by Jean Oram
The next pile was still distinctly Muskoka, but the images were slightly more unusual. Another shot of the steamship Segwun, but taken from a low vantage point, with some sort of filter to make the great ship appear dominating and brooding. Massive.
He compared it with the bright and innocent shot from the first pile, hardly believing it was the same boat, taken by the same photographer, likely on the same day.
He flipped through more shots, laughing at a photo of a cow. Instead of focusing on its face, nuzzled up close to the camera, Hailey had shot focused in from behind, catching the cow’s head turned inquisitively, as if to say, what are you doing back there? A vet would think this was hilarious.
Finn’s nature nut had a sense of humor.
She moved the armchair he’d napped in so it was in front of the background. “Ready?” she asked.
“As ever.”
She adjusted a few lights as he made himself comfortable in the chair again.
“Are those photos for a show?” He pointed to her worktable.
She nodded, silent.
“I like that your studio is unpretentious.”
Hailey blinked at him.
“It doesn’t scream I’m an artist! It reminds me of a buddy from film school, Bruce.”
“Are you still in touch with him?”
“Not really. Not since I chose the more commercial route.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Sure. We always miss those we leave behind, don’t we?” Like his two brothers. One alive, one dead. Finn shook his head, thinking how much different his life would be if he hadn’t chosen to follow the fickle stream of money, and how he’d simply traded one kind of deficit for another.
She stood in front of him and reached up to adjust a light, her knee brushing his. “I’m glad you didn’t shave.”
He rubbed his chin self-consciously, inhaling her scent. “Actually, do you have a razor?”
“Later. I need some shots of you awake in this thing. Then we’ll get into more traditional head shots, etc.” She adjusted his arms on the chair, moving him into a take-charge, I’m-in-command position. He felt powerful and manly just sitting this way. He grinned up at Hailey and moved his arm from where she’d placed it.
She readjusted it on the armrest again. “That desperate for a woman’s touch?” she asked, and gave him a playful pinch.
Finn flinched, laughing. “It’s like in those improv games where someone else directs your body.” He’d always hated them, but for some reason, the way Hailey moved his body didn’t bother him. She was respectful and had that cute, thoughtful expression when she posed him.
“I’m sorry.” Hailey stood back. “I could try and direct you verbally, but I don’t know what I want yet. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He flashed her a killer smile and she hesitated, cheeks flushed, before she adjusted his position ever so slightly, her cool hands sure, her touch tentative yet firm.
She vanished behind a large camera, tweaking, making adjustments. She took shot after shot, her physical directing changing into verbal commands as they fell into a rhythm. Her body relaxed and her moves became more fluid.
“That’s good, take a break.” She finally arched her back and twisted a lens off the camera she’d been using.
“We’re done?”
“Nope. But I need to think of what I want next. Do you have a list of specific shots you need?”
He knew the laundry list Derek would want, but couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her flow to get stagnant pictures everyone else had. They would be like the pile of commercial shots she had on her table, and he wanted to be in the other pile. Finn wanted to see what she could do. He wanted to be someone who stood out and wouldn’t be overlooked. Plus he wanted to know how Hailey saw him.
“Give me something different, Hailey.”
“Can do.” She finished her Coke, and her head tipped back, exposing her long throat.
“I haven’t met anyone who consumes sugar in a long time,” he commented and she shifted her weight in a way that caused him to apologize.
“Canada’s getting to you. That’s twice in the past two hours that you’ve said you’re sorry. A new record, I presume.”
He laughed and fell back in the chair, his legs splayed. He liked this woman. Liked her wit and willingness to poke at him. None of that skittering about to appease him as some women did.
“So, um, how bad were those shots in the tabloids?” she asked.
“Of us?”
He left the chair, moving closer, trying to figure her out. Was this his chance to ask her to collaborate with him and sell stories to the tabloids? Because right now, those rags felt miles away from this moment. From Hailey. And they were the last thing he wanted to think about.
“I’m tired of trying to stay one step ahead of my reputation,” he said. “And I’m tired of having to strategize my relationships with people and commoditize our time into something that can be leveraged in my career.” He shook his head and stepped to her worktable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I meant…” He drove a hand through his hair. “Don’t pay any mind to what gets printed in the tabloids. The people who truly love you will understand.”
“Understand what?”
“All of it.”
“What are you saying?”
“What are you asking?”
They stared at each other for a few moments.
“Okay, fine.” He crossed his arms. “The lighting in the shot was kind of crappy. And it was grainy, but those kinds of shots are the ones that the audience really goes wild for. They tend to think they’re seeing something that’s--”
“No,” she said impatiently. “I meant, like, was it…bad?”
He stared at her, his heart catching. She was afraid to be seen kissing him and didn’t want her private life smeared across the planet. She also probably didn’t want to be associated with the likes of him. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her even though the knowledge hurt worse than being smacked by a microphone boom.
He rested a hand on her elbow and watched her struggle with her emotions. They were flipping across her face, one by one. Fear. Frustration. Curiosity. Maybe a touch of anger and pride, as well.
“I’m sorry, Hailey. I didn’t mean for you to be a casualty.”
She straightened. “I’m not a casualty. I’m not a victim. But I don’t like being part of some stupid publicity stunt.”
His jaw clenched. “I know that. The photo wasn’t my idea.”
“And you’re not too good for me, Finian Alexander. Your fame doesn’t define you. You’re just as human as everyone else.”
He grabbed her by the elbows and brought her close enough to kiss, not sure what move he should make, only knowing that she’d successfully crawled under his skin once again.
Her eyes flashed as she pushed him away. “Show me the photos. I need to see what everyone in my world is going to be talking about--because trust me, they will be.”
Hailey opened a browser on her computer and Finian reached over to take the keyboard, sending shivers up her arm.
“There.” He propped himself against the desk, his jaw set, eyes on her.
Slowly, she turned her attention to the webpage.
“Oh, wow.” There she was stretched out in the grass, kissing Finian. Her heart raced and excess heat leaked up her throat and across her cheeks.
There it was for the world to see. Her. Kissing a movie star. Like in some romantic comedy where the famous guy falls in love with some girl wishing for a real life. Hailey nearly sighed.
It was a beautiful photo. Yes, a tad grainy, but gorgeous nevertheless.
Finian’s eyes roved over her, assessing. “Think how much that photographer got paid.”
“For exposing our personal lives.” She shoved her chair back, and stood.
He gave her a smile, a glint in his eyes.
“My personal life,” she corrected.
“If you’re with me, H
ailey, it comes with the turf.”
“I’m not with you.” She stared at her computer. This was fiction. Not real life. Real life was gritty and full of obligations and duties and burdens. It wasn’t being swept away and falling in love. Or, in her case, lusting over a guy who would leave her once his vacation was up, and then never think of her again. “If this was my personal life, it would imply that you and I are something.”
“We’re not?”
“What’s my last name?”
“Summer.”
“Okay, that probably was an easy one. Middle name?”
“Something…classic, strong, feminine.”
“Rose.”
“Told you so.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Something soft, like a cream or light yellow.”
“How did you know?”
“The color is everywhere.”
“My point is that you don’t know me. You don’t know what I like. So, pretending that this photo actually means something--”
“I know you like this.” He cupped the back of her neck, pulled her body against his and gave her a long, lingering kiss.
Yeah, okay. He was right. She liked that. A lot.
She pushed him away. The kiss--kisses--had been errors. Signs of her temporarily leaving reality and getting swept into the distraction that was his life. He starred in movies that distracted people across the world from things like the bills they had to pay and the turtles that needed saving. And that was his life, too, one big, easy distraction, where he always won against the bad guys.
Not her world. Not at all.
“Leaving reality is your thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Acting as if there are no responsibilities in the world?”
“That’s my job. Not who I am.”
She yanked her hand away when he tried to take it. “Don’t you get it? I’m a real person, Finian. Living a real life.” Her phone’s screen lit up with another Finian-spotting text, and she flipped it onto its face. “You can’t just sweep in here and decide that I’m somehow yours. I’m not. And I never will be, because I live in the real world.”
He grabbed her hand again, this time more firmly. “I like hanging out with you, Hailey.”
“I never said I didn’t like hanging out with you, Finian. But that’s not the point.”
“Then hang out with me.” His jaw was tight with an emotion that she couldn’t identify. There was a sincerity in his eyes that couldn’t be faked. Or could it? He hadn’t won any Oscars yet, but how could she be sure what was real when dealing with an actor?
He waved an arm to encompass her studio. “This is nice. No, not nice. Refreshing. Real. Genuine. Like you. I didn’t realize how much I needed downtime, Hailey. Time out of the spotlight.” He flinched, as if struck by his own words. “I need grounding, Hailey.” He fell into the armchair, his palms rubbing his face. “I need to touch base and figure out where I’m heading.”
She sighed and crossed her arms. She wasn’t here to ground him or be his base to touch. As much as she wanted to hang out with him and see if something real happened between them, she knew they were from two different realities and needed different things in their lives.
He needed fame and downtime. She needed money.
She turned away as his cell phone rang in his bag. “I have to empty my memory stick. Please change into something more celebrity-gone-wild-and-bad.” She glanced at his jeans and T-shirt. “Maybe add some black leather. Oh, and don’t shave. Not yet.”
She needed a reminder of who he really was. Not this mixed-up man with sincere eyes who liked to hang out with her. He was too tempting. Too real.
She focused on her computer, her hands shaking as she began transferring photos to the hard drive. Behind her, Finian answered his phone.
“I know,” he said. His voice had a certain reserve she hadn’t heard before. Kind of like a husband preparing for a dressing down. She almost turned to look, to make sure his ring finger was still bare.
She slipped to the tabloid page as the photos transferred, hoping Finian wouldn’t notice. She took a screen shot of the article and read the headline. Finian Alexander Mending Broken Heart with Local Gal. The one line below simply said, “After last week’s breakup with movie star Jessica Cartmill, Finian Alexander takes up with an unknown woman in Canada to distract him from his broken heart.”
This was what Cedric had been talking about. Making a story from nothing, because in reality Finian didn’t seem to be even a speck brokenhearted. And if he was, Hailey certainly wasn’t helping him through it.
She sighed and rested her head on her hands. Austin had probably gone home with a nice little finder’s fee for putting her in the tabloids.
She pivoted, watching Finian. He’d removed his shirt, his new outfit draped carelessly over the old armchair. He was amazing without a shirt on, having the right amount of muscles, and a nice trail of belly hair that led her eyes down to his crotch. His free hand was clenched into a fist and his shoulders were tense, making the muscles flicker under his skin as they flexed. She quietly grabbed a camera, lining up black-and-white shots. The harsh shadows from the lights by his side left striations along his corded arms, the muscles bulging as he fought for control of the conversation, his emotions, or whatever other demons he was wrestling.
The dark side. It was real.
She set her camera on her desk and turned away as he began moving around the room, touching objects, before stopping in front of the stack of photos for her show. She was dying to know what kept drawing him back there. This was the third time she’d noticed him drift to them.
He rested a hand on the table, leaning over the photos, eyes focused almost as though he was falling into the top image. Or pulling strength from it.
She shook her head. She was reading too much into it. He just needed something to focus on while he listened to his caller.
“I don’t care if he can’t offer me my usual rate,” Finian said. “He’s an old friend.”
Hailey didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she found herself leaning closer, trying to hear the other side of the conversation.
“I don’t think doing something like that would affect where I am on the pay scale. And it doesn’t set a precedent. It would be a completely different kind of project. Plus, I happen to think I’m at a point where I can branch out.” He paused, then his voice tightened. “I know you are the expert and I pay you to advise me, but last I checked I got to choose my projects.”
He gave another sigh, shoulders dropping in defeat, the fight gone. “I know. No, I appreciate you weighing the two sides of an offer. I know. I don’t have to say yes, but he’s good.” Another pause. “Yeah, but I was a nobody once, too, and he’s going somewhere. I’d like to help him.” Finian was looking at the ceiling now, and Hailey glanced up, as well. Nothing thrilling up there. Not since she’d insulated and transformed this place into her studio, at least.
Finian turned off his phone, gently setting it down. The room was too quiet, but Hailey was afraid to say anything. Finally, he turned to her with a sigh. “You wanted bad boy?” His voice was laced with fatigue and resignation. He held up a leather jacket. “With or without a shirt?”
9
Hailey led Finian into her house. She wanted to tug the leather jacket off Finian and run her mouth down his bare chest, pry his faded jeans open and…
Whoa! She fanned herself and let him into her en suite to shave for the upcoming shots she had planned.
There was something about photographing a sexy man and having him shoot her smoldering looks that did funny things to her brain. It didn’t help that he had a wicked sense of humor and had her laughing half the afternoon, making it almost impossible to take a nonblurry shot without the aid of a tripod.
“Okay, sexy beast, here’s some shaving gear.”
“Mmm. I like it when you call me that.” He slid a hand around her waist and she bit back a smile, trying to hold on to her slipping professional
persona. Hailey wanted to turn in his arms, have him lift her onto the vanity, and then grind against him while consuming him with her mouth.
She handed him a pink towel, a pink razor, and shaving cream. She giggled as he held them out.
“You expect the bad boy of Hollywood to use these?”
She grinned. “Real men can handle pink.”
“Yeah?” He shrugged off his leather jacket, his eyes on hers. She broke contact to let her eyes feast on his bare arms, chest, and back. Heavenly.
He filled the sink with hot water, his moves sure and confident, falling into a routine. He filled his left hand with lavender shaving cream, letting out a sigh that made his shoulders hunch forward ever so slightly. “Purple? Really? Are you trying to kill me?”
“I think lavender will look great with your complexion.”
He smoothed the cream between his hands, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Her own smile faded and she eased toward the door. Uh-oh.
“I happen to think…” He took two steps toward her, traveling into her bedroom to pursue her. “That you would look good…” Two more large steps. “…in lavender.”
She squealed and turned, fleeing into the upstairs hallway to get away from him.
He cornered her there, but she dropped to the floor, crawling between his legs to escape into the nearby sitting room. He turned, just missing her as she scrambled, laughing, into the room, ending up trapped in another corner.
Knowing he had her, he licked his lips, moving slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
Her chest heaved as she waited, giggling, half cowering. With two quick moves, he trapped her hands in one of his and lifted them over her head, against the wall.
Gently, he drew a line of shaving cream down her cheek with his free hand, then leaned back, assessing her. “It does suits your complexion, sugar toes.”