Page 8 of Obsessed

Although he knew what was in the envelope, he still burned with anger when he reluctantly opened it and read the pages inside. His parents and brother had been contesting the will and fighting dirty, claiming that Mason had unduly influenced his grandmother into leaving him everything. In this new attack they offered to settle for either the house or its contents, and they were being gracious enough to let Mason choose.

Why couldn’t they leave him alone? They never cared about him or Gran, and that’s why he had the house and they didn’t.

While he couldn’t tear the letter to shreds, he could crumple it in his fist, and he poured all his rage into that ball of paper before tossing it onto the table. He’d send it to his lawyer in the morning and maybe Stanley woulddosomething instead of telling him to wait. According to Mason’s research, his parents could delay things for years, draining him of resources, and he wondered if a better lawyer would make a difference. But to get one he’d have to call around and also earn double what he was making, which seemed insurmountable.

On autopilot, he picked up the pile of equipment on the couch and went to his studio. The apartment was so spacious that it was easy to miss the nondescript door next to the darkroom; it probably looked like a closet to others but to Mason, that closet led to Narnia. Built to his specifications, the studio took up a third of the basement’s square footage, and he was incredibly grateful to have this slice of perfection in his life.

Removing all the SD cards, batteries, and lenses from his cameras, he put everything on the spacious shelving that ran along one wall before settling down at a huge desk opposite it. Clicking the mouse, he woke the computer, put his first card in the reader, and sat back, waiting on the transfer.

Despite his family’s attack, his mind never strayed far from Rain. Now that he worked at The Pointe, Mason would see him again; maybe next time he’d catch that stunning face in the sunlight.

His phone trilled and he glared at it. Hoping for spam, his glare intensified as a text from his brother sat across the screen.

Accept the settlement. Stop acting crazy or we’ll get serious about this.

The worst part of promoting his photography business was that, even after all the blocking, his family could still reach him via his public email and phone number. Last month his mother had called so many times that his fight had overrode his flight and he’d ended up telling her off in anger, but it changed nothing.

He wished he had someone to screen his calls and messages as well as help him with the social aspect of booking clients because Mason was tired. Tired of trying to get his photography career off the ground. Tired of seeing the same wedding over and over. Tired of being bullied, for his brother was a bully just like their father, and just like Mason’s peers.

Home hadn’t been a safe space but school had been even worse. Due to his family’s behavior, he hadn’t talked much, and his quiet staring had made him an outcast and a target, especially during the first two years of high school when an upperclassman had tortured him daily. The day that asshole graduated had been one of the happiest of Mason’s life, and years later he’d been overcome with schadenfreude when that same bully had been arrested for multiple DUIs and sentenced to a few years behind bars.

However, the effects remained, teaching Mason that he could only rely on photography and that other people were dangerous.

But notallother people. There were a few exceptions and Rain seemed to be one of them.

The computer beeped, ripping Mason from his musing, and he straightened, scanning the files and searching for Rain. Putting whatever photos he found in a separate folder, he flicked through them, wondering what Rain would look like posed under proper lighting, his features carved out in highlights and shadows, his stormy eyes speaking to Mason, telling him everything.

His mind spun again, saturated with ideas, and it took a moment for Mason to realize that there was something off with the picture he’d been staring at. Rolling the mouse, he enlarged it and the bigger it got, the higher his eyebrows rose.

Turned away, Rain held a tray in his delicate fingers, and his head was angled toward the mirror on his right.

Where his reflection stared straight into the camera.

The fourth time Mason saw him, he felt a strange sense of jealousy.

Booked many months ahead, Mason knew that he wouldn’t return to The Pointe for a while and over that time Rain had slowly become a permanent fixture in his mind, taking up residence in a way that bothered him; however, the obsession had some benefits. It had sparked a fountain of creativity that Mason hadn’t felt since he’d first picked up a camera. Unfortunately, most of the ideas needed Rain as an active participant and Mason wasn’t the type of photographer who asked beautiful men to model, so he’d resigned himself to candids only.

But he’d have a chance to take more tonight, which was great because he wanted to add to his collection.

Turning, Mason studied the wall behind him. He’d been tidying the darkroom, which was the size of a walk-in closet, and while three of its four walls had been covered with his favorite photos, the space beside the door was all Rain’s.

To be fair, it had started innocently enough. Mason had put up a few pictures as inspiration, a focal point for all the new ideas. He’d tried cross processing the color film and loved how the grainy high contrast made Rain vibrant and mysterious, the purple hue giving it an otherworldly touch, so he’d added it, and with each experiment the collage grew. Now it was taller than Mason and it gave him a strange sort of comfort, like he’d created a shrine.

Mason’s phone beeped, the alarm telling him that it was time to leave, and he gathered the camera equipment he’d put by the door. Everything had been charged and tested. Not only did he have film and mirrorless cameras, but he also had backups of each, along with a few lenses and a bag of accessories. Too many things could go wrong on a job; it was good to be prepared.

That’s my Boy Scout.

Twenty minutes later he was at The Pointe, bracing for another noisy event with a bonus bossy mother-of-the-groom. Capturing more photos of Rain would be the only highlight of this grueling day.

Grabbing his gear and the stepstool he kept in his trunk, Mason strode in through the glass doors, taking a left into the main room and looking around at the staff as they set a large number of tables. This job was too big to handle alone but his old assistant had moved away and he hadn’t been able to find anoth-

His brain went offline as his gaze stopped on Rain. Today his hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and he looked sultry, like a futuristic assassin, his eyes lined to feline points and resting firmly on him.

That made sense. Last time, he could barely talk and had run away; however, there wasn’t any judgment in Rain’s gaze, only curiosity and interest.

That also made sense. He’d overheard enough conversations from both Rain and the staff to know that Rain was promiscuous, but Mason didn’t want Rain for sex. He wanted Rain on film, spread out for the camera, making love to his lens.

And he might be staring, so he continued to look around the room and then headed upstairs. Placing his things on the table by the bridal suite, he took out two cameras, and as he sorted through his bag of reflectors he could feel someone come up behind him.

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