Falling for Dr December. Susanne Hampton
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mug who’d agree to take my place but apparently they couldn’t find anyone. They explained that the entire timeline would have blown out and they wouldn’t have met the deadline. No calendar meant there’d be no fundraising for next year. They played the guilt card very well.’
There was more to it than that. Pierce hadn’t been able to walk away after he had read the charity prospectus and realised what a worthwhile cause he would be assisting. He had been torn. Posing for the calendar irked him beyond belief but he couldn’t them down. Building a facility in each capital city to assist those foster-children who had turned eighteen and were aging out of the system was so needed and such a huge task. Although it went against his better judgement to bring attention to himself, he’d decided that he needed to put the charity first. He would deal with repercussions, if any arose, later.
‘How noble of you to go ahead, then.’ Laine rolled her eyes, unaware of his knowledge and belief in the charity. She was not impressed. She took both her work and the cause seriously and she was annoyed with his apparent lack of respect towards her and the project. This charity meant the world to her. She would give, and do, whatever she could to help make a difference to the lives of foster-children. Someone had to.
It was tough being in foster-care sometimes but it was even tougher when the stay came to an end. Laine knew that firsthand. She wanted to provide assistance for the children before the system scarred them and also to assist those transitioning into adulthood. She had been involved with the charity for a number of years, and each year she took on a greater workload. Some days when the loneliness of the life she had chosen was almost untenable, she thought of all the foster-children enduring a swinging-door childhood and knew there had to be a way to improve their lives. Any assistance she could provide from her connections and her work she would give without reservation.
Carefully, and in silence, she continued to pack away her equipment, cleaning the front and rear elements of her lenses before storing them. She was fastidious about the tools of her trade and valued everything she owned. She used the best, she could afford it, but it hadn’t always been that way and having scrimped and saved when starting out for even the basic photographic equipment ensured she never took any of her belongings for granted now.
‘I might have to do this shoot but I sure as hell don’t have to climb up a ladder again. In fact, I’m calling the shots tomorrow. My way or no way,’ Pierce said, not masking his disdain for the entire situation.
Laine looked at the man who would be her subject for the next two days and knew it could easily become one of the most frustrating and difficult assignments of her almost ten year career. Frustrating because of the subject, difficult because of the location. Dr Pierce Beaumont was ridiculously uncooperative and Uralla held memories she wanted to forget.
When she’d left the small town, almost three hundred miles north of Sydney, all those years before, she had never expected to return. A part of her past, it bore no relevance to the life she had forged in New York. Laine knew she had never been happier than when she’d lived in Uralla but she also knew she wasn’t that girl any more and she could never fit into this town again.
She was a citizen of the world, a woman for whom her career was her entire life. There was no room and no need for anyone else in it—and particularly not the people of this town. They were warm and welcoming but she didn’t want that level of sentiment in her life. It didn’t fit with her any more. Those years living in a small town had allowed her to finally understand what it felt like to be a part of a family. Someone had actually cared how she’d felt and had wanted her to be safe and protected. For the very first time she had stopped feeling abandoned. She had stopped expecting that all promises would eventually be broken.
The perfect picture she’d painted of a life with one loving family—a life she had only dreamt of when she’d constantly moved homes, meeting new foster-families and being bullied by foster-siblings—had actually come true. It had been a home where she’d learned the true meaning of unconditional love, and one that had provided the answer to the question she had asked all her life: Where did she belong? It was right there.
But after four wonderful years it had all come to a terrible, tragic end. Her adoptive parents had died in a car accident. They were gone, and never coming back—and she had been alone once again.
So Laine had used the scars to give her strength. She’d turned her back on the security of the small town and chosen a new life, far away from Uralla. It had taken years to finally become successful but she’d known she could do it. Eventually, her determination to take control of her life, to make the most of every day and to rely on absolutely no one had driven her to the top.
Travelling the world, working with models and managing their demands, and those of the clients, at fashion shoots and waking up in a different hotel every day had finally become way of life for Laine. It was a mad schedule but being frantically busy allowed her to keep her thoughts of the past at bay. There were lonely times but it was the price she paid for the life she led and she never complained. Even the demands of models didn’t unnerve her. They all had a job to do and at the end of the assignment they all had great shots in their portfolios. If they played the thorny card, Laine was at a level in her career when she could refuse to work with them again, and generally bad attitudes meant their careers were short-lived.
Laine loved what she did. It was that simple. She was a well-respected photographer and she never needed to look for work. Her name was synonymous with work in high-end magazines representing the finest fashion houses and most expensive jewellery lines, and recently she had completed an assignment on the Italian Riviera for an iconic sports-car company. Her portfolio was eclectic, with the most beautiful, timeless and cutting-edge photographs of any living photographer.
She had worked hard for everything she had achieved and no doctor from New South Wales with little or no knowledge of her profession was going to try and tell her what to do.
She was not little Melanie Phillips of Uralla. That young girl no longer existed. She was Laine Phillips, international photographer. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by any man, however handsome or crucial to her shoot.
‘So you’re styling the shoot tomorrow? Interesting premise.’ Laine took a deep breath and sat down cross-legged near the last of the bags she was packing. There was absolutely no way he would be making any decisions about tomorrow, other than his choice of cologne. She would dictate everything else about the shoot. It was her name and reputation on these photographs and that meant she was the one in control. Just as she had been about everything in her life for the last twelve years. No one took control from her hands. Ever.
‘If you think you can waltz into our town and lay down the law, you can think again.’ Pierce was not impressed with her desire to order him about. He wouldn’t tolerate it and he could make her stay increasingly difficult if she kept it up. She could take her arrogant, big-city outlook and hop straight back on a plane. ‘Don’t bring your condescending attitude here. I’m doing you a favour.’
‘Me a favour? You’re helping a charity, not me personally. And not doing a lot except taking off your clothes. Hardly a huge ask. So contrary to your suggestion about running things tomorrow I have bad news for you. The shoot will be done Laine’s way.’
Pierce eyed the stunning brunette who had just given him a serving. She certainly wasn’t a shrinking violet. She was a tiny dictator of sorts. A very beautiful dictator. He wondered for a moment why she wasn’t on the other side of the camera. Her flawless figure was evident in a tight white singlet top and faded blue jeans. She was a natural beauty with little, if any, make-up, yet she didn’t seem to fuss about her appearance. But he needed to forget how attractive she was and remember that she was telling him what to do—and he didn’t take kindly to that.
‘I can sit on a tractor on the McKenzies’ farm. No great planning needed. Country doctor, on a farm, on a tractor. Shoot done. Photo taken. It’s a wrap—isn’t that what they say?’
Laine rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe how little he valued or understood her craft. In his eyes, her livelihood was quickly and simply reduced to plonking a doctor on a tractor and taking