Page 67 of Dirty Shots

“So are you his P.A. or something?” Turner asked.

“Umm, no. Not quite.” She was surprised he’d think such a thing considering her outfit.

“But you work for him?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

He shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Her cheeks heated. “I do some modeling work for Eric.”

“Oh, I see.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence while the coffee finished brewing, and then she got back to her feet and brought his cup over and placed it on the table in front of him. Anxiously, she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“What time did you say your appointment was?”

“Oh ...” She caught his eyes flicking to the clock as well. “About two-thirty.”

Wouldn’t he know an exact time?

“So what kind of modeling do you do for him, exactly?”

She frowned. “That depends on what Eric’s working on.”

“I hear he’s been working on a new line of photographs, heading in a new, riskier direction.”

Something turned uneasily inside her stomach. “I think I’ll just try Eric’s cell again.”

She got up and turned away. As she dialed his number again, she caught sight of the reporter lifting his own phone, and a flash went off.

Her heart lurched. “What are you doing?”

Eric’s voice came through the phone. “Anya?” Her focus moved back to Eric. “Oh, Eric, thank God. You had an appointment with a reporter today. You must have forgotten about it.”

He hesitated. “Umm, no, I didn’t. I don’t have any appointments.”

She glanced over at the man sipping coffee. “Well, there’s a man here waiting for you.”

“What? Waiting where? Not in the apartment?”

She lowered her voice. “Yeah, I let him in. Was that wrong?”

“Just hang tight, Anya. I’m almost with you.”

She turned back to find the reporter getting to his feet. She frowned, her body tensing.

“I should really get going,” he said.

“That was Mr. Rutherford. He’s almost here. Don’t you want to keep your appointment?” Her tone was ice cold.

“I’ve wasted enough time already. I can’t afford any more.”

He started to head toward the door, but she slipped in front of him, blocking the way. “Seriously, Mr. Turner. He said he was right outside. Why else were you waiting for him unless you wanted to keep your appointment?”

“Please, young lady. I’m asking you nicely to move out of my way.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You sure you don’t want to take any more photographs while I’m standing here?”

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