Page 65 of Dirty Shots

“I’m saying there might be parts of your daughter you don’t know as well as you think you do.”

He snorted. “I think you want to make sure the entire city knows my daughter’s parts.”

“It’s art,” Eric snapped, starting to feel like a broken record.

“If you continue with this exhibition, I will make sure you never work again. I’ll let everyone know that you pressured my daughter into taking these explicit photos. I’ll go to every paper, every art magazine and online review site. I won’t let this rest, Mr. Rutherford.”

Eric shook his head in dismay. “You’re supposed to be an art critic. Is there no way you can look at this objectively? Come and support Anya and see the pictures and how beautiful she is. Appreciate the art she’s been a part of creating.”

“I’ll die before that happens.” He pointed a finger at Eric. “And let me remind you that Anya is my daughter. I have raised her for twenty-two years, and if you think you can strut in here as if you’re something important in her life, you’re going to get a hell of a shock when she comes to her senses, turns around, and tells you you’re no longer able to exploit her body.”

Eric clenched his fists and spoke in a low, measured tone. “Anya is in love with me, Mr. Bergman. Do you remember what that is like, to be so utterly in love with someone you will literally do anything if it means being with that person? You will lose her if you continue to treat her this way. You can emotionally blackmail her as much as you want, but she wants to do the exhibition.”

“No. You’ve made her think she does, that’s all. She’ll realize what a huge mistake she’s making and come back to her family.”

Eric shook his head. “If you make her choose between you and me, you will lose.”

Trent Bergman picked up the shot of whisky he’d ordered and drained the glass. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Rutherford. When you’re alone and your career is lying in tatters at your feet, we’ll see who ends up as the loser.”

He slammed the glass back onto the table, got to his feet, and stormed from the bar.

Eric let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, sinking back into his seat.

Anya had been right about him not speaking to her father. He had a feeling he had just made things one hundred times worse.

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