by Virna DePaul
8
Caleb
This is a disaster. One moment I’m having to stop myself from staring at Heather’s breasts. The same breasts I touched and sucked just a day ago…
The next moment I’m giving my completely unbiased and honest opinion about how the shoot is going, and Heather’s glaring daggers at me.
She’d said she wanted delicate. Nothing too outrageous. But when I saw her designs, quiet or traditional or safe isn’t the feeling they gave me. Her designs are classy but they have an edge that I think would be nicely framed by something bold—artistic, avant garde. Even weird.
“I told you I was happy with the photos. Didn’t you say yourself you’re here to photograph my vision?”
“I did say that. And it’s true. But it’s also my job, when necessary, to encourage you to shift that vision if I believe something else will work better.”
Heather snorts. “Because you’ve familiarized yourself so well with my designs in the past hour?” She has her hands on her hips now.
I want to ruffle her feathers. I smirk, leaning closer to her. “Being unfamiliar with your designs isn’t the problem. I’m a quick study, and just as quick to know what works for me and what doesn’t.”
Her glare is deadly, as if she gets I’m referencing just how well I worked her yesterday, but I continue.
“Look, the photos are good—great, even—but they could be better. I don’t want to settle for anything less than amazing, and neither should anyone else here.” I point to how the models are posed specifically. “We definitely nailed ‘delicate,’ but is that what we really want?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, but why?”
“Because that’s how I wanted my design to look and feel. It matches my vision.” She glares at me. “Is that so hard to understand?”
“I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense. I’m saying, why not push the envelope further?”
Rebecca makes a sound, and we both jump as if we’d forgotten she was even there; to be honest, I had. “What are your suggestions?” Rebecca asks.
“Well, I think we could do more interesting poses, expressions. Even change the set somewhat. I think we could juxtapose the delicateness of the designs with powerful, more assertive poses by the models. It would create an overall more interesting and thoughtful shoot.”
“Who’s to say it isn’t already interesting and thoughtful?” Heather counters.
I try to keep my voice level, but I’m already irritated. I know she’s pissed at me, but making my work more difficult isn’t going to help.
“Because it isn’t.” I wave at the photos. “The photos are good, because I took them. But do we want merely ‘good’ photos? Because if so, we can keep it this way, but I think even you know we could improve upon them.”
Her mouth flattens into a thin line, and I can practically feel her digging in her heels.
“Look, right now, we’re basically doing the high-fashion version of a JCPenney catalog.”
She bristles, and I have to admit, she looks gorgeous, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. I wish I could take her back to that dressing room and calm her down the best way I know how.
I step closer to her, my voice lowered. “Give it a shot, Heather,” I say, my voice seductive. “Trust me.”
Her eyes widen and she blushes again. I’d said the same thing yesterday. Right before I’d fucked her in that dressing room— right before I’d given her an explosive orgasm. Apparently, however, she doesn’t trust me, at least not when it comes to this, because she still looks at me with doubt.
“How about we try what I’m suggesting, and if you hate it, then we go back. Deal?”
She looks like she’d love to strangle me, but finally, she gives me a tight nod. Whirling away, she stalks back to her assistant. I sigh.
“Okay, places, everyone.” I instruct the models on their new poses, getting them into the newer mode of thinking. No longer are they delicate nymphs, but fearless Amazons. The shoot shifts right before my eyes, and I can’t help but get excited.
Heather, though, objects to the first set. “The model’s expression completely overtakes the design,” she says. “It’s interesting, yes, but no one is going to be looking at the clothes. They’re going to be looking at her.” She turns to the model. “No offense, of course.”
The model shrugs. “I’ve heard it all before.”
I grit my teeth. “Okay, how about this pose instead?” I move the models arms and legs, rather like a doll. “Would this work?”
Heather narrows her eyes, thinking. Finally, she moves forward and adjusts the model’s right arm. “There. Try that.”
I begin photographing again, and I have to admit, her small change makes a world of difference. I’m not going to tell her that, though.
I feel like we’re making some progress, but when we move to the next set of models, things basically go to shit. Heather isn’t happy about one of the model’s hairstyles, and when she pushes to have it redone, I snap that we don’t have time for those kinds of changes.
“It’ll only take a minute,” she says, her eyes fierce.
I take this as a chance to get a glass of water. I wish I could dump it on my head to cool my temper. Is Heather going to balk at every little thing just to get back at me?
“She’s definitely thorough,” Catherine says, looking at me over the rims of her glasses. “I think she could rival Rebecca for being anal.”
I bark out a laugh. “You could say that again.”
“I could also say the same thing about you. You aren’t one to change things if you don’t want to.”
I shrug. “I know my art and I’m not going to compromise on it.”
“Well, the rest of the shoot should at least be interesting.”
Finally, the model’s hair is fixed, and we get started. The poses are a mixture of my suggestions plus Heather’s, and they seem to be doing the job. Heather, though, stands off to the side, her expression a perpetual frown.
I stop photographing. “What is it now?”
“It just doesn’t look right.” She tilts her head this way and that, trying to figure out what exactly doesn’t look right. “I can’t figure it out.”
“How about we finish this set and then we can change every little thing for the next one, okay?”
I can see her feathers ruffle at my tone. At this point, I want to rile her. She’s pissing me off, and I just want to do my job in peace. Of course, seeing her flushed and trembling only makes me think of how she was flushed and trembling in my arms yesterday, and to my annoyance, my cock hardens instantly.
Heather walks up to me, pointing a finger at my chest. I know everyone’s looking at us, but if she doesn’t care, I don’t, either.
Then she takes me by the arm. “Come with me.”
I pull my arm away, but only so I can set my camera down. “We’ll be right back,” I tell the staff. I can see Rebecca give us a look.
Heather takes me into a back room and shuts the door with barely concealed rage. “What the hell is your problem?” she snipes.
“My problem? What is yours? You can’t make up your damn mind out there. I’m not going to keep taking photos if you keep changing every little thing just because you’re pissed about what happened between us.”
“I am not changing things for that reason!”
“Oh really?” I step toward her, crowding her into a corner. “So you’re just doing it to be helpful? I highly doubt that.”
She looks like she wants to slap me. She even raises a hand, but I catch her wrist. I push her into the corner, our bodies touching now, and I don’t let go of her wrist.
“Tell me, Heather. Would you be such a huge pain in my ass had we never met? Had I not fucked you in a public dressing room until you had to stifle your screams? Tell me that.” I let go of her wrist, but only so I can move my hands to her waist. “I think you’re just embarrassed that I’m here. That you actually have to see me again and
face what we did.”
“I’m not mad.” She says the words in a growl, like a wolf, and I laugh.
“You sure about that, sweetheart?” I trail one of my hands up her torso, brushing against a nipple that’s peaking against the fabric of her top. “I think you’re feeling some kind of emotion.”
“You’re horrible.”
I shrug. “If I were so horrible, you wouldn’t have let me fuck you yesterday. You wouldn’t have found pleasure in my arms. I know it, you know it. We both know it.” I kiss her throat, so pale and smooth, and then I bite her hard enough to leave a mark.
“Caleb…”
I push my iron-hard cock against her pelvis, and she gasps. “I’ve thought about you a lot. I wanted to see you again. Does that make you feel better or worse?”
She shakes her head. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie?” I push my cock harder against her, moving down to pull up one of her legs against my hip, opening her to me. “I enjoyed our time together. I want more. And I think you do, too.”
She doesn’t deny it. How can she? She’s practically writhing against me, and I laugh, low in my throat.
“God, sweetheart.” I rub myself against her. “If we didn’t have a crowd of people out there waiting for us, I’d fuck you again right now. Hell, I’d do it anyway. I don’t care if everyone hears us, hears you screaming my name.”
She’s trembling. “You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I cup her cheek and, against my better judgment, I kiss her. She moans my name and I lick inside her mouth, telling her once again that she’s mine. I’ve claimed her, and I take her mouth like a conqueror.
Finally, I let her go. She slumps against the wall.
“I’m going to have you again, Heather. But that is wholly separate from what is going on today, and I need you to let me do my job.”
Her mouth, kiss-bruised and red, turns into a thin line. “Fuck you, Caleb. Johnny. Whoever you are.” She stalks out of the room, looking like she could poison me tonight without any regrets.
I can’t help but smile, thinking about how I can channel all of that rage into the next time I fuck Heather Flint.
9
Heather
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to strangle him, and make him beg for his life, and make him apologize for turning me inside out and upside down, the arrogant, self-centered, asshole—
“Heather?” Tanya touches my arm. “You okay? Where’s Johnny?”
I wish I could tell her I killed him and subsequently threw his body into a dumpster in the back. I force a smile instead.
“He’s finishing up. I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”
I walk away from Tanya before she can ask me more questions. I hear Caleb return, and I’m sure he’s smirking.
Of all the nerve! To act like I’d still want to have sex with him after everything that has happened! I’ve never met any guy I hated more. He’s lower than low. Lower than a cockroach. At least cockroaches serve some kind of purpose. Caleb Johnson serves no purpose except to drive me absolutely insane.
“Let’s get going,” I say to no one in particular. I pray to any god listening that Rebecca Harris doesn’t notice that I’m trembling and red-faced.
“Ready when you are,” Caleb drawls behind me.
I turn, my fists clenched. Instead of the caustic reply I’m about to give him, I say to the models behind him, “Please get ready, you two.”
The shoot continues as if there was no interruption. Even though I see tiny details I’d like to change, I decide to let things go for now. Caleb gets back into his photographer zone, and as I begin to calm down, I’m able to see his vision more clearly. I admit that he was right that my initial thoughts were rather boring. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they belonged in a JCPenney catalog—I bristle at the idea—but gazing at the models now, I can see why he thought changes were necessary.
We finish the next set. Caleb hands me the camera to look at the photos.
Glancing through them, my anger fades somewhat. I have to admit, they’re gorgeous. “They’re beautiful photos,” I say. I try not to let our fingers brush as I return the camera. Any touch is like an electric current between us, even when I still want to throttle him.
Caleb smiles wryly. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in that sentence.”
“It’s just not what I had envisioned.” For some reason, I need him to understand what it means for me to let him lead in this way. To change something as important to me as how my designs are presented to the world.
He shrugs. “Maybe your vision needed to change.”
Ugh, didn’t we already have this conversation? How does he not get it?
I can feel a headache building in my temples. “Look, I know you’re a great photographer, but these are my designs. My clothes, my accessories. I know them inside and out. You’re just taking photos of them.”
I can see his hackles rise. I probably shouldn’t provoke him again, but apparently when it comes to this man, I have no self-control.
“If you just wanted some guy with a camera, you should’ve hired some guy off of Craigslist,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m not insulting your talent. I’m just saying that maybe your ideas weren’t in line with mine.”
“And I think you’re being stubborn for no reason.”
I make a sound in my throat. I want to slap him! I wish I had earlier. “Are you trying to be an asshole again?” I say. “Because if so, you’re succeeding.”
“Being right doesn’t make me an asshole.” He shows me the photos again. “This is art. This is what this spread should be. This is what gets printed in a magazine like Bella. Not some shots that my dad could take with his eyes closed.”
“Okay, now you’re really being an asshole.”
He rubs his forehead. “Look, Heather.” He steps toward me, and I’m suddenly overly aware of how tall he is, of how muscular he is. Of how his hair curls and touches the back of his neck, of how stubble dots his jaw. Of how his hands roved all over my body yesterday. God, you’re gorgeous, his voice echoes in my mind.
“I think you just need to let go,” he finally says. “I know you can. You did yesterday.”
His voice is silky soft. I’m trembling again, like a leaf in the wind. My head hurts, but so does my heart, because I don’t know how I feel about this man. One minute I want to kiss him, the next I want to shake him.
“Then let’s keep going,” I say, turning away before I can see his triumphant expression.
It seems like ages, but the shoot finally wraps up. I thank all the models, shaking hands with each one, and Tanya and the rest of the staff whisks them away to get changed. Rebecca and Catherine are currently in close conversation. I hope it’s not how they think the designer is completely off of her rocker.
“Here.”
A camera is shoved in front of me again, and for a second, my brain doesn’t compute. I glance at Caleb. He just raises an eyebrow.
“Here, look at how the last set came out,” he adds.
I take the camera. My heart’s hammering, and I feel sick. What if I should’ve spoken up more? What if the overall photos are nothing like I’d envisioned? The thought of my designs being ruined sends my anxiety into a tailspin.
I flip through the photos slowly, absorbing them. My initial fear slowly fades away as I look at them one by one. My breathing slows.
I realize with a start that they’re even better than the earlier photos from today. Those photos were beautiful. These photos are transcendent.
When I look up, I can tell by his face that he knows I’m impressed. I return the camera.
“They’re great.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Just ‘great’? Really? I have a hard time believing that.”
“I said they were great. What else do you want from me?”
“God, you are the most confounding woman. Can you really tell me that when you looked at those photos, you didn’t
feel something deep inside? That you weren’t transported somewhere?”
I bite my lip, because that’s exactly what I felt. I shrug. “Not everyone can be as brilliant an artist as you.”
He curses underneath his breath. Looking around the store, I realize that we’re almost alone, as Rebecca and Catherine have gone into the back with the models, and the rest of the staff is either outside loading equipment or in the back helping the models.
I feel a touch on my arm. I whirl. “Don’t touch me!”
Caleb rolls his eyes. “Stop acting like you don’t want me to touch you. You were melting against me just hours before when I kissed you in the back.” He moves closer to me and his breath fans against my face. “I bet if I reached down inside your panties, you’d be wet for me.”
I gasp. “Of all the—”
“Stop it with the outrage. I already know your game.”
“I don’t have a game!”
“Yes, you do, even if you don’t know you’re playing it. You’re digging in because you don’t want to admit you could be wrong. You’d rather believe everything you do is golden.” He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “Newsflash, sweetheart: that isn’t how the world works.”
“You are the most arrogant—”
“So you’ve said before.”
“—man and I never want to see you again. Ever.”
I’m breathing fast, and Caleb suddenly looks as angry as I feel. How did I ever think I was attracted to him? I hate him!
“Despite what I said earlier, the feeling’s now mutual, sweetheart. I have no interest in getting my balls kicked in by a woman when I can find plenty who’d do something much nicer to them.”
I hear someone approaching, so I bite back my retort. Caleb walks away, and although my heart sinks, I tell myself it’s for the best. We’d make a terrible couple: apparently when we’re not sneaking into dressing rooms to fool around, all we do is fight. Besides, I know what happens when you date while trying to get ahead in your career. You end up having to choose one over the other. Bo dumped me for that very reason, saying that I could either have him or my career.