Page 44 of Shot Taker

“That’s his right.”

“And it’s yours to get compensated for it. Every time someone uses my face, my name, I get paid.”

“Every time?” I echo. That's staggering. “You can’t control when someone draws you. You didn’t know when I did.”

“You think I didn’t know you were watching me?”

“I was discreet.”

“Bullshit.” He grabs my thighs and drags me into his lap to straddle him. My hands grip his shoulders for balance. “You looked at me with those big, blue eyes—”

“I did not!” Indignation rises up, and I try without success to wrestle out of his grip. “What does that have to do with my contract?”

“Nothing. I want people to get what they deserve.”

“And I deserve more than what I’m making?” I’m treading carefully because I also respect his experience in this industry.

“Way fucking more.”

He tucks the phone in the waistband of my shorts.

I take a breath, trying to focus on his words and not his hands settling on my hips, the thumbs brushing absently right above my waistband.

“But I already signed the deal.”

“I’ll have my agent take a second look.”

I bite my lip. “You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

Now I’m staring at the subtle print of the couch behind his head because it’s easier to think when I’m not looking into his beautiful eyes.

“Why? What is it you want?”

“You,” he says roughly, and my heart flips. “Spent a good long time fighting it. Seems we both got hurt. So, figured I’d try something new.”

My throat is dry, my pulse hammering.

Clay is a man who’s used to taking what he wants without asking for it. Hearing him say the words makes me tremble.

I’m still drawn to him. I can’t get through the day without thinking of what he’s doing, who he’s with, without missing his grumpy presence or slow, grudging smile.

I want to give this thing between us another chance.

But I won’t throw myself at him again. I know better now.

“The picture was inArchitectural Digest, but the place wasn’t yours,” I say.

“I loaned it to a friend for a week.”

“And it just happened to be when they were shootingAD,” I press.

He lifts a shoulder.

Dammit.

“Why do you believe in me?” I ask.

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