Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series)

by Persephone Autumn

  Gavin

  Why can I not walk through this fucking airport without people smacking into me?

  Flying is bad enough. Mix that in with LAX during the early morning and my life is a new version of hell. Some woman with a stroller smacks into my arm while the child who should be in said stroller hangs limp at her side. Literally hanging. Under normal circumstances, I might tell the woman her little girl is adorable. But circumstances aren’t normal because the little girl is shrieking like a banshee. Limbs thrashing and kicking anything within reach. No doubt the entire terminal hears this girl.

  Could the mom not just move out of the way and deal with her kid? Seriously. Why drag your kid around and make a show out of it? If it were my child, I would be embarrassed as hell.

  “Gavin? Did you hear what I said?” Alyson asks through the phone pressed to my ear as I am about to knock some twenty-year-old prick out of the way. This whole situation is already shit. Is it everyone-get-in-Gavin’s-way day?

  “Can you repeat that, Alyson? There’re more dicks than normal in the airport today.” I speak louder than necessary, hoping the dipshit hears me and gets out of my fucking way. He peers over his shoulder, catches my expression and hustles to get out of my way.

  Thank fuck.

  “You should be landing in Tampa around six fifteen p.m., eastern time. I emailed the hotel details to you. Please be on your best behavior. My flight leaves in the morning tomorrow, so I’ll meet up with you for dinner and we can get caught up on your itinerary.”

  Of all the things that come along with this crazy job, I am glad it includes Alyson. I never realized how amazing it would be to have a personal assistant/agent. When I first started this gig, I thought it would be as easy as pose, click, done. Good looks should have made it simple. Boy, was I wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  It has taken years, but I have finally mastered the art of angles and lighting. Knowing which way to face in different lighting. How to dip or lift my chin. How to stand so the right muscles pop for the photo. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems. But with great mentors and years of practice, confidence is on my side.

  After checking my luggage, I head to the terminal for my flight. I have about twenty minutes before they allow us to begin boarding. So, while I wait, I decide to hit one of the eateries and grab a quick bite and a drink.

  The moment the airline calls for us to board, my palms break out in a cold sweat. I finish off the drink and the coolness calms me a fraction as I head for the gate.

  Just breathe, dude.

  I have flown enough times in the last eight years to be a pro. Have racked up so many airline miles I can’t redeem them quick enough. My job has taken me to some of the most amazing places, within the states and beyond. Not once have I been so nerve-wracked before boarding a plane.

  So why now? What is so different about this trip?

  The Bay Area is just another sunny oasis with hot chicks and tourists for days. Minus some of the landscape, it’s not all that different from California. I honestly don’t know why people prefer one oasis over the other. Guess it depends on if you prefer elevation or not.

  I board the plane and locate my seat, throwing my carry-on in the overhead compartment. Staring out the window, my eyes zoom in on the wing of the plane, when the person I will sit beside for the next six hours bumps my elbow. I roll my eyes and shake my head.

  Can people just stop knocking into me today? For the love of…

  I turn to see who sits beside me and my breath catches a second. A sexy as sin blonde shifts, trying to wrangle her purse strap over her head, which seems to be caught on her necklace. What a perfect setup.

  “May I?” I gesture toward her neck, offering to help separate the two.

  “Please,” she huffs, obviously frustrated and embarrassed with the state of what is happening.

  Aiding her with the strand and strap, we free her from the entanglement. She tips her head back against the seat, inhales deeply and takes a moment to calm down. After a sigh, she turns in her seat to better face me.

  “Thanks for that. As cute as this purse is, I think I’m going to get rid of it. That wasn’t my first rodeo in the tangled department.” She shakes her head and laughs.

  “Sure thing. Glad I could help,” I offer. I extend my hand to her. “I’m Gavin.”

  “Brandy. Nice to meet you,” she says and shakes my hand. “Business or pleasure?”

  “Sorry?” The way the word pleasure rolls off her tongue has me thinking of several ways I can give her exactly that. Blonde isn’t generally my type, but when it’s just for fun, does it really matter?

  “Your trip. Is it for business or pleasure?”

  Ah, yes. Generic question, generic conversation. I should be used to having meaningless conversations by now. Not like my job requires me to engage in deep, life-changing chats. Would be a nice change, though. Whatever. At least I get to sit next to someone who isn’t painful on the eyes. Could be much worse.

  “Business. You?”

  “Pleasure. I’m meeting up with my boyfriend and a couple friends in Brandon. I was out here visiting family.”

  “Cool.”

  Nothing else comes to mind to say after learning she has a boyfriend. Automatic buzzkill. Sure, I could ask how her visit with her family went, but we don’t know each other and it is none of my business. So, I don’t dig.

  At the mention of friends, I wonder if I will see anyone besides Micah from my teen years while I am on this trip. It will be nice to hang with Micah and catch up. I haven’t been back to this part of Florida since my mom received a promotion thirteen years ago. A promotion that had us moving out of the Sunshine state and across the country to the Golden state. A move that changed my life in more ways than one.

  Maybe that is what has me so on edge. The possibility.

  Brandy retrieves her phone and plugs in her earbuds, essentially talk-blocking me for the entire flight. So much for having a cute blonde to distract me. Generic conversation would have been better than nothing at all. This flight will last longer than the actual flight time.

  I retrieve my phone from my back pocket, open up my Spotify app and hit play, looping the playlist. Leaning my head back against the seat, I gaze out the window and let my eyes lose focus on the skyline.

  Ten days. I will only be there for ten days. A week and a half. It will fly by.

  What is the likelihood I will run into anyone? Run into her? Slim. One in a million.

  Majority of my time there will be wrapped up in photo shoots and dinners with Alyson and the photographer. There won’t be any time to do anything else. And besides, I am sure everyone has moved away. I mean, who stays in the same place they grew up? As soon as they come of age, most people move away.

  But a part of me begs the universe to let me see her again. Even from a distance. See how she is. If she is with someone. Happy. What she looks like. Has she changed from the girl I knew? God, I hope there is no animosity after all these years. After everything, I hope she doesn’t hate me.

  The plane taxis down the runway and we are off the ground seconds later. I pinch my eyes shut and focus on the music blaring in my ears. The music blankets the roar of the engine just barely, but does nothing to mask the vibration. Or the queasiness in my gut.

  Just breathe, dude. The chances are slim.

  Chapter Three

  Cora

  “Where do you want me to put this?” Erin asks as she holds up the soft umbrella reflector.

  I point over to the left of a small side table. “You can set it there. The stand should be ready, if you could put it on there for me.”

  “You got it, boss,” she jokes.

  The first day Erin and I worked together, she called me boss. I told her to never dub me with such a title again. Although she has worked as my assistant, we had known each other beforehand. Erin is my friend, who just so happens to help me with my job and I compensate her. We work well together and there is no sense in ruining a good
thing.

  But since that first day, when our friendship added business partners, she lives to mess with me. To keep our relationship light and fun and not so work-y. So, calling me boss is her work version of sarcasm. And I love all her witty and sarcastic tendencies.

  Erin fumbles with setting up the lighting while I do some test shots with my camera. I point the camera off in the distance, catching sight of a few passersby and pressing the shutter release. Pulling the camera away from my eye, I glance down at the LCD screen and view the image. The lighting is sufficient, as is the image. Hopefully, we get all the shots in before the lighting from the windows shifts and adds unnecessary shadows. Not like I can’t Photoshop them out, but the less I have to adjust, the better.

  As I shoot a few more test shots, the door to the banquet room opens. I continue taking a few more test shots, not looking to see the model or his agent as they shuffle into the room. I don’t know much about the shoot. Just that it’s a male model and he is an up-and-comer in the fashion industry.

  Snap. Shot of the framed art on the wall.

  I make a couple adjustments and take the same shot again. Perfect.

  Setting the camera down on the table loaded with my equipment, I school my expression and put on my professional face. Just as I prepare to turn and meet my clients, a familiar voice echoes in my ears and I freeze.

  A voice I haven’t heard since I was sixteen-years-old.

  A voice that hasn’t changed in the thirteen years since I last heard it.

  A voice that tortured me in my dreams for almost a decade.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I turn with a huge smile plastered across my face and greet my newest client. Should I act as if I remember him? Or not? I am baffled as to how I should respond. I haven’t dealt with a similar situation yet.

  I extend my hand to the agent first, seeing as she is the reason I work with her client in the first place. “Cora Davies. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” My smile as tight as a fresh facelift.

  “Alyson Jameson.” Her overly manicured hand slides into mine, shaking it with no strength. “This is my client, Gavin Hunt.”

  When Alyson drops her hand from mine, I focus my attention on Gavin, offering my hand. His dark brows pinch together for half a second. Most people wouldn’t catch the twitch, but I do. Not only because I am a photographer and part of my job depends on seeing beyond the superficial. But also, because I know Gavin. Intimately. And this shoot just became awkward with a capital A.

  He shakes my hand, the rough contours of his skin tingle against my smooth palm. I study him a moment, our hands still connected. Not much has changed since I last saw him. Same height. Same brown-black hair, the style new—buzzed short from the base of his skull to a couple inches above his ear, the remaining hair seven or so inches long and swept to his right. His body, though… time and hard work show as evidence in the taut fabric pressed against his muscular frame. His shoulders seem broader than I remember. And his throat… I swallow just looking at it.

  It is difficult to not speak with him like I knew him for years, but I do my best to maintain my businesslike persona. To present myself as the photographer the magazine chose. This is a job. Nothing more.

  “Gavin, it’s great to see you again. It has been far too long.”

  Too long didn’t even begin to cover it. But no one else in the room needs to know the meaning behind my words. Or the hurt that pairs with them. I pray I have mastered my poker face by now. Because inside, I am seething. And weeping.

  All of a sudden, a million questions run a marathon in my head. Except this marathon isn’t on city streets, but on an old-school track. Circle after circle after circle. It makes me dizzy and breathless. My heart thumps erratically and beats against my ribcage harder than necessary. Of all the people I would be okay with not seeing again, Gavin ranked in the top three.

  “Cora…” he drawls. My name, four simple letters, spills off his lips soft and wickedly. A smile kicks up the corners of his mouth, and it looks like something he flashes with frequency. It is not a personal smile and doesn’t touch his eyes. Not the smile I was once overly familiar with. The smile I memorized for more than a year. Those must be reserved or nonexistent. This smile is forced and pretentious and ugly. I don’t know this Gavin. Not really sure I want to, either. “Feels like it’s been forever. A lifetime. I didn’t know you were a photographer.”

  His words weren’t meant to insult me, but they do. They literally feel like a slap to the cheek. How would he know what I have been up to? You would have to communicate with someone to know what is happening in their life. Am I right? I am tempted to say exactly that, but I somehow restrain myself. I need this shoot to go off without a hitch. The paycheck would be a great boost to my savings.

  “And I didn’t know you were a model. So many things have changed for us both, I’m sure.” As much as I try to restrain my sarcasm, it pours out of me with ease. When it comes to Gavin, it is difficult to restrain my true feelings. With anyone else, I easily mask my emotions and go about my business. But with him, it just spills out of me. Always has.

  The air around us is thick and heavy with our history. A history his agent and my assistant are unfamiliar with. A history I should put on the back burner while I am the photographer and he is the model. This is not the time or place to bring up the past. And if I am lucky, there won’t be a time while he is here.

  I can be the skilled photographer and focus on the task at hand. Can silence my emotions. And ignore the flutter circulating in my chest at the sight of him. Ignore the hunger building in my core at the resonance of his voice. Ignore the flashes of our past that float through my mind.

  A glowing smirk lifts a corner of his lips, as if he knows he has gotten to me. As if he can read me like he did all those years ago. But he doesn’t know me anymore. Doesn’t know what I went through after he left. Doesn’t know how much I have changed. And two can play his game.

  “Mr. Hunt—” I cut the silence. “If you could please move over to the backdrop near the windows.”

  He cocks an eyebrow in challenge and his smirk deepens. “Sure thing, Ms. Davies.” His emphasis on the prefix doesn’t go unnoticed. Figures he would assume I am still single. Maybe I kept my name for my business. He doesn’t know one way or the other. But it is irrelevant, because his assumption is correct. And that pisses me off further.

  Prick.

  He saunters to where I directed him and turns when his feet land on the fabric. “How do you want me?” he asks with a sultry rasp to his voice.

  “Have a seat on the stool. We’ll start with some headshots displaying the clothes and watch.”

  His smile bumps up a notch and the faint glimpse of his dimples appear. “You know, I always loved it when you bossed me around.” This time, when he smiles wider, it touches his eyes. But it reeks of mischief versus genuineness.

  If my eyes roll any farther back in my head, I will see the inside sutures of my skull. This is going to be a long week.

  Three hours later, after endless banter and flirting from Gavin, I am ready to go home and drink away any thought ever including him. Drink away memories skirting on the edge of my mind. Drink myself into a stupor. Today was only three hours. But there are several days listed for the shoot, plus dinners.

  Can I just request a drink from the hotel bar now?

  There is no denying Gavin is gorgeous. Even more than the last time I saw him. Time has treated him kindly. Wish I could say the same for myself.

  Seeing him today has stirred up so many festering emotions, bringing them to the surface. Pain and hurt I thought no longer existed or held me hostage. But the second I heard his voice; it was as if my prince returned and kissed his sleeping princess. My body stirred back to life and my heart resumed its rhythm. Hope flickered for the briefest moment for the first time in years.

  But I shut that shit down. Reminding myself what he had done thirteen years earlier. Reminding myself how I felt after what he did thirteen y
ears ago. And there is no way in hell I plan to relive that anytime soon.

  Minutes ago, he and his agent strolled out and left Erin and me to clean up in awkward silence. But not before he managed to make things a little more confusing between us. He doesn’t need to say or do much, just his presence put me on edge. Being close to him wasn’t always like this. There wasn’t always this looming tension hovering over us. But now, how can there not be?

  I have this inkling to explain myself to Erin. To share fragments of my past to help her understand my behavior today. The way I acted when he came in the room is out of character for me. On more than one occasion, Erin stared at me with shock in her eyes. I maintained my expert smile and kept my voice as neutral as possible. But the tension could be cut with a knife.

  But I keep my cards close. If Erin broaches the subject, I will spill my heart out to her. Until she asks, though, I won’t say a word. Until she asks, I will process it all and devise a plan on how to work with him for a week. Gavin is just one of those topics I hate bringing up.

  As if she can hear my thoughts.

  “So… what was up with all that?” She gestures to the doors, waving her hand aimlessly.

  “What do you mean?” I play coy.

  She freezes and glares at me as if to say you’re shitting me, right? Silence stretches between the two of us for minutes—her glaring at me, me ignoring her penetrating gaze. A game of cat and mouse. But the longer we stand here, the more I come to realize she is not caving until I answer. Damnit.

  “Ugh. Gavin and I knew each other in high school,” I mutter.

  “And…” She draws out the single syllable and leaves it hanging like bait on a hook. She is relentless and won’t give in until I hand her more information. Only I don’t know how much information I want to give up. Not that I am scared to share history with my close friends. More like I am scared of what will happen to me when I dredge everything up.

  “And we dated for years.”