Page 1 of The Friend

Chapter One

“Style guru Abby Weiss wows the fashion world with her incredible work for Australia’s leading chic magazine Finesse. The Whitsunday islands proved a spectacular backdrop to showcase Weiss’s talents who, thanks to her stellar work on this shoot, secured the number one stylist job at Finesse. Look out for more from this brilliant up and comer in the industry.”

Abby envisioned the headline in her mind. She’d visualised nothing else since she’d received the phone call from Mark Pyman, CEO ofFinesse, saying she’d scored the lucrative gig for the magazine’s summer spread, boarded a plane for Sapphire Island, and checked into this exclusive resort.

What she’d seen of the island so far had fired her imagination and she knew with a little creativity and a lot of hard work this would be her best shot at the top job. Mark had hinted at it and the powerbroker of Australia’s fashion magazine industry didn’t hint at anything lightly.

Thanks to a little healthy visualisation she could definitely see those headlines: in huge Arial font, bolded, and cut out fromFinesse’ssummer issue and taking pride of place over her desk back home in Sydney.

Finally, her chance at the big time.

Wandering into the hotel’s poolside bar with an extra spring in her step, she marvelled at the staggering array of tropical plants and exotic orchids, her excitement growing as she scoped out another great site for a shoot.

Sapphire Island had proven to be a gold mine, providing the perfect backdrop for displaying the fashion of Australia’s leading designers. True to form, Mark had organised several top models, which made her job a heck of a lot easier.

Dealing with professionals and seeing the results made her proud to work in the cutthroat fashion industry. Though she hadn’t met the photographer yet, she knew Mark only used the best.

At the thought of photographers, she wondered which part of the world Judd currently lived in. They hadn’t spoken for three months, an anomaly in their close relationship. Well, as close as they could get over the phone and internet.

She hadn’t received one of his infamous one-line postcards lately either. She loved his corny, old school way of communicating and wondered what he’d say if he knew she’d kept every single one and made a collage that adorned her study wall? Probably something witty designed to cut her down in typical Judd Calloway fashion.

Some things never change.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Luckily, they’d moved past thethingon graduation night and had managed to sustain a strong friendship.

Nothing like denial to get through the last eight years as his best buddy and confidante.

“Well, well, well. Amazing what the ocean can wash up these days.”

Abby startled and whirled around, seeing but not quite believing what she initially thought her imagination had conjured up.

“No way.” She poked Judd in the chest to check he was real. Her excuse, she was sticking to it. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled, the same lazy grin that lit up the gold flecks in his hazel eyes and had her instinctively grinning back at him, despite not seeing him in person since that fateful night of the graduation dance.

“Is that any way to greet your new photographer?”

She gaped, not sure she’d heard right. “You’redoing this gig? But we’re shooting fashion, not wildlife.”

He slid onto one of the barstools and patted the seat next to him. “I’m not too sure about that. I’ve seen the way some of your crowd party and it looks pretty wild to me.”

“They’re not my crowd. I just work with them.”

“And you date them.” His teasing was as familiar as him reaching for a stray curl and tucking it behind her ear. “No accounting for taste, is there?”

Abby fought a losing battle with a blush as heat surged up her neck and settled somewhere in the vicinity where he’d touched her.

Judd hadn’t touched her in a long time. Those hot dreams on sultry Sydney nights of him touching her like she wanted him to didn’t count.

“My taste must be questionable, considering I keep in contact with you.”

Judd chuckled, the timbre warming her like the hot chocolate sundaes with extra fudge they’d shared as kids.

“Your last postcard said you were in the wilds of South Africa shooting zebras, and now you’re here. What on earth would tempt the world’s best wildlife photographer to do a fashion shoot?”

He’d scoffed at what he termed ‘the shallow world of fashion’ ever since she’d started working in the industry so she knew something, or someone, important had to be behind this.

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