Page 18 of Picture Perfect

“Oh…Broadway. Makes sense.”

“No. Film. Which means I’d probably move to L.A.”

At least that was a little closer to Colorado—but why did I care? Shane and I were just enjoying a fling. He wasn’t going to be part of my future, so why was I worried about where he planted his roots? “When are you thinking about doing that?”

“Well, I’ve enrolled in acting lessons—I figured I could find ones in New York that were just as good, if not better, and I start in January. I’ll keep modeling and then move to L.A. when I’m ready.” I rested my fork on the almost-empty salad plate and pushed it to the side so there was room for a larger plate.

“That’s amazing, Shane. Crazy but amazing.”

He shrugged, grinning and nodding. “Yeah, don’t I know it. But my agent says I have a good face for the camera—whatever the hell that means.”

I knew what that meant and had to agree with his agent. That was why his career had taken off—the camera loved him so much that other viewers couldn’t help but be fascinated too. “I could see how acting would probably be a better long-term career.”

“No shit. I don’t plan on getting plastic surgery or dying my hair just to look perpetually young.” I could respect that. It was part of the reason why I’d been sour on modeling all along, in spite of the fact that I made decent money when I did it. “But what about you, Ivy? What’s been going on in your world since I saw you last?”

I frowned a bit. I couldn’t remember what all I’d told Shane and what I hadn’t. “You know I’m a grad student, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So this spring I’ll be defending my dissertation. I think I’m just about ready.”

The waitress showed up with our meals then and slid a plate in front of me before giving Shane his. Then she asked if we needed anything else before whisking our salad plates off the table and scooting off to fetch a little more wine. I was picking up my knife to cut the chicken when Shane said, “Back to your dissertation. You don’t seem too thrilled about it. Did you have problems writing it?”

“No, that’s not it.”

Shit. I’d just let the cat out of the bag.

Shane cocked his head. “So what is it then?”

I took a breath. Did I even want to tell him? And why did it matter? Shane and I had met at Greg’s studio. At best, maybe he could give me some advice; at worst, I might feel a little better talking about it. So I told him first about how I’d come across one of our most suggestive photos being used as a book cover. Shane nodded and smiled through a couple of bites of food but he let me talk.

“I explained to Greg that I initially hadn’t thought it through—you know, modeling without my bra. With it on, there was still enough of an element of ‘decency,’ if you could call it that, but enough that I’d feel comfortable arguing my position with anyone who cried foul. But I know there are those out there who would make a federal case out of topless photographs—and I see one of two things coming out of that: I either never get the job I’ve been working so hard for or I get started, only to have it yanked from me at some point in the future.”

“What did he say?”

The waitress came by with a wine bottle and filled up our glasses. “How’s the food?”

My almost untouched food? “Great.” Shane agreed, but we were mainly just trying to get her to scoot off. I wasn’t going to let the wine go to waste, though, so I took a long sip before I looked back at Shane.

“You said you talked to Greg. What did he say?”

“One hundred thousand.” Shane squinted his eyes. “Dollars. And I was only asking him to stop selling the topless ones.”

Shane was quiet but I could see the rise and fall of his chest underneath his button-down shirt. “That was it? No negotiation?”

“He said his business has taken off since he started selling our photos. The ones from that session. He credits you but it’s my bare top in them.”

“You think you’d have problems even though your nipples aren’t showing?”

“When I actually saw the photographs—and knew with some of them there’s no denying it’s me—I realized just how suggestive they were…and it’s a chance I’d rather not take.” I could see in Shane’s eyes that he was trying to problem solve but there was only one answer at this point. “I guess all I can do is hope that those pictures eventually grow old and stale and none of my colleagues come across those pictures. The one thing in my favor is I doubt anyone in my circles would be searching for those types of novels, so the odds of them finding one of those covers is low.”

“But you saw it.”

I nodded. “Yeah, and that’s why I still have a little healthy fear. Unless all those photos are unavailable, there’s always a chance—but I figured the popularity of a book wanes over time, so what’s already done might eventually be okay. If he keeps selling them—well, you never know what that could lead to.”

Shane was quiet for a while and I wasn’t sure why. His jaw was rigid, though, until he lifted the wine glass to his lips and downed the glass in one quick swallow. “I know how to solve your problem.” I raised an eyebrow. I was all ears. If he’d thought of something I hadn’t, I’d be willing to give it a try. “Good old-fashioned negative reinforcement.” Shane placed the glass back on the table before looking me in the eyes. “I’m going to beat the shit out of him. He’ll stop.”

“No, Shane. That won’t work. He could have you arrested and then the pictures will really be out in the open.”

Shane stood, and I could tell then that his anger was overruling anything his brain would tell him. “Threats are sometimes just as effective.”

But the way he’d formed his hands into fists as he marched out of the restaurant—leaving me speechless and unbelieving at the table—made me see that he was only saying that so I’d let him go. Coming to my senses, I ran outside and saw Shane storming through the parking lot toward his car. “Shane. Shane!”

But my words were lost in the cold night air, falling like silent snow on deaf ears.

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