Page 20 of Picture Perfect

He chuckled as I turned. “Don’t get all sassy, just ‘cause you’re wearing my shirt.” I smiled, wanting to dash over and take his face in my hands. I felt giddy. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had spent the night with me and I had to admit it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling.

I was still grinning when I said, “Fine. Spit it out.”

There was something in his eyes then, something soft and mushy, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. “My mom’s having a big family dinner tonight—my brother and his wife, my aunt and uncle, my grandma—and I thought it might be nice if you came, too.” He looked down at his coffee cup. “Unless you have something else to do.” Then he lifted the cup and took a swig before making eye contact with me again.

That sweetness melted my entire heart. Maybe he was feeling a little mushy, too, just like I’d been. Either that or I was ascribing my own emotions and thoughts to him when I was clearly mistaken. There would be no way for me to know, but I had to stop reading into his behavior and simply take it at face value. That alone was good enough.

“I would love that.” And knowing I had something like this in my near future would give me the strength and courage I’d need to be bold with Greg…because I had a feeling I would be venturing into a dark place…

* * *

I’d called Greg right after Shane left my place—but not before he gave me the kiss of a lifetime. So I was riding a bit of a high when I phoned the photographer, and I used that floaty feeling to keep my voice light and calm. Fortunately, he agreed to meet for lunch, saying it fit perfectly in his schedule.

He seemed to be on the fence about it until I told him it was my treat.

I was starting to loathe this man, but letting those emotions show would not help me negotiate or plead my case. For the second or third time today, I could hear my mother’s voice in my head: You get more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Today, I would test that theory.

While I’d been upset and tense the first time I’d asked Greg to consider taking the pictures down, I hadn’t been sweet—and I also hadn’t tried negotiating. Maybe we could barter and come up with a value of all the photos I wanted him to take down; then maybe if I only chose the ones I thought would be indefensible—and perhaps if I could get him to chop our heads out of more of the risqué ones…I might have a chance of convincing him.

It was worth a shot.

The problem was, from the moment I said hi to Greg at the restaurant all the way through to the ordering of the food, he’d had a smug smirk on his face. What that meant I had no clue, but I suspected I’d find out soon enough. I wanted to grill him about it, instead choosing to keep the cool friendly demeanor I’d been wearing like chainmail. It was my only hope.

After the waiter whisked our menus away, Greg asked, “So how did I score lunch with a lovely model? What’s up with that, Ivy?”

I smiled then, reminded that Greg was no dummy. Of course, he wasn’t. He was running a business, so he had to have something going on upstairs. I had to remind myself over and over that sometimes the most brilliant—and, yes, shrewd—people would not be found on my campus. So, chainmail intact, I gave him the answer I’d been practicing all morning. “I’ve been thinking about my problem—the one I’d talked with you about recently.”

“The photos that have you nervous.”

He wasn’t going to play dumb. That was good, because it would serve no purpose. I didn’t want to beat around the bush anyway. I wanted to get it over with—like finally throwing up after feeling nauseated for hours. “Yes. I’ve been trying to come up with a mutually satisfying solution.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too, Ivy, because I know how upset you’ve been about it.” He grabbed his glass of soda and drew on the straw for a moment before continuing. I realized in that pause that my stomach muscles were tight and, underneath them, the butterflies were dancing away. “But you first. Tell me your ideas.”

Feeling a little more relaxed with the realization that Greg wasn’t some monster, I went through several scenarios, presented multiple options, including one where I’d pay him every month, just like a bill, or I’d model every month for free until the value of the photos had been reimbursed. I went through every idea I had, pitching them much like I thought a screenwriter might, hoping the producers would find one promising enough to pursue.

Throughout my “presentation” and long past the point where our food had arrived, I’d been trying to gauge Greg’s interest through his facial expressions, but he wasn’t giving anything away. I couldn’t tell if he was intrigued by my ideas or merely humoring me.

I found out soon enough when I asked, “Do any of those proposals sound appealing?” I thought about taking a bite of my sandwich now that I was giving up the floor, but I had no appetite. I was too tense by this point.

“Ivy, I love that you’re trying to problem solve. It tells me that you’re willing to listen to my ideas as well.” Why the hell did that sound so ominous?

I swallowed, trying to keep those damned butterflies at bay. “Sure.”

“I have a proposal for you that I think will be beneficial for both of us. Now, you realize first that I cannot ask my customers to remove the book covers already created with those photos. You and Shane had already signed consent and my customers purchased those images in good faith. This also includes images that have, as of today, been purchased but not used as yet. Those are things I have no control over.”

My stomach went from fluttery to sour, but I had to know. “How many images have you sold that haven’t been used yet?” I needed to know just how bad this was.

“Well, you know my site is automated. If someone buys a non-exclusive photo, I have nothing to do with the exchange. Only when someone wants exclusive rights do I become involved.” I swallowed another pool of saliva in my mouth but let him continue. “That said, I checked before our meeting and there are still plenty of views of those particular photos, but no exclusive shots purchased over the past few days.” I nodded, feeling some of the tension in my muscles ease up a little bit.

“But the proposal. Tell me again why you’re so desperate to get rid of these photos after modeling for so long—and being so good at it. You’re a natural, Ivy. You could be making a lot more money working with an agency.”

I sighed. I was pretty sure I’d told Greg this story before, but one more time wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it would be that appeal to decency, to his human side, that would win him over after all. I explained to him that the degree I’d been working so hard to earn for years now was just within reach, that all my efforts would soon pay off, but that I didn’t know that I could pursue my career—that of being a tenure-track professor—with those damned topless photos looming over my head.

As much as I’d considered myself an actor when in front of the camera, I had no idea what an expert Greg was. During my plea, he seemed attentive—and even caring. I was certain he understood my plight and empathized.

I’d been wrong. All that had done was help him realize just how desperate I’d become. Instead of bringing out the caring man in Greg, I’d helped him reveal his vileness. “This is important to you.” I nodded. “As I said, I have a proposal for you that I think will benefit us both.” As if to drag out the moment—almost as if he was feeding on my queasy emotions—he took another drink of his tea before continuing. “What if I took down all the photos where you’re topless?” After a second, he added, “All the unpurchased ones, of course, but also including the non-exclusive ones.”

---