Holy shit. Where in the fuck did that thought come from?
Desire takes over my senses and flows through every fiber of my being, rocking me to my foundation. That’s what I feel toward him at this moment and it’s a foreign concept for me but my god, the man exudes sex appeal. It should be illegal for anyone to look and smell as good as he does. I wouldn’t mind being the arresting officer. Shit, what’s wrong with me?
“Please, call me Ali.” I reply in a husky tone. Who in the fuck’s voice was that? A drink sounds good about now. Or ten. I’m so embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t hear it? His lips twitch as though he’s trying to conceal a smile. Yep, he heard. Letting me off the hook but not missing a beat he continues.
“I recognize you from the Sturdy Legs charity gala,” he admits. In addition to the pictures I took of him when he looked directly at me, I also shot a few with the brunette he’s been photographed with several times in the past, Mara Sharp, a San Francisco socialite who was hanging onto him like a bad habit.
“Oh, yes. It was a favor for my boss. I was filling in for a photographer who was ill.” For some reason I feel the need to explain why I was there.
“It’s nice to see you again.” He says. I can’t place the tone in his voice but it takes me by surprise.
Without warning, I feel hot. Did someone turn on the heat full blast? Snap out of this, you fool. This is not like me, to have this type of reaction.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Steede, I think we should get started.”
He leans close enough for me to feel his warm breath against my skin, causing my heart to race faster than it already was. “Certainly, Ms. Quinn. I couldn’t agree more,” he says in a low, seductive tone causing my knees to go weak.
I blink a few times as he holds my gaze. I turn away and walk toward the equipment setup, mumbling to myself. I can feel his eyes following me. Did anyone else see what just happened? I surreptitiously scan the room, but it seems our little drama went unnoticed. He’s definitely throwing me off my game.
The room is loud, filled with animated conversations. How can ten people make so much noise? I’m in awe of these men, who’ve managed to achieve so much before they were even thirty. To tell the truth, I am a little awed to have been asked to bring their successes to life through my photography. That is my job and my mission.
“Gentlemen, if we could all gather here, we'll be shooting soon." From doing fashion shoots over the years, I could recognize Hugo Boss suit with Mandarin collar shirts anywhere. They all wore one, well except for Mr. Steede. He had to stand out like the bride at a wedding. He kept same style shirt, but changed up the suit and wore Brioni.
I explain the process, and the number of poses we’ll need. One by one, I strategically place them facing the city. “Unbutton your jackets, hands in your pants pockets.” They all do as I ask as I make last minute adjustments. “Feet apart a little more. You, on the far left, lower your chin just a touch. Perfect,” I tell them as the camera takes continuous frames.
As they look out toward the unknown, I capture each image as it bounces off the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. To me, this reflects the past, and where present and future meet. Of all the shots we’ll be doing, I like this one best.
“Now concentrate as if you’re playing chess, contemplating your next move. That’s good. You in the back, move your head to the left just a tiny bit.”
The resolve in their expressions is in direct contrast with Bryce Steede’s. His intimidating stare is as blank as a new canvas. I wonder what’s going through his mind. All I know is, I wouldn’t want to play chess or poker with him. This has to be one of the reasons he’s so successful. I swear I see a slight grin grace his lips. “No smiling,” I call out. I see his lips twitch as I move around them all, snapping several pictures.
There’s a large mirror behind the over-sized, mahogany desk in the boardroom. Windows line one side of the room, while a beautiful, dark wood credenza, lines the opposite wall. This room screams mergers and acquisitions, technology and trades. It says, “I’m in charge and I mean business.” Each CEO casually lounges in their respective chairs, leaning on one arm. I adjust for lower lighting, letting the natural light emphasize their faces.
While I’m busy shooting the separate photos to go with the story Forbes will feature on each individual, the rest of them break out their cell phones and snack on the refreshments provided. Bryce walks over to me, but I don’t have time for conversation. I see him out of the corner of my eye as he stands back, watching me work.
For the final shot, the assistants bring in a ladder and stools. “Gentlemen, this will be the last set. Please remove your jackets, undo the top two buttons of your shirt, and push your sleeves up.”
The stools are set against the black backdrop, in a “flying ‘v’” formation with Bryce leading the flock. “Place one foot on the floor, your other foot on the bottom rung, so that one knee is higher than the other.” They kid around with each other and I swear I’m working with sixteen year olds. “Let’s get this finished,” I implore. Then I tell them to relax one hand in their lap, and casually drape the other hand over their elevated knee.
Once I’m at the top of the ladder, I have them look up at me. This says, “The sky’s the limit.” As I bring them into focus through the lens, I can’t help but look into Steede’s penetrating gaze. He’s debonair. Business, but relaxed. It’s as though no one else is in the room. My legs are shaky, and being this high off the ground, falling off right now would not be good.
Damn it. Get your head out of the clouds and focus.
With a few more clicks of the camera, the scheduled three-hour session finished in two and a half. The photos look amazing. “That’ll do it, gentlemen. I have everything, so you don’t have to come back tomorrow. Thank you all.” I climb down the ladder, feeling safe once my feet touch the ground. They all mill around, collecting their jackets and ties, and talking. The animated conversations fill the room with white noise.
While packing my equipment, I sense someone standing to my left. The camera strap is rough against my palm as I tighten my grip. My stomach flutters and my heart beats rapidly as my pulse quickens, fanning an already out-of-control burn deep within me. It’s hot in here. Please let it be coming from the lights.
A broad smile highlights Bryce’s face. “Ms. Quinn, I would say that went off without a hitch, wouldn’t you?”
“Hello, Mr. Steede.” I’m almost breathless. Being this close to him stirs something in me I shouldn’t be feeling and I take a small step back.
“Call me Bryce, please.” It sounds more like a command rather than a request.
“Mr. Steede. Bryce. Yes, I would say it was a successful day.”
“Did you get everything you came here for?” he asks.
There’s something carnal in the way he says it. A slight shiver races up my neck and back down again. Not wanting him to see me blush, I look down because I know I’m scarlet red. I feel it in my cheeks. No one has ever had this effect on me. Ever. A phone call to Dr. Hunter is definitely on the agenda ASAP.
“Yes. I’ve accomplished what I came to do. Thank you.” I’m not sure my voice sounded in control, but after regaining my senses I continue. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish packing up my gear,” I say while fumbling with my camera bag. “Besides, you all are being summoned.” I point in the direction of the Editor-in-Chief and other staff who are trying to usher all the execs out for cocktails and a dinner they are hosting.
“I’m staying at The Carlyle. Would you care to join me for a drink after dinner?” His tone sounds hopeful, but surely I’m mistaken and reading him wrong.
“Thank you for the invitation Mr. Steede but I need to process these photos by tomorrow. Besides, it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.” Even though I’ve never done it, I know people who have and it never ended well.
“Oh, I assure you Ms. Quinn, the pleasure would be all mine,” he growls l
ow and seductively, the words sounding like a promise.
“I’m going to try to get a flight back home in the morning, so I’ll have to finish my work tonight.” Okay, so I lied. I tried to sound convincing, but again, why do I feel the need to explain myself? Tomorrow I’ll have the entire day free, so I plan to take in the sights. I extend my hand to shake his, and when he takes it, he holds it longer than necessary. Warmth runs through me again, leaving me off balance. A slow smile crosses his lips. He obviously knows the effect he’s having on me. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Steede,” I say with as much poise as I can manage.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again at The Bridge photo shoot, Ms. Quinn.” His voice is low and husky. When I get my wits about me, I inform him I won’t be doing the shoot, but he’ll be in capable hands.
“I believe I’m already in capable hands,” he says, still holding onto mine. A dark, sensual glint flickers in his eyes. While I’m still trying to process that, he says, “I’d like to meet up with you for a drink once we’re back in San Francisco. How about next week before the shoot?”
In my confused, trance-like state I say, “Sure. Next week.” With a crooked grin, he says goodbye before he joins the others as they leave the room.
Wait a minute. What in the hell did I just agree to? I’ve never been so flustered by anyone before. The sooner I get out of here, the better. I finish packing up my equipment and make my way toward the elevator, hoping everyone else has left. No such luck. The Editor-in-Chief is there, waiting, holding the door for me. I smile and wave them on while pointing to my equipment. Thank goodness the elevator’s full. Being near Bryce again in a confined space would be more than I can bear.
#
At 8 a.m., I clumsily pat the bed for my ringing phone. Opening one eye, I see Jodi’s smiling face lighting up the screen. What’s she thinking calling this early? She knows I’m not a morning person.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Is there a problem with the file?” I ask, alarmed.
“Of course not, you’re a pro. I wanted to let you know how pleased I am - they’re great photos – just as I knew they would be. Forbes will be happy, and the CEOs should be, too.”
It was an ‘interesting’ shoot but I’m not about to go into that with her this early.
“I especially like your shots of Bryce Steede. You captured something special, I don’t know…something I can’t put my finger on. But it’s the reason I have to have you do the photos of him for our feature article. We really need the best, and that’s you.”
Oh, so that’s why she called so early. Putting a little pressure on me.
“Thanks for the compliment, but you know me: dedicated to my work. Up til 3 a.m. editing. Thought I would sleep in, then see the sights. Glad the file’s okay and you like it,” I yawn.
“Sorry I woke you. Hope you can go back to sleep. We’ll talk later.” I shake my head in frustration as I hang up. Now that I’m wide-awake, I might as well make the most of the day.
In the bustling cacophony of the street around me, people rush by as though they’re running late for very important appointments. What kind of work do all these people do? I buy a ticket for the hop-on, hop-off bus and set out to see as many landmarks as possible: the Empire State Building, 30 Rock, Battery Park, Times Square, Broadway, Greenwich Village, Central Park.
I end up at the Museum of Modern Art where I enjoy a delightful roasted mushroom tart and a glass of wine for lunch, while chatting with other hungry art lovers at our long communal table. Later, standing in jaw-dropping awe in front of Christopher Williams’ photography exhibit, “The Production Line of Happiness”, I begin to think of Jodi’s anxiety over our Forbes photo shoot and how everything went so well yesterday - if you don’t count my unexpected physical reaction to Bryce Steede, and how my mouth had a mind of its own while I was talking with him. I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling deep breaths and exhaling slowly.
I can’t believe I fell for Bryce Steede’s pick-up lines. I feel a flush rising to my face, then I begin to feel angry. Why did I let this hotshot playboy rattle my cage? I’ve worked for years to keep men who feel they’re god’s gift to women at arm’s length from me. Every time I’ve photographed Steede at a society event, he’s had a different woman hanging onto his arm. I’ve always felt a bit sorry for them, groveling and swooning over him like a wet noodle. I giggle at the image, in spite of myself. I almost fell for it. Almost. Thank goodness I’ve come to my senses in time.
I won’t call him and I’ll tell Jodi I can’t change my vacation plans, then there’ll be no event where Steede and I’ll have to cross paths again. He doesn’t have my contact information and we certainly don’t run in the same social circles, so it won’t be a problem to avoid him. I need to push that whole embarrassing hot/cold/tingly fiasco from yesterday out of my mind, and forget all about him.
It’s a sunny afternoon with not a cloud in sight. I decide to walk back to the hotel, but I don’t get far. I get an eerie feeling someone’s watching me. I sit down at a sidewalk café to survey the area while I have a cool drink. No one seems to be paying any attention to me, but I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Although I feel a bit silly, I trust my intuition, and my training, and I hail a cab.
As I walk into the hotel, a man jumps up from a chair, throws up his fists and yells, “You bitch. Who do you think you are, giving me the number of a fucking escort service?”
Before he can move toward me, a hand grabs the back of his neck, and a tall, well dressed man, attached to the arm, looks at me and says, “Sorry, Ma’am. Don’t worry. He won’t bother you again,” all the while pushing the flailing man out onto the sidewalk and down the block.
Pretty impressive response. My reactions are good, but the security guy’s were excellent. He came out of nowhere. The people who had turned to see what was happening have lost interest – it was all over so quickly.
I lock the door, strip off my clothes down to my underwear, and plop down on the bed in the cool of my hotel room. As I lie here, I’m thinking about Bryce again. Damn it. Why is he invading my thoughts? Being around him brought up feelings of want and desire, feelings foreign to me and out of reach. Granted, I chose to build what I thought was an impenetrable wall, keeping my guard up and making myself emotionally unavailable. He’s good looking, I’ll give him that, and he knows how to use it to his advantage. Well, not this time Mr. Steede. Not this girl. It’s time to de-stress.
I ask the concierge to call for a taxi to the nearest ice rink. As I open my room door, I almost collide with the hotel’s head of security. He’s wearing a gold-colored name badge and he shows me his hotel ID.
“Ms. Quinn, on behalf of the hotel, I want to apologize for the incident in the lobby earlier. Are you doing okay?’
“I’m fine. I appreciate your coming to check on me, though. I was very impressed with how quickly your employee handled the situation.”
He paused, “Ms. Quinn, that man’s not our employee. In fact, we don’t know who he is.”
“It’s nice to know good Samaritans still exist,” I say, making my way to the elevator.
The cab drops me at Wollman Rink at Central Park. This is what I need. Turning my music on, I find what I’m looking for. When I really need to release tension on the rink, I prefer the music of Jean-Michel Jarre. Today I pick Equinoxe I and IV and Oxygene II and IV. With my earbuds in and my phone secured around my arm, I take off. The cold beneath me feels good as I glide along the ice.
This is the escape I’ve needed since my flight. Since Mr. Sex on legs got to you. As the music intensifies, so does my stroking and I pick up speed, flying around the corners, backwards, spinning, and jumping. I feel light as a feather.
#
Back at the hotel, I check in for my flight tomorrow and text Steven my arrival time. A quick shower before the food arrives is just what I need. Tonight’s agenda is room service food eaten in bed while I relax
and watch mindless TV, which ends with me being stuffed to the point I can barely move and thankful that I packed earlier. Right now I couldn’t get up without the help of a crane.
My eyelids are so heavy I fall asleep immediately, but not before slate-blue eyes invade my thoughts.
CHAPTER 5
An uneventful, but bumpy, cab ride delivers me to the airport by eleven, an hour before my flight. As I bounce against my seatbelt and the sun’s heat sears my skin, I think about all the lights in Times Square last night. I laugh aloud when I think of telling Steven and Sampson that I have finally found something that gives their million-dollar smiles a run for the money.
The line for my flight is so long and winding that it almost merges with passengers lined up for another airline. My phone dings, alerting that my flight is cancelled. Oh, great. Now you tell me. Because I’m flying first class, I’m lucky not to be bumped, and am quickly assigned a window seat on the next flight out.
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