships are to learn. While you might admire Sophia Sottero, her work is lacking. She’s a single medium artist.”
“And Couture? You think her studio is substandard, too?” I ask calmly. Those two studios are owned by women in a man’s industry. I respect them with every fiber of my being. They made something from nothing. They do exactly what I want to do. And this guy is slamming them. Tension lines my arms and trickles down my spine. People like Cole Stevens have no idea how hard it is to go it alone. Everything was handed to him.
I smile, shaking my head softly, and say what I’m thinking, “How can you be so arrogant? How can you dismiss them so quickly? Their work is beautiful.” He starts to answer, but I talk over him, “That is what I want to do—and Couture or Sottero can offer me the training I need to accomplish that dream. I want to show women what they look like on the most important day of their lives. I want them to see how stunning they really are.” My face pinches together, “I don’t want to learn how to turn them into a wet dream.”
He laughs, one short laugh, “You think that’s what I do? Make fantasy girls?”
“Yes,” I say. I don’t know where this streak of confidence is coming from, but he thought he was right and he isn’t. He doesn’t understand and I want h
im to. “You don’t get what I want to do. Women are more than some fantasy. They have brains, and hearts, and bodies that they never think are good enough. I want to show them they are good enough, just the way they are. I want beauty to be defined by the woman, not society. I want a woman to feel powerful and beautiful when she looks at a shot I’ve taken. It’s art, Mr. Stevens.
“Work like yours blindsides everything I want to do—everything I want to be. It’s not about heart with you, it’s about seeing how far can you push the line and still be able to shoot your ads to turn a profit.” I’m practically breathless when I suddenly stop speaking. My jaw dangles open, and I’m shocked that I’ve spoken to him like that. Everything that I hold against him came pouring out of my mouth. I sit frozen and pull my jaw shut.
Cole’s glaring at me now. His eyes flick to his phone. Before I know what’s happening, he flips it on and the screen flares to life. He presses a number and says to me, “This has been a very informative meeting. I had no idea feminists hate me so much,” he says playfully.
I smile and say, “Yes, you did.” Leaning back into my chair, I fold my arms across my chest. I have no idea what made me say it. I meant to be playful, but it came out wrong, “You just didn’t know regular women don’t like you, either.” For a hideous moment, I can feel a flirtatious smile slip across my lips. Cole stops whatever call he’s about to make and stares at me. God, his eyes are so blue.
He blinks once, hard, like he can’t believe I just said that. Neither can I. What the hell is wrong with me?
After a moment, he says, “Actually, you’re one of the only applicants who spoke frankly with me this week. I may not have conducted their interviews, but I did speak to each of them briefly. It’s been a blinding array of endless flattery. Your apparent distaste is refreshing.” I smirk at him, but don’t reply. I don’t trust my mouth anymore. My head is spinning and there is nothing I want more than to get out of there. Cole’s eyes drift over me, lowering to my shoulders and quickly sweeping to my shoes before he looks me in the eye and asks, “So, tell me. The clothes—do you usually dress like that? Or was that just for me?”
A lopsided grin spreads across my lips. My voice is soft, and I can’t look at him when I say it. In hindsight, listening to Sophia was definitely a mistake.
“No, the deranged clown look was just for you. It’ll give you something to talk about for a while...” my voice trails off. Cole doesn’t seem amused. I feel bad and stand to leave, holding out my hand. The phone is next to his ear and I can tell he’s on hold. “No hard feelings, I hope.”
Cole stands, presses the phone to his ear with his shoulder, and takes hold of my hand, “None.”
A smile lights up his face. I glance at our hands. He hasn’t released me. Something feels strange, surreal, like this moment matters more than any other. His pink lips are parted slightly, and Cole breathes slowly, gazing into my eyes. I pull away, and my hand slips from between his fingers. A shiver runs through my shoulders and into my chest, stealing my breath.
Cole watches me, like he’s completely aware of my reaction to his touch. His eyes pin me in place. For that moment, I don’t want to move…I don’t want to breathe. I don’t know what I want, but something is pulling inside of me, demanding that I don’t walk away from this man. Cole stands close enough to me that I can feel his breath on my cheek. When I drop his hand, he steps toward me. Every inch of my body reacts.
A voice rings in his ear breaking the moment. Startled by the draw to Cole Stevens, I ignore whatever happened. I don’t even want to think about it. Goosebumps cover my skin and I rub my hands over my arms quickly to smooth them down.
Nodding at Cole, I turn and start walking toward the door, taking it as a sign that I’ve been dismissed and that there are hard feelings. Damn. I didn’t want that. As I lift my hand to the knob, I look over my shoulder. Cole doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t say good-bye. Inwardly, I cringe. This is one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made. I can feel it and yet I have no idea what kind of impact this one event will have on my life. I twist the knob and pull the door open.
Talking to the person on the phone, Cole says, “Finally. What were you, sleeping? Yeah, well, I’ve been here chatting with Anna Lamore.”
My eyes go wide and I nearly trip over my sparkling feet as I come to a stop, and look back at his broad shoulders. He turned away from me, but I can see the grin on his face when he turns his head. “What are you doing?” I whisper, panicked, and walk in front of him. An insane thought crosses my mind—I could jump on his back and take the phone—but I can’t. Whatever he’s doing is already done. He already said my name, told someone I was here. My stomach sinks and my hands shake. This feels bad. Whatever he’s doing throws me into a full blown anxiety attack.
Cole covers the phone with his hand, “Talking to your dean.” He uncovers the phone, “Yes, she is.”
Terror courses through me as my eyes go wide. If he tells the dean what I did, the university will be pissed. Attending this interview and making sure Cole didn’t want me still counted as an interview, right?
A thought takes hold and makes me feel sick—this could mess up my chances with Sottero.
For a moment, I wonder if Sophia did this to me on purpose. It could have been a cruel trick on her part, but for the life of me I can’t see why. If she intended on offering me the internship, why would she encourage me to do something to Cole that would warrant this kind of reaction? She knew him. They worked together. She told me these things, the clothes, the kid in need of a serious attitude adjustment, would make his people show me the door faster than I could blink. Instead, Cole grabbed the phone and called my dean.
My stomach twists when his eyes lock with mine. A mischievous grin spreads across Cole’s lips, he looks sweet and playful, but I’m too on edge to notice, “She told me that I’m a washed-up, sexist, has-been and that she has absolutely no intention of working for me. Yeah,” he laughs, “she really did. So I wanted to make sure that I got hold of you first.” His voice turns serious. The smile fades from his face, “Tell Sottero and Couture that they’re too late. I hired Anna this morning.”
CHAPTER 4
I stand there like I’ve been sucker-punched. My ears are ringing with his words, but I can’t believe Cole did it. For a few moments after he hangs up, I just stare at him wide-eyed. My mind is reeling, trying to determine why he did that.
I’m near tears. “How could you?” I gasp, and fold my arms across my body. I fall back into the chair, completely deflated.
My shot with Sophia Sottero is gone. In one phone call Cole changed my future. Instead of being the elegant wedding photographer to the famous, I am going to be something else, something that will ruin my career before it starts. Shocked, I glare up at him. Cole is leaning against the side of the table. His gaze rests on my face, waiting for me to react. I try to hold everything in check, but I don’t understand. Why did he do that? Rage floods through my tiny body.
Rising to my feet, I step toward him. My hands are balled into fists at my sides, shaking, “How could you do that? You had no right!”
Cole remains relaxed, like he pisses women off all the time, like my temper-tantrum is theatrics, but it isn’t. He folds his arms across his chest, “I did you a favor, Lamore. The last thing the world needs is another wedding photographer—”
I cut him off, shoving my finger into his chest. “That wasn’t your decision to make!”
“The hell it was,” his eyes are cold, his expression rigid. He grabs my finger and flings my hand away. “Who’s the arrogant ass here, Anna? Who walked in here looking like a side-show act? That was you. Remember?”
I try to control my temper and force back tears that are building behind my eyes. “It’s not the same thing,” I say coolly. “I had no intention of working here. Ever. You know what the University puts us through. You’ve had interns before! Maybe I didn’t approach it right, but I didn’t deserve this. And just because you made one call, doesn’t me
an I’ll work here.” Glaring up at him with barely contained fury I continue, “I’ll call Sophia myself and tell her that I’m still on the market—that your claim with the dean was an attempt to steal me away from her.”
A cold dark expression crosses his face. His brow rises slightly, and his arms unfold. He leans toward me, making my heart race faster, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Is that a veiled threat?”
He leans closer to my face, his warm breath flowing across my lips, “No, it’s a plain old overt threat. If you don’t work here, you won’t work anywhere. New York moves in social circles that you aren’t a part of. One word from me will keep you on the outside.” He pulls away, the tension in his jaw easing slightly.
Fury rages in my eyes. Every dream I had was just ripped apart. I make a false start and then press my lips together and shake my head. When I steady my voice, I say, “So this is what I get for screwing with you and wasting your time? This is my punishment for messing with the famous Cole Stevens?”
“Something like that,” he replies before pushing off the table and standing in front of me. “Don’t screw with things that you can’t control.” The fire in his eyes softens.
Rage flows through me, engulfing every muscle, every fiber of my body. The floodgates behind my eyes are ready to overflow, but I try to hold them back as I stare him down, shaking. A tear escapes from the corner of my eye and streaks down my cheek. His gaze shifts, watching it fall. Wiping it away with the back of my hand, I steady my voice. It is deep and dangerous, my rage barely in check, “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
