Page 62 of Overexposed

“How did you put it? I’m a hard-ass, not a complete dick.”

“I believe I said I was a photographer, not a pervert.”

One corner of his mouth kicked a little higher. Uh-oh, was Seven Harrison showing some humanity? Breaking news.

“True.” He glanced over his shoulder, but I’d pulled the door to the living room mostly closed. When he looked at me again, he said, “I would like to sit down and work out a deal with you to help with the damage control.”

“I have no damage to control,” I reminded him. Was it kind of annoying to beinthe images? Yes. That said, it didn’t interfere with my job so much as serve as a reminder to be careful.

“No,” Seven said slowly, pushing the word out between his teeth. “I’m sure you don’t. At least until word gets to the media with your name and occupation.”

Was that a real threat? Or was he bluffing? Folding my arms, I leaned back against the counter. “Oh no, whatever will I do? My reputation will be… Oh, that’s right, I don’t care what people think of me.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the statement or my deadpan recitation, but Seven actually huffed a laugh.

“True, but I think you do care about Gem’s.”

I frowned. “What does Gem have to do with this?”Besides the obvious that he’s in the photos.

“Except that he is in the images?” Seven echoed my unspoken words. “Well, Jerry only had two ideas for dealing with this falloutandsalvaging the negotiations with Carriage Pictures. The first is we date—it puts us in front of the story and in charge of the narrative. We let people know that Clara Belle and I broke up weeks ago, and I was just letting her set the tone.Then the photos broke, so as much as I wanted to let her make the decisions, I don’t want there to be any mistruths out there about you. I was very single when we met, and it was passion at first sight.”

I snorted. “Hate is a passion, I suppose.”

“Truly.” He gave me a faint smile as he shook his head. “Regardless, now that we’re in the open, we’re in the open. Then it’s a romance and not cheating. I’m a dashing hero who was trying to protect your anonymity, but now I will step in front of it to keep you safe.”

“You’re really spreading that on a little thick,” I said dryly. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s a story, Stray, and this is Hollywood after all. That’s all I’m asking for here. Help me sell thestory. It’ll be a few nights of your life and it’ll get your dirty little boots in doors you’d probably never be welcomed through otherwise.”

For all the smoothness he’d shown in describing the conditions of our “fake dating,” he’d shifted to a far more patronizing note.

“A few nightsishours and hours of time that I’d have to spend with you, right?” Because that was already a turnoff. “In addition, I wouldn't be able to work which is lost money.”

“I already offered to compensate you,” he said, adopting a far more mollifying tone. “I even sent you a deposit to get you to show up to talk to Jerry with me.”

“I told you I wasn’t for sale.”

“You still kept the money,” he reminded me.

Arms still folded, I lifted my shoulders. “What you do with your money is none of my business. You dropping it into my bank doesn’t win you anything.”

“So it would seem,” he responded. “While we could continue to argue and debate that, I really am here hat in hand…”

When I glanced at his empty hands and then back up, he gave me an impatient look. Oh, there it was—real irritation in blue eyes even as his nostrils flared. Maybe there was something cracked inside of me because I much preferred this to his attempts to “play nice.”

He wasn’t nice and I wasn’t a fan; he didn’t need to play a part.

“With mymetaphoricalhat in hand,” he added smoothly. “If you need to be compensated for your time away, then I am more than willing to meet your demands. You negotiated fifty for the NDA and twenty for an appointment you didn’t bother to show up for.”

I could dispute that point, but I wasn’t going to repeat myself.

“Therefore, I would imagine that any evening requiring more than an hour will require commensurate compensation. Let’s say twenty-five thousand per instance.”

I raised my brows. “More than an hour can mean anything from an hour and five minutes to two days.”

“Accepted,” he said far too agreeably. “Let’s say more than one hour, less than four hours, twenty-five thousand. Additional hours can incur a penalty of one thousand per hour.”

“Twenty-five thousand for three hours is eight-thousand three hundred and thirty-three dollars. One thousand per hour is chump change.”

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