Page 23 of Pose for Me

I turn it over in my hands, searching for any identifying marks. Finding none, I slide my nail under the flap, tearing it open with a soft rip that seems to echo in the stillness of the studio.

Inside is a single photograph. My breath catches in my throat as I pull it out, eyes widening in shock. It's me. Walking into the bar last night, my black dress swaying around my thighs, head turned slightly as if sensing someone's gaze. The image is crisp, professional—clearly taken with a high-end camera by someone who knows what they're doing.

But it's not the quality of the photo that has my heart hammering against my ribs. It's the single word scrawled across the bottom in bold, red ink:

MINE

For a moment, I'm frozen, my mind racing. Could River have taken this? The quality suggests a skilled photographer, and I remember the easy way he handled my camera during their session. But then, Knox's piercing gaze flashes through my memory—that predatory intensity that made me feel like prey caught in his sights. Either of them could have snapped this shot.

A small voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe, just maybe, our encounter meant more to them than I assumed. The word scrawled across the image is full of possessive energy. Did they feel the same magnetic pull I did? Was our meeting in the bar hallway more than mere coincidence?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the swirling thoughts. I can't afford to get lost in speculation right now, not with a client due in only half an hour. Whatever this means, whatever is happening, I'll have to deal with it later.

I slide the photo back into the envelope, the thick paper feels heavy in my hands, weighted with unspoken implications. I hurry to my desk, tucking the envelope into the top drawer where it will be out of sight. But even as I close the drawer, I can feel its presence like a physical thing, impossible to ignore completely.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to focus on the tasks at hand. I have a job to do, a client to empower and make feel beautiful. I can't let myself get distracted by... whatever this is.

Chapter 17

Rayne

AsI'madjustingoneof the studio lights, I hear a familiar knock sequence at the studio door. A smile tugs at my lips as I call out, "Come in, Ainsley!"

The door swings open, revealing my friend and go-to hair and makeup artist. Her vibrant purple hair is twisted into an intricate updo, showcasing the shimmering silver hoops dangling from her ears. She's dressed in her usual all-black ensemble, which makes her colorful tattoos stand out even more against her pale skin.

"Rayne!" she exclaims, her green eyes sparkling as she sets down her massive makeup case, a tray of coffee cups balanced precariously on top. "I come bearing gifts," she continues with a grin, holding up the tray. "One caramel latte for you, and a cinnamon dolce double shot for me."

I laugh, crossing the room to relieve her of the coffees. "You're a lifesaver, Ains. How did you know I was in desperate need of caffeine?"

She quirks an eyebrow at me. "When are you not in need of caffeine, darling?"

"Fair point," I concede, taking a grateful sip of the latte. The rich, creamy flavor blooms across my tongue, and I let out a contented sigh.

"You will not believe the book I just finished. It was absolutely mind-blowing," she announces as she begins unpacking her supplies, arranging an impressive array of brushes, palettes, and products on a bench I have for that very purpose.

I can't help but grin, already feeling my earlier unease melting away in the face of Ainsley's infectious enthusiasm. "Oh yeah? Don't tell me—another dark romance that had you staying up until 3 a.m?"

"You know me too well," she laughs, retrieving her makeup chair that she stores in my office. "But seriously, this one was next level. The tension, the angst, the spice—I couldn't put it down."

As Ainsley continues setting up her station, we fall into our usual rhythm of excited chatter about our latest reads. It's a welcome distraction. I settle into the chair she just set up. There's still some time before our client arrives, and I can feel the tension from earlier slowly melting away in Ainsley's familiar presence.

"Okay, spill," I say, leaning back in the chair as Ainsley begins running her fingers through my hair, playing with it as she always does while we wait. "What was this mind-blowing book about?"

Her green eyes light up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Picture this: a small-town librarian with a secret dark side. By day, she's all cardigans and sensible shoes. But by night? She's hunting down criminals that the justice system failed to punish."

"Ooh, vigilante justice. I love it already," I murmur, closing my eyes as she starts working some product through my locks.

"It gets better," Ainsley continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's this brooding, mysterious newcomer in town. Tall, dark, and deliciously dangerous. Turns out, he's an undercover detective investigating a string of disappearances."

I crack open one eye, quirking an eyebrow. "Let me guess, the disappearances are actually our librarian's victims?"

"Bingo!" Ainsley laughs, starting to twirl sections of my hair and pin them up to create a twisted crown that I know will have my curls coming out when I let it all down again. "But here's the kicker—he figures it out pretty quickly. And instead of arresting her, he's... intrigued."

"Of course he is," I chuckle, shaking my head slightly.

"No, but listen," she insists, pausing to meet my gaze in the mirror. "It's not just about the thrill of the hunt or some twisted attraction. He genuinely sees the good in what she's doing, even if her methods are... extreme. And she challenges his black-and-white view of justice."

I hum thoughtfully, considering the premise. "Sounds like it could get pretty intense."

---