Caught on Camera. Tawny Weber
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of checking out the photographer’s version of conservative. The entire team had agreed that this account was important enough to toe the line, which in Tristan’s case meant looking a little less over-the-top artist and a little…safer.
Taking in his transformation, Sierra wasn’t sure he really understood safe. No longer in a ponytail, his pitch-black hair was short and edgy, and his slumberous midnight eyes had that just-out-of-bed-with-a-half-dozen-women look in them. He’d even worn a suit, although the pegged black slacks and baggy pinstriped jacket over a T-shirt might be pushing that designation just a little.
“Great look,” she told him, meaning it. He was still gorgeous and artsy, but not so out-there that he’d freak out their conservative client. She hoped. “How many gals’ phone numbers did you get on the elevator ride up here?”
His mouth quirked into a grin and he shrugged. “Just the receptionist. She thinks she’d like to try and get into fashion modeling and wants my help with her portfolio.”
Sierra and Belle exchanged looks. The wild thing was, Tristan really thought the sweet little blonde was interested in his camerawork. For all his sexual energy and artistic eccentricities, the guy was a total innocent in many ways.
Baffling.
“Well, when the two of you are talking fashion,” she said, “be sure to keep in mind that this company prides itself on its conservative values. So no boinking on her desk.”
“Especially if the bosses are around,” Belle added with a smirk as she set up the planning and timeline boards.
“Even if they aren’t,” Sierra cautioned with a frown. The three of them had been friends since high school. They all knew how many sexual shenanigans Tristan had been caught in. “We’ve busted our butts to get this account and they have some very flimsy cancellation clauses in the contract. Even a hint of impropriety and they’ll yank this from us faster than you can zip your pants.”
“Hey,” Belle admonished quietly. Her look was a mixture of surprise and chastisement.
Sierra grimaced and jerked her shoulder. “Sorry. You know what I mean, though.”
Instead of looking offended or bothering to defend his penchant for landing in bed with four out of five women he met, Tristan just gave her one of his scrutinizing looks and asked, “You okay? You seem a little tense. Maybe you should get a massage when we’re done here. I know a gal—she’d fit you in.”
Sierra was horrified when tears filled her eyes. She blinked fast and furiously. Oh, no. There was no way she was giving in to the emotions ripping through her gut. Instead, she turned quickly to unpack her laptop so Belle wouldn’t notice before she regained control.
“I’m sorry for being snappy,” she said with a bright smile when she faced them again. “I’m just concerned. We’re heavily invested in this job already and we’re still without a long-term contract. The lack of commitment is starting to get to me.”
After shooting her a worried look, Belle took the hint and changed the subject, asking Tristan, “You’ve confirmed your schedule is workable for their proposed dates?”
Sierra grimaced. Just another reason this account—while essential if they wanted to grab the next rung on the ladder to success—was a pain in the ass. The company was so worried about image, it wouldn’t commit to any event until it had been approved by the entire board. Which meant dates and times couldn’t be etched in stone. Eventfully Yours was on its third event and the first one involving the media, and the client was still waffling.
“Toby assured me my schedule is flexible,” Tristan said, sitting there like an oasis of calm as Belle and Sierra fluttered around setting up their presentation, tweaking a board here, a swatch of fabric there.
Toby was Tristan’s assistant and deserved a lot of credit for his success. Oh, the photographer was amazing. A great eye, incredible skill and vision had made him one of the top in California. But he tended to forget everything when he was immersed in his art. Toby kept him on track.
Much like Belle said Sierra kept her on track. Sierra knew better, of course. Sierra owed her success, and her sanity, to her best friend. Which meant she also owed her the truth.
“Ready to rock?” Belle asked quietly with a glance at her watch. One o’clock, straight up. Presentation time.
Sierra looked over and saw worry lurking in Belle’s seagreen eyes. The guilt and fear crept higher in Sierra’s belly. Confessions could wait. The truth would only make Belle upset.
An hour and forty minutes later, they wound up their meeting by shaking hands and, thank God, signing the contract. Corinne Perkins was a tiny white-haired woman who looked as if she would be more at home baking cookies for her grandkids than running a huge business. But she was the CEO for Family and a dynamo who demanded one hundred and twenty percent from herself and everyone else.
“Ladies,” she said after Tristan had flirted his way out the door, “I’m delighted with your choice. I’ll admit, I had to talk fast to get the board to agree to use a photographer with such, well, shall we say, eclectic tastes. But his work will give a modern and, I hope, urban feel to our magazine.”
“Your target demographic will love his work,” Belle assured the older woman. “Like the rest of our campaign, this will definitely bring in the type of advertisers and accounts you’re focusing on.”
Corinne smiled and stood up to hand Belle the signed contract. The stack of papers on her desk scattered and she tut-tutted as she gathered them back up. With a look of surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed it before, she slid a large envelope out of the untidy pile.
Sliding her own laptop into its case, Sierra caught sight of the plain brown envelope and purple mailing label. Her stomach took a dive.
What the hell? It couldn’t be.
Corinne slid an unmanicured nail under the flap. Sierra wanted to lunge across the desk and grab the envelope. But she couldn’t. She was frozen in her chair, her brain going a million miles a second, her body held in terrified stasis.
Corinne withdrew a small piece of paper out of the envelope. She gasped and threw it on the desk.
Sierra closed her eyes, too horrified to look.
“No,” Belle breathed. Eyes still closed, Sierra felt rather than saw her partner drop to the chair next to her.
The silence in the room was heavy.
“Care to explain this?” Corinne finally snapped.
Unable to continue hiding, Sierra forced herself to look.
Corinne was pointing a shaking finger at the piece of five-by-seven ugliness. Sierra winced. Obviously pervy boy had found a Photoshop for morons guide, because this picture looked real. Sierra, three guys and a whole slew of sex toys. Sierra was clueless as to what they even were. Apparently the men had no such problem, since they were using most of them on each other.
In danger of losing her lunch, she pressed her hand to her stomach. In bold white text across the black-and-white image were the words Sluts Are Bad For Business.
“I…” She couldn’t even speak. The words just stuck in her throat, pitiful and apologetic. A familiar feeling of being judged and found guilty washed over her.
“Corinne, I’m horrified you’ve been brought into this,” Belle said, talking fast, but with that girl-to-girl confidant tone that suggested she was sharing secrets. She went on to describe the evolution of the stalker pictures, pointing out the few clues that would assure their very uptight client that this was a digitally enhanced image. She ended with, “We’ve involved the police, and I assure you the matter is being dealt with.”
Through it all, Sierra just stared at the photo and tried to breathe. Everything they’d worked for. Everything she’d wanted since she’d escaped to boarding school—security, acceptance, independence—all seemed to be disintegrating under the weight of that