Page 60 of Hot Shot

The job with Jessica Farris was amazing. I did the photos nearly two weeks ago, sent them the images, and they loved them. Jessica has already posted one on social media, giving me credit, yay! And I charged them a fuckton of money for that job, because, hey, I’m worth it.

I’ve also been working on details for my trip to Spain. I’ve located a small apartment near the school that’s rented by the month, and sent a deposit to have it for October 1, so I have somewhere to live. I already have a passport, but I had to apply for a visa to stay in Spain longer than ninety days. I have to figure out what I need to pack, including photography equipment. And I have to book my flight. I’ve been watching prices, and they aren’t going to get any cheaper.

When Marco arrives at my place one evening and finds me frantically googling the weather in Madrid in October while searching for flights on another tab in my browser, making a packing list.andtalking on the phone to the DJ I finally found who’s agreed to donate his time for the dance at the retirement village, he strides to my fridge, pulls out a bottle of Pinot Grigio, uncorks it, and pours a big glass.

He hands it to me and I flash him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” I mouth, then say into the phone, “Okay, we’ll see you Thursday night there at seven o’clock. You have the list of songs, right?” I nod. “Perfect. Thank you so much, Eli.”

I end the call and drop my phone onto the coffee table beside my laptop with a groan.

“Oh my God. How am I going to survive the next few weeks until I leave for Spain?”

Marco’s eyes tighten fractionally at the corners, but he smiles. “Six weeks.”

I laugh. “Right. It’s still not enough time to get things done. I’m trying to find flights and figure out what to pack, in between wedding stuff, Julia stuff, Grandma stuff, and art studio stuff.”

“You sound stressed.”

I sigh and sip my wine. “I guess I am a little.” I hold up the wineglass. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome. What can I do to help?”

My heart squeezes. “Thank you. I need to book a flight.”

“Of course you do.” Despite his light tone, the air around us changes, going flat. “Let’s have a look.”

I move my laptop and open the browser tab. “This site compares flights. I have the apartment for October 1, but school doesn’t start until the fifth, so I can fly October 1 to 4. I’d like to get there a few days before school starts, though, to figure out my way around and settle in.”

“Well, it’s probably going to take you over a day to get there, so probably better to leave early.”

“Over a day?”

“Well, the better part of. See?” He points at the screen. “You leave at seven forty-five in the morning and arrive in Madrid at eight fifteen the next day. With the time difference and flying time, that’s a whole day.”

“Ugh. I hate long flights. I worked in Japan for a while years ago, doing some modeling.”

“Japan? That’s cool.”

“It was interesting. But you’ve traveled a lot too.”

“Sure, although we weren’t exactly sightseeing.”

“You must have had time off.”

He smiles. “Yeah, we did. And I got to see some amazing things. I’d like to travel for fun, once we get things nice and stable with Conquistadors. You like traveling?”

“I do. Most of my traveling has been for work, though, and that gets old. It would be fun to go somewhere just to relax . . . and take pictures. Like maybe a tropical beach. Or Paris.”

“You’d look good on a tropical beach. In a little bikini. Better yet, on a French beach where you could go topless.”

I give him a look, chin down, eyebrows raised. “Topless?”

He grins. “Yeah.”

“You’ve been to these beaches?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Hmmm. That might be . . . hot.”

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