Locking Lips (Kiss Talent Agency Book 2) Page 4

  I know that body. I know that hair…

  Holy fuck.

  Heather.

  I’m still disoriented at seeing her, wondering what the hell she’s doing there, when Catherine says, “Ms. Flint, let me introduce you to the man who will be taking the photographs of your designs today.”

  Heather turns, and when she sees me, her eyes widen as she recognizes me. Her smile falters—but only for a split second. She then pastes on a smile that only I can see through.

  “Ms. Samson, right? Please, call me Heather.” She shakes hands with Catherine before turning to me.

  “Heather,” Catherine says, “This is Johnny, your photographer for the day.”

  I hold out my hand, and for a second, I’m not sure Heather’s going to take it. She gazes at it like it’s a slimy toad. Finally, she shakes my hand, although she makes sure to dig her nails into my skin for good measure, as if to tell me, Don’t you dare say a word about yesterday.

  “Johnny Johnson?”

  I clear my throat. “Actually, my full name is Caleb Johnson. Johnny’s a nickname.”

  She simply nods.

  “And Talina? Is that…”

  “Talina is my middle name,” she says sharply. “Anyway, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Johnson. I was excited at the idea of working with you.”

  Was excited. But not excited anymore, obviously.

  “Thank you. I’m happy to be working with you today.” It’s a stupid line, but it’s all I can think of right now.

  Catherine glances between us. I think she senses some kind of tension, but she’s too polite to say anything. “Well, we’ll let you both get ready, and we’ll get started. Rebecca will be in shortly after she finishes a call.”

  Catherine’s attention is snagged by one of the many assistants, and now Heather and I are alone. Well, as alone as two people can be in a store bustling with people readying for a photo shoot.

  “You,” she growls out. Her eyes flash. “You didn’t know you were the photographer for this shoot? That you’d be working for me?”

  “How could I? You only told me you were in retail. I had no idea you were linked to Talina Designs & Boutique. To me you were Heather, not Talina.”

  She takes a huge breath, then her frown slowly disappears. She sighs. “Of course you didn’t. Just like I had no idea that Johnny Johnson, famous fashion photographer, was Caleb, the man I…” Her words fade off but she blushes wildly, telling me exactly what she’s thinking. And that she’s remembering exactly what we did to one another yesterday in that dressing room.

  “Look, everything’s going to be fine. We’re both professionals. We can handle this. Right?”

  For a second she looks doubtful, then she nods decisively. “Right.”

  As she walks away, I repeat to myself: I’m a professional. This photo shoot is all about business. Just business. And even though I tell myself that, my gaze follows Heather’s every move.

  And the thoughts in my head are anything but businesslike.

  Chapter Seven

  Heather

  I’m so, so screwed.

  Caleb—Johnny? I don’t even know what to call him—talks with Rebecca, and I have to force my gaze away from him time and again. I tell myself we didn’t do anything wrong. We were both consenting adults and like he said, we’re both professionals. What we did yesterday has nothing to do with what’s going to happen today.

  I’d known that the famous “Johnny” was going to be my photographer, but I had no idea his real name was Caleb. I should’ve Googled him first, but who would’ve thought we’d end up on the same flight together? It’s like some horrible nightmare that I just want to wake up from, because the man I had sex with after meeting on a plane is the same man who can very well make or break one of the biggest opportunities of my career.

  “Hey Heather, can you come look at this?” My assistant Tanya, a short, curvy brunette, waves at me. Tanya and I have worked together for over three years now, and she’s become my most trusted employee in that period of time.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “So, I know we wanted the pleats to go in this direction, but I’m thinking that on this model, they would look better like this.” Tanya shows me what she means. “You see?”

  I circle the model, who’s quiet as we mess around with the dress. The model knows she’s only there to showcase the design, which I appreciate. The models who complain about the temperature or a dress being uncomfortable or who whine about the hair stylist taking too long? Those models are ones I have no patience for.

  I circle the model once again, and I nod. “I think you’re right. Pin it the other way for now. Once we look at the photos, we can decide if we should change it back or not.”

  Tanya goes to work, and I walk around to inspect the rest of the models. As Rebecca and I had agreed, we have six today, and they’ll be wearing up to three looks for the photographs. Not all of the designs will end up in the magazine, but it’s better to have too many photos to choose from than not enough. Going up to a model who’s almost a head taller than me, I tug on her sleeve to make sure it falls correctly. Another model’s hair isn’t what I wanted—too curly—and I send her back to the stylist with instructions on what I’m looking for.

  Another model sits in a chair, looking morose. When I ask her what’s wrong, she sighs and says her boyfriend told her last night he wanted to take a break. I promptly tell her she’s too good for him, and that she shouldn’t let him ruin her day. She gives me a wan smile; I hope she’s up to modeling today, regardless.

  Catherine strides up to me. “We’d like to get started,” she says in her no-nonsense voice. Her red hair gleams in the light, an intense flame that makes me wonder how I’d look as a redhead. In just a short time, Catherine and her crew have created a backdrop for half of the store, and it looks like a forest: greens and browns and various earthy colors, and the models look like nymphs, with both my delicate designs and similarly delicate makeup and hair. It’s all very pretty, and looking at it, I can’t help but feel pride.

  “What outfits would you like to begin with?”

  I can’t help but reply, “Does Johnny not have a preference?”

  Caleb clearly hears my remark, and he raises an eyebrow at me. I just raise one back.

  “You’re the designer,” he says. “I’m here to photograph your vision above all else, so if you have a preference…”

  His tone is quiet and reassuring—professional—and I feel my tension easing out of me. “Thank you.” I wave to two models and indicate they should go first.

  “Places, everyone,” Caleb calls. He fiddles with his camera, and takes a few shots of the first two models.

  “I want this shoot to be natural, delicate, pretty,” I say. “Nothing too outrageous, no poses that take away from the clothes themselves.”

  The models nod, and I’m happy to see that they’re professionals and understand my vague directions. Caleb begins taking photos, the click of the shutter the only sound in the store for a few moments, and I’m almost bouncing with excitement.

  Caleb doesn’t say anything to me; I’m fine with that. He seems to be in a zone completely his own, and I can’t help but respect that. He gently repositions one of the models, getting closer and then shooting from further away.

  Before I even realize it, he’s finished the first set of photos. Rebecca and Catherine stand off to the side, not saying anything, but seemingly trusting that Caleb knows what he’s doing. I’ve seen Caleb’s work before, and I know “Johnny’s” one of the best in the business.

  As I watch Caleb work, those damn memories from yesterday come flooding back, despite my vow to keep the thoughts at bay during the photo shoot. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about sex, and Caleb, and sex with Caleb as I’m doing one of the biggest photo shoots of my career, but I can’t help it. The sex was amazing—and I never think that about sex. Sex is either good or bad. Sometimes it’s really good. But sex with Caleb changed me. No
w I’ll always use that as a basis of comparison.

  I shake away the memories. I have to concentrate. I can’t be off in a corner daydreaming like a lovestruck teenager. That doesn’t stop me from thinking about how he kissed me, how his hands trailed down my body, how he pulled my panties off and put his mouth on me.

  I shiver.

  As if Caleb can read my mind, he glances at me over his shoulder and gives what I can only describe as a smoldering look. I can’t look away. My cheeks flush, and he smirks. Returning to his work, he then proceeds to ignore me completely.

  “He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?” Tanya walks up to me, a tape measure draped around her neck. “I still can’t believe we got him to be our photographer.”

  “Yeah, I can’t believe it either.”

  Tanya doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her looking at me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It just seemed like you and Johnny already knew each other. He keeps looking at you.”

  My body thrums. I can’t get excited by Tanya’s words, but I do anyway. “We met briefly yesterday on the plane here.”

  “Oh, really?”

  I glare at her. “Yes, oh really. We sat next to each other, but that’s it.”

  Liar liar liar!

  “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t realize at the time he was our photographer. It wasn’t a big deal.” Now I’m lying through my teeth, and I’m sure Tanya can see right through the façade.

  “Well, you need to tell me all about it when we’re done here. I can’t imagine nothing happened. He’s legendary in the fashion world—for multiple reasons.”

  I snort. “Yeah, he’s legendary all right.”

  Tanya and I fall into silence and watch Caleb and Rebecca look through the photos on his laptop. I’m a little miffed that they’re looking at them without me, so I make sure to make my presence known when I approach them.

  “Oh Heather, there you are. Johnny always wants to make sure the photo shoot is going in the right direction before continuing. What do you think of these photos?” Rebecca points at the computer screen.

  I focus on the photos instead of on the intoxicating scent of Caleb right next to me. The photos are gorgeous, and just how I wanted them to look. I point at one on the far left. “I love this one.”

  Rebecca agrees, but Caleb doesn’t say anything.

  “These photos are my favorites,” I say, pointing at two other photos. “They perfectly capture the image I wanted for this collection.”

  Caleb makes a sound. When I look at him questioningly, he shrugs. “They’re nice enough,” he admits, “but kind of boring.”

  I’m bristling with indignation, but Rebecca speaks before I do. “What do you mean?”

  “They aren’t breaking any barriers. They’re pretty, but that’s it. To be honest,” he says as he meets my gaze, “we can do way better than this.”

  Chapter Eight

  Caleb

  This is a disaster. One moment I’m having to stop myself from staring at Heather’s breasts. The same breasts I touched and sucked just a day ago…

  The next moment I’m giving my completely unbiased and honest opinion about how the shoot is going, and Heather’s glaring daggers at me.

  She’d said she wanted delicate. Nothing too outrageous. But when I saw her designs, quiet or traditional or safe isn’t the feeling they gave me. Her designs are classy but they have an edge that I think would be nicely framed by something bold—artistic, avant garde. Even weird.

  “I told you I was happy with the photos. Didn’t you say yourself you’re here to photograph my vision?”

  “I did say that. And it’s true. But it’s also my job, when necessary, to encourage you to shift that vision if I believe something else will work better.”

  Heather snorts. “Because you’ve familiarized yourself so well with my designs in the past hour?” She has her hands on her hips now.

  I want to ruffle her feathers. I smirk, leaning closer to her. “Being unfamiliar with your designs isn’t the problem. I’m a quick study, and just as quick to know what works for me and what doesn’t.”

  Her glare is deadly, as if she gets I’m referencing just how well I worked her yesterday, but I continue.

  “Look, the photos are good—great, even—but they could be better. I don’t want to settle for anything less than amazing, and neither should anyone else here.” I point to how the models are posed specifically. “We definitely nailed ‘delicate,’ but is that what we really want?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “Because that’s how I wanted my design to look and feel. It matches my vision.” She glares at me. “Is that so hard to understand?”

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense. I’m saying, why not push the envelope further?”

  Rebecca makes a sound, and we both jump as if we’d forgotten she was even there; to be honest, I had. “What are your suggestions?” Rebecca asks.

  “Well, I think we could do more interesting poses, expressions. Even change the set somewhat. I think we could juxtapose the delicateness of the designs with powerful, more assertive poses by the models. It would create an overall more interesting and thoughtful shoot.”

  “Who’s to say it isn’t already interesting and thoughtful?” Heather counters.

  I try to keep my voice level, but I’m already irritated. I know she’s pissed at me, but making my work more difficult isn’t going to help.

  “Because it isn’t.” I wave at the photos. “The photos are good, because I took them. But do we want merely ‘good’ photos? Because if so, we can keep it this way, but I think even you know we could improve upon them.”

  Her mouth flattens into a thin line, and I can practically feel her digging in her heels.

  “Look, right now, we’re basically doing the high-fashion version of a JCPenney catalog.”

  She bristles, and I have to admit, she looks gorgeous, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. I wish I could take her back to that dressing room and calm her down the best way I know how.

  I step closer to her, my voice lowered. “Give it a shot, Heather,” I say, my voice seductive. “Trust me.”

  Her eyes widen and she blushes again. I’d said the same thing yesterday. Right before I’d fucked her in that dressing room— right before I’d given her an explosive orgasm. Apparently, however, she doesn’t trust me, at least not when it comes to this, because she still looks at me with doubt.

  “How about we try what I’m suggesting, and if you hate it, then we go back. Deal?”

  She looks like she’d love to strangle me, but finally, she gives me a tight nod. Whirling away, she stalks back to her assistant. I sigh.

  “Okay, places, everyone.” I instruct the models on their new poses, getting them into the newer mode of thinking. No longer are they delicate nymphs, but fearless Amazons. The shoot shifts right before my eyes, and I can’t help but get excited.

  Heather, though, objects to the first set. “The model’s expression completely overtakes the design,” she says. “It’s interesting, yes, but no one is going to be looking at the clothes. They’re going to be looking at her.” She turns to the model. “No offense, of course.”

  The model shrugs. “I’ve heard it all before.”

  I grit my teeth. “Okay, how about this pose instead?” I move the models arms and legs, rather like a doll. “Would this work?”

  Heather narrows her eyes, thinking. Finally, she moves forward and adjusts the model’s right arm. “There. Try that.”

  I begin photographing again, and I have to admit, her small change makes a world of difference. I’m not going to tell her that, though.

  I feel like we’re making some progress, but when we move to the next set of models, things basically go to shit. Heather isn’t happy about one of the model’s hairstyles, and when she pushes to have it redone, I snap that we don’t have tim
e for those kinds of changes.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” she says, her eyes fierce.

  I take this as a chance to get a glass of water. I wish I could dump it on my head to cool my temper. Is Heather going to balk at every little thing just to get back at me?

  “She’s definitely thorough,” Catherine says, looking at me over the rims of her glasses. “I think she could rival Rebecca for being anal.”

  I bark out a laugh. “You could say that again.”

  “I could also say the same thing about you. You aren’t one to change things if you don’t want to.”

  I shrug. “I know my art and I’m not going to compromise on it.”

  “Well, the rest of the shoot should at least be interesting.”

  Finally, the model’s hair is fixed, and we get started. The poses are a mixture of my suggestions plus Heather’s, and they seem to be doing the job. Heather, though, stands off to the side, her expression a perpetual frown.

  I stop photographing. “What is it now?”

  “It just doesn’t look right.” She tilts her head this way and that, trying to figure out what exactly doesn’t look right. “I can’t figure it out.”

  “How about we finish this set and then we can change every little thing for the next one, okay?”

  I can see her feathers ruffle at my tone. At this point, I want to rile her. She’s pissing me off, and I just want to do my job in peace. Of course, seeing her flushed and trembling only makes me think of how she was flushed and trembling in my arms yesterday, and to my annoyance, my cock hardens instantly.

  Heather walks up to me, pointing a finger at my chest. I know everyone’s looking at us, but if she doesn’t care, I don’t, either.

  Then she takes me by the arm. “Come with me.”

  I pull my arm away, but only so I can set my camera down. “We’ll be right back,” I tell the staff. I can see Rebecca give us a look.

  Heather takes me into a back room and shuts the door with barely concealed rage. “What the hell is your problem?” she snipes.