Page 77 of Dirty Shots

Chapter Twenty-two

Anya

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She woke to the ringingof a phone.

Anya blinked open her eyes and reached across the bed to nudge Eric, only to discover his side of the bed empty. They’d spent the evening with her nursing a glass of wine on the couch, while he’d made some edits to the photographs. He’d called her over every now and then to show her a particularly beautiful shot, explaining exactly how the light and lines in the photograph worked so well. She’d appreciated how he’d taken the time to teach her. With Eric as her personal tutor, her own skills were sure to grow exponentially over the next few years. The idea of being behind the camera herself excited her even more than the modeling did.

Exhausted, they’d both agreed on an early night and had fallen asleep in each other’s arms without there being even a hint of sex. Perhaps she should have been concerned they’d not made love again, but instead she simply felt comfortable with him, as though they’d reached that stage in their relationship where they could fall asleep together without sex preceding it.

Only now he wasn’t there.

“Eric?” she called out.

He appeared from the direction of his office area, his dark hair mussed, his eyes slightly wild. He must have been working. “What’s going on?”

“Phone?” she said, but then realized something. “Oh, shit. It’s my cell. Sorry.”

Her purse was somewhere beside the bed, so she reached down and swiped around for it. The ringing stopped as her voicemail cut in, but then almost immediately started to ring again.

She frowned, and dragged herself to sitting. Her body ached from the previous day’s antics with Eric and Logan, but she couldn’t think about that right now. Someone really wanted to get hold of her.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes with one hand, her hand found her purse and she dragged it back up onto the bed with her. She scrabbled around inside, wishing she didn’t carry quite so much crap around with her all the time. Finally, her fingers wrapped around the smooth metal and she picked the phone out of her bag.

It was still ringing.

Anya glanced at the screen. Nadine. Why was her ex-roommate so desperate to get hold of her?

She hit the button to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

Nadine didn’t even bother to say hi. “Have you seen the New York Journal today?”

“What? No. I haven’t even woken up properly, never mind read the newspaper.”

Eric was staring at her, his dark eyebrows drawn down in a frown. He shook his head at her slightly, silently asking what was going on, but she lifted her hand to tell him she didn’t know yet.

“You might want to get yourself a copy,” Nadine said. “Actually, then again, you might not.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

She heard the sigh come down the line.

“Some reporter has run a story on that photographer guy of yours, saying he’s turned to photographing porn, and they’ve used a photograph of you in the piece.”

“Jonathan Turner! That bastard!”

“What’s going on?” Eric hissed.

She shook her head at him.

“You know him?” asked Nadine.

“Yeah, I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him, which is when he took the photograph.” She couldn’t imagine what her father would be making of this newest turn. He’d be humiliated. Her gut twisted. She’d never meant to do that to him. “I’ve got to go, Nadine. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Umm, I’m really sorry, Anya, but that’s not all.”

Her stomach plummeted. How could it be any worse? “Go on ...” Her voice was a whisper.

“Someone at the college must have come across the story. They’ve photocopied the article and plastered it all over campus.”

“What?” Her world fell away, her mind spinning. She’d be the talk of campus.

“I’m so sorry, Anya.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, though her voice sounded distant, and she felt detached. Eric was staring at her, wide-eyed, and clearly desperate to know what was happening. There was only one person she knew vindictive enough to pull a stunt like that.

Gavin Hollis.

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