Secrets Vol. 2

"Yeah, boss?" I pull my lips into a smile, but it feels hollow. I glance at him from behind a wall of frizzy dark hair.

"What time is your last shoot today?"

I think about it for a second and say, "Six. Mrs. Patterson wants me to shoot something sexy with her Pomeranian. You knew how bat-shit crazy they are out there, didn’t you? Sexy pictures with a dog. There must be something in the water…" I’m talking to myself now, shocked at the strange requests people have. It’s like no two people can agree on what’s sexy. "What the hell am I supposed to do with a dog?"

Cole ignores my bewilderment, "I’ll come by at eight and you can show me your work. I’ll help keep you on track when stuff like this comes up. The best way is to shoot it the best you can and then talk about what to do next time. And since I failed to feed you breakfast, I’m taking you to dinner." He sets the e-reader down as he’s speaking and stands. As he finishes the last word, he’s standing in front of me. "Assuming you eat dinner and don’t have other plans?"

The spot between my brows pinches and I look up at him. He’s holding a white slip of paper between his fingers. It has ten black digits and the name JESSE OWDEN, slightly crumpled and linty from a spin through the washer and dryer. I glance past him, annoyed that he went through my clothes, but I can tell he washed them for me. My clothes are folded neatly on Cole’s dresser. The paper was left in my pocket and got soaked, but any idiot can tell what it was.

"Not tonight," I hedge, not wanting to say anything. I stand and realize that he’s much taller than I am. I pluck the slip from between his fingers.

"Want to tell me who he is?" he asks, his arms folding over his chest, his head tilting to the side like I’ve done something wrong.

I mirror his pose. Folding my arms, I tilt my head, and say, "Want to tell me about the hot chick in the red gown?" We stare at each other, each of us driven to hide our secrets. The tension in the air is thick, coating us until my hairs are standing on end.

Cole folds first, "Well played, Lamore." His arms unfold and he looks into my eyes. The gaze is so vulnerable, so sweet that I can’t believe it belongs to Cole. "I’ll see you at eight." With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone in his room to get dressed.

Chapter 19

During the shoot my brain is all over the place. I can’t focus. The little dog yips every time I go to fix the pose. Posing dogs is like trying to teach a Frisbee to walk.

"Regina, please reset the dog," I say, pressing my temples with my fingers. For a split second I imagine myself fanning a brides train and the happy couple smiling back at me. Then I look down at Mitsy who thinks biting constitutes talking. She nips at Regina as she repositions the dog by her master’s hand.

The pose is perfect. I chose the white set and have the client laying face-down on satin sheets. She’s propped up on one elbow slightly. The pose shows off her curves without being too revealing. It’s the kind of pose that looks seductive. It works perfectly for her. Everything is white on white, with layered textures. Linens, lace, throws and silk pillows are strewn through the set. It’s completely perfect. Even the little dog helps pull the shot together. His snow white fur adds just the right about softness, but the little beast won’t sit still.

Regina picks up Mitsy. The little dog bares her tiny teeth and is very unhappy to be placed back on the bed. Regina runs off the set and I shoot. Working fast is new to me. Normally, I take all the time I need. When I think I have the shot, we move on. The final piece is going to be a high key black and white. Everything is pale from the client’s skin to the dog’s fur. She wears nothing but a white thong. Her implants make her look like she is twenty, even though those years of her life are at least a decade behind her. She holds the dog in her arms, its fur concealing helping conceal her br**sts. The dog is happy in her arms and the owner looks straight back into the camera, staring at the lens. The finished product will be striking.

Later that night, Cole arrives and thumbs through the unprocessed shots with me. When he gets to the end of the shoot he stops and looks at the poses with the dog in her arms more carefully. He leans in close to the screen with me sitting in front of the computer.

He taps a pen to his lips, "Open it." I double click the image and it opens in an editing program. "Show me what you plan to do."

My hand moves on the tablet, clicking settings and altering the image to black and white. I adjust a few settings, run a few of Cole’s actions to smooth her skin, and then pump up the contrast. "What do you think? The dog threw me for a loop. I didn’t know what to do with it, and the stupid thing wouldn’t sit still."

He leans over my shoulder, his gaze on the screen. He puts a hand on my shoulder. It feels warm and strong. His scent fills my head and I think back to last night, to laying in his bed and sleeping right next to him.

"I think this is amazing. I mean, people ask us to do and shoot all sorts of things, but this – damn Anna…" he strokes his chin, staring at the screen. "You even made the dog look sexy." He laughs and looks down at me.

I beam, "Thanks, Cole. That means a lot to me." The weight of his hand suddenly feels like something more. My skin tingles and I want him to touch me, to stroke my face with his hand. Cole watches me with that expression that I can’t read.

He pats my shoulder before stepping away, "No problem. I knew you had a talent for this before I even met you. Some people just have it. You’re one of them. You’re lucky, Lamore."

"Yeah, well, not so much. Actually, me and luck are strangers. Maybe even enemies," I joke. I put things away for the night and shut down the editing program, the screen glows dimly before its light goes out as the computer powers down. I reach for the scattered pens and papers on my desk, and shove them into a drawer. "If I saw Luck on the subway, she’d probably mug me. Nothing lucky has ever happened to me."

Cole has that smirk on his face as he listens. He slides his hands into his pockets and tilts his head, "Oh, I don’t know if I’d say that. Luck’s the kind of thing most people notice in hindsight. It’s hard to see it in the moment."

I stop what I’m doing and turn to look at him. He’s oozing with boyish charm. Everything from the way he stands to the curve of his mouth makes my heart race. I shake my head, trying to evade his charms. Why am I tormenting myself by hanging around him?

"And at this moment, am I lucky? Is there something happening that I can’t see?" I pull a folder to my chest and wait for him to answer.

"Maybe," he says, voice soft and sensual.

My eyebrow lifts. I stand there for a moment at a loss for what to say. I hug the folder tighter. His eyes drift toward my hands before he turns away, nodding his head toward the door. "Come on, Lamore. Dinner. Now."

I place the folder down and follow him out. As my hand flips off the lights, I wonder when I became so obedient and discover that I don’t care. If it means being around Cole, and seeing him happy, I’ll jump when he snaps his fingers. At least a little. It goes against every fiber of my being to let someone else be in charge, but with Cole, it feels comfortable.

Chapter 20

Somehow a routine develops. I work out East, Cole works in the city. We have dinner together and then head back to his place where we talk until one of us passes out. I’ve woken up in his bed more times in the past three weeks than I’ve slept in my own. I wonder what this is, what he’s doing, but I’m too afraid to ask. I’m just glad to have him in any capacity at all.

One night after dinner, I’m laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. I feel Cole’s eyes on me – they are always on me – but I don’t turn to look at him. His gaze lingers, sliding over my br**sts, watching me breathe as my chest slowly rises and falls. His fingers slip the buttons through the holes on his shirt. I let him look. I like it and wish he’d do more. The man has self-control like nothing I’ve ever seen.

"Cole," I ask, still looking at the ceiling.

"Mmmm?" he says, his eyes still searing into my body as he peels the shirt off his chest and tosses it in the hamper. He stands there bare skinned, in nothing but jeans. I’m dying to look at him, but I don’t. He hesitates like he knows I want to look before grabbing a tee shirt from the dresser.

I want to ask him how he does it, how he can lay next to me night after night and not touch me. My fingers twist the sheets. "Are you seeing anyone?" Maybe that was it. Maybe he has a sex friend and I’m his other friend. The one that he sleeps with. Jealousy flames through me at the thought. I want to be the sex friend. Hell, I want to be his only friend.

"Why would you ask that?" he stops and looks at me bewildered.

I shrug, "I don’t know. It’s just… " Suddenly he’s much closer. He’s standing next to the bed looking down at me. I keep my gaze on the ceiling.

"Just what?" he asks, like this is normal. I lower my gaze and look at my hands. The question is caught in my throat. I don’t look at him. "You want more?"

I feel his eyes on my face, but I can’t look up. My heart is pounding, wondering if I just ruined whatever we had.

"There isn’t more than this. This is the best of what I can offer you. The rest is too…," he shakes his head, "It’s just not possible."