by Jean Oram
Finian sidled closer, his breath warm on her shoulder. She had to fight the urge to lean into him, to pull comfort from his presence.
“I should hate you, you know that?” she murmured.
“Why?” He looked hurt.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
“You’re a complicated duck, Hailey.”
She stared at him. There was just something about him that not only messed her up inside, but also calmed her. Maybe she needed to stop fighting it. Whatever it was.
“Come work for me,” he said.
“What?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry?” She shook her head. It sounded an awful lot like Mr. Movie Star had just offered her some sort of job.
He gave her chin a gentle chuck. “You Canadians apologize a lot.”
“I’m sorry, but we do not.” She placed her hands on her hips and squared off. Realizing she’d apologized, she let out a soft laugh, her anger gone like a drop of water falling on a hot skillet. Her laughter turned into guffaws. “Are you the only handsome and charming one in your family or are there others?”
The angles and shapes of his face were arranged as though someone had the camera in mind when they’d created him. If the whole family looked anything like him, a group portrait would be stunning. A photographer’s wet dream. Not that he was asking her to be his personal photographer. He probably had something menial in mind, such as answering fan mail or styling his hair.
“Are you asking if I have a brother? Because you never answered my question,” Finian said, his eyes serious.
“Work for you?” Her laughter bumped up a notch.
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, his broad shoulders widening as though the indignation of her laughing at him was puffing him up. “I saw the pictures you took of the turtle. If you can do that for an ancient-looking reptile, I can only imagine what you could do for a guy like me.”
He gave her a cocky grin, but his eyes were flat. There was something there that looked an awful lot like longing playing peekaboo behind his amusement and teasing. But it couldn’t be. Guys like him didn’t long for women like her. What the hell kind of trick was he trying to pull?
He was confusing. One minute lighthearted. Then it was as if she’d done something wrong joking about a brother. And now there was longing. And hurt. Fear of rejection.
Hailey didn’t have time for mind games and men jerking her heart around.
She cast her eyes downward, giving his crotch a shrewd assessment. “I’m sorry, but if you want to get back together with your ex-girlfriend, you’re going to have to take selfies. As I’ve said, I’m not that kind of photographer.”
* * *
Hailey pretended she didn’t notice Finian come up to her car, laughing at the way she’d stalked off. Instead, she kept her head bent, reading text messages from her network stating they’d seen Finian near the lake here in Bala. Her system was working even if she seemed to be invisible to everyone, considering she was out here with him.
And why did that make her feel so frustrated, angry, and put out?
And why did she just act like a raving bitch and intentionally misinterpret his sincere job offer? What was wrong with her?
Finian’s shadow crossed her lap and she flicked off her phone’s screen. She gripped the steering wheel as he crouched beside the car, arms crossed on the door frame. He smelled good. Even under the marshy scent.
She blinked back tears. Why did he have it so easy? Why couldn’t it be her?
Ignoring his presence, she started the car, its power steering belt squealing. Add another item to her list of things she couldn’t afford.
“Can I tell you what I desire?” he asked her.
“There are 1-900 numbers for that.”
She bit her lip and blinked long and hard. Resisting his appeal was turning her into a bitch. She needed to stop slapping him, stop saying things that weren’t like her, and cease running away from him every time they got close.
She turned to face him. He looked amused, if anything.
“Why don’t you think I’m a bitch?”
“Who said I don’t?”
“You continue to talk to me, and yet every time we meet I say something awful and run away or else slap you.”
He shrugged, his arms still crossed on her door. “I’m from Hollywood. Standard behavior.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Hailey, you’re not a bitch. It’s me, okay?” He looked away, his eyes dark. “Don’t go twisting yourself into knots for a big jerk.”
“See?”
“What?”
“Useless jerks don’t say nice things or care about other people’s feelings.”
“They don’t?”
“Nope.”
“All the more reason I need your help, don’t you think?”
He smiled, his eyes lighting with humor. No matter what she said to him or how many times she’d slapped him, he responded with forgiveness or a smile. It made her want to crawl out of her car and hug him just for being him.
Heaving a sigh as if she was doing him a massive favor, she said, “Okay, fine. What’s the deal? What do you desire?”
She held on to her steering wheel for support and turned to face him when he didn’t speak right away. The proximity of his bright eyes was too much. The way they shone and delved into her soul, whispering to her secrets, coaxing her into feeling okay…it was unnerving.
She didn’t want to see that unless she was behind her camera, protected.
“What? What do you want from me?”
“I have a feeling you can give me something the rest can’t, Hailey.”
CHAPTER 8
Freshly showered and wearing clean, dry clothes that he couldn’t help wishing was an Armani suit to wow Hailey, Finn climbed into her old car, after securing a bag of wardrobe changes in her trunk. He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to take a few head shots. It wasn’t his full-on paparazzi proposal, but that could come soon enough. He needed to play this through, slow and sure.
He smiled to himself. There must be some dazzle left in his crooked grin, after all.
Plus two birds, one stone. New pics for Derek to hand out to his peeps, and Finn got to keep Hailey close enough that maybe he could finally figure out which button to push to get her to play paparazzi.
He frowned as he buckled his seat belt. Of course Hailey hadn’t played paparazzi yet. Around her he’d been like a puppy asking for a belly rub. And when he’d stirred her up enough to make her slap him, he was simply being a jerk and not a celebrity worth noting.
“Are you paparazzi?” he asked.
She choked in surprise. “Am I what?”
“You know.” He made camera clicking motions. “Paparazzi.”
“Do I look like I am?”
“No, not really.” He slouched in his seat and took in her slight frame. Her lower lip protruded in a pout as a pickup truck pulled out in front, almost cutting her off. The determination in her eyes as she floored the rattling car in order to pass the guy surprised Finn and he let out a chuckle. She fixed her attention on the rearview mirror and kept the car pushing up a hill.
“Good.” She finally answered when they reached the top.
“You don’t want to make a lot of money?”
“Everyone wants to make a lot of money,” she said quietly.
Finn ran a hand over the dusty, faded dashboard. “You need a better ride. I can practically see the ground whizzing by through the floorboards. And the way this thing is rattling, you’d think it was a space shuttle breaking through the atmosphere.”
“Some of us have to actually break a sweat in order to earn something like a car.”
“What’s with that chip on your shoulder? Do you think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth? Because I wasn’t.”
She flicked her attention to him for a moment before returning it to her new favorite, the rearview mirro
r.
“Well, you sure act like you were.”
“That’s because I’m somebody special.” He winced and inhaled the car’s dusty smell. He couldn’t stop being a jerk, could he? Outside, tall trees and waving grass fell away suddenly as they blasted through an impossibly pink granite rock cut. “I’m sorry I sound like an entitled prick.”
Hailey’s attention flicked to her mirrors again. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For what I almost said.”
“Do you always look this antsy and serious when you drive?”
“Only when I’m trying to ditch Austin Smith.”
Finn turned to glance behind them. “Good luck. You’ll never lose him.”
“You’ve obviously been hanging out with the wrong kinds of drivers.” She raised an eyebrow, a naughty smirk dancing across her lips, and his blood raced, ready for action.
She floored the old car, rocketing around a corner as she poured on the gas down a sudden open stretch. Farmland in the middle of what he’d believed was all bush and water and massive rocks.
She flew through an intersection and Finn braced himself as other drivers honked at them.
“You know it’s okay if he takes pictures of me, right? It’s kind of what makes a movie star’s world go round.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure that’s what Princess Di’s driver said, too.” Finn sent a cautious glance through the rear window. Austin had had to slow down at the intersection, his balls evidently not as large and steely as Hailey’s.
She spun them onto another paved road. Unprepared, Finn failed to brace himself in time for the momentum and force of the turn, and fell against her. He swallowed bile and wished his headache would go away.
She shot him a look.
“Sorry,” he said.
The road dived down a steep decline, where the ditches were thick with trees again. Hailey lurched into a hidden driveway, throwing gravel as she took the sharp turn. She performed a perfect brake turn at the bottom, spinning the vehicle so it was aimed back up the drive, but out of sight of the road. She threw the car in Park and rolled down her window.
“Wow.” Finn’s heart was racing so hard he’d fail a stress test. He forced himself to pry his left hand off the dash and his right hand off the “holy shit” handle near his head—a grip usually reserved for old ladies struggling to exit the passenger side.
None of the stunts he’d ever done in his career had scared him like this. Those scenes had been strictly choreographed by professionals. Not real or completely spontaneous.
A car sped by on the road above—Austin—and Hailey’s lips moved as she silently counted to seven. Then she poured on the gas, roared up the driveway and cut back the way they’d come, leaving the other photographer behind.
As they hit the main highway, Hailey kept pushing the speed limit. “He’ll guess where we’re going, so I need to get the car hidden and us tucked away before he shows up. Otherwise he’ll pester us all day. He can be quite unrelenting.”
A spark of protectiveness Finn usually reserved for family members ignited a blaze of jealousy. “What? What did he do?” Had Austin pestered Hailey into something she didn’t want? She’d said they’d dated, and the prick had said he’d kissed her first. Finn had managed to block that image out of his mind, but now it was all he could see. Austin kissing Hailey. Austin being pushy with her. Being an unrelenting jerk until she gave in.
“Oh, he’s just like a dog with a juicy bone. Won’t give it up for anything.” She waved a hand dismissively.
“I’ve never seen anyone drive like that before…. Have you had to, uh, lose Austin before?”
“Are you okay?”
“Have you?”
“No, but it was fun.” A smile flickered.
Finn relaxed into the seat. Austin was trying to get under his skin, and had succeeded, and Hailey was tired of men like her ex-boyfriend getting in her way of making her own dreams come true. Finn needed to get a grip.
“So? You normally drive like that?” His voice came off high-pitched.
“Yeah. Of course. I often have paparazzi following me.” Hailey shot him a grin, her body at ease. As relaxed as after he’d kissed her under the tree last night. Only last night…
“You need to kiss me more,” he said, letting his hand trail a line over her shoulder.
Hailey cranked the wheel, then straightened it just as suddenly, gasping as she avoided hitting a steep rock cut where the road zipped between high walls of pink-striped Canadian shield.
“Sorry,” he gulped. “I’ll preface something like that next time, so your surprise doesn’t kill us.” The sad thing was that he probably wouldn’t mind her killing him as long as she was with him in his final moments.
She cleared her throat. “Squirrel. I was avoiding a squirrel.” She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and he saw her swallow hard. “I, um, didn’t want to squish it.”
He bit back a grin. Oh, this was going to be a fun day of him stripping in front of her for his wardrobe changes. He would play to her every line, and watch her blush and squirm, and loving every moment of it. Before the day was through she’d either be in his bed or selling his images to the gossip sites.
* * *
Finn watched Hailey move around her one-car garage with the confidence of someone who knew where everything belonged. It was a pale yellow, clapboard building with an old, swing-up door. He’d expected her to pull the car inside, but instead, she’d driven right up onto the grass and into the backyard where she’d left the overheated vehicle out of sight. Then she’d led him through the old two-story house, his bag of clothes in tow. As she went, she’d grabbed drinks from the fridge, a package of trail mix and some fruit, popping them in a reusable shopping bag. Other items that he guessed must be props were added to the collection. She moved fast, her actions sure and confident. Finn had wanted to check out her digs and all the photographs hanging on the warm-colored walls, but he could barely take his eyes off this version of Hailey.
She’d then gone flying out the front door, across a wide porch and down onto the lawn, just about leaving him behind. Her place had reminded him of his grandmother’s house, where he used to spend his summers, playing dress-up and dazzling her with a new play every evening after supper. Warm, welcoming, and somewhere you felt safe being yourself. Because he sure as hell couldn’t be that “pansy acting boy” in the rough place where he’d grown up.
Her small garage studio was like the house, warm and welcoming. Area rugs covered the concrete floor in layers, track lights ran above, extra handheld lights and tripods hung in organized rows on racks and hooks below. The space had been drywalled and painted white. Finn moved toward a large worktable set in the corner, a rack of matting sheets and picture frames stacked vertically to the side. She seemed to be in the middle of a large project, judging by the reams of computer labels, piles of photos, and inventory lists. A large computer sat under a white sheet that she whipped off, showing a snazzy Mac Pro. Next, she moved on to unlock a cabinet beside her computer. It was filled with cameras, lenses, and other gear. She was definitely the real thing if her equipment was anything to go by.
But for a woman who didn’t do many portraits, she had exactly what was required. The backdrop, the lights, the tripods.
“You have equipment for portraits?”
“As I said, I do them when I’m hard up for cash. So, yes, I do.”
“I’ll make sure my assistant pays you promptly.”
She stuck out her tongue, thinking he was joking, as she unloaded her ever-present camera bag, tossing battery packs onto their chargers.
This girl was serious, a hard-core pro with a system and a plan. Organized and effective. Exactly what he needed. She would understand what he required. And when the moment was right, he’d present his own plan for what he wanted leaked to the press.
He eased himself into a worn armchair that looked as though it
had been built in the 1930s and had seen a lot of sitting. The cushion was saggy enough to pull him in deep, which felt comforting after their crazy ride across the countryside. His headache had been coming and going all morning, but now it was forcing a major comeback. A quick rest here in this chair, head tipped back and eyes closed, would do the trick. That and a glass of water.
Something stirred the air beside him and he opened his eyes, realizing he’d drifted off for a few minutes. Hailey stood over him, camera poised.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. Hailey was still perched over him, focused intently on something she saw. Saw on him? Within him?
He wiped his face again in case he’d drooled during his nap.
She crept back, placing her camera on the nearby worktable. She’d set up a backdrop in the middle of the room, the corners of the sheet tied to hooks set in the ceiling. She was ready, and he was the superstar keeping her waiting.
He jumped out of the chair, catching a can of Coke she chucked at him.
“You look like you need a pick-me-up.” She leaned against the table, cracking a can for herself.
Not diet Coke. Interesting woman.
“Thanks.” He pointed to the Mentos she was eating. “Haven’t you seen those YouTube videos where they mix Coke and Mentos to make rockets?”
“I think that was diet Coke.”
“Still. Aren’t you afraid your head is going to explode?”
“Yeah, like, every day. It’s called living on the edge.” She tossed him the pack of Mentos and rearranged a few pieces of equipment.
He threw the mints back to her without taking one, and moseyed over to her worktable, waiting for her command. He glanced at her for permission before flipping through the stacks of enlarged images she’d sorted into piles. The first seemed to be “please anyone” shots he’d seen around town in stores, posters, and hotels. Typical stuff the tourists wanted for a memento, such as a windswept tree, close-up of a chipmunk, an old wood boat gleaming in its berth, or a canoe tied to a weathered dock with mist floating around it. All pretty shots, but not particularly original for these parts. In his peripheral vision he saw Hailey lift her camera and focus it on him.
