“I just love photography,” I said.
I reached to take my phone back, but he was looking at my own IG account now. It was mostly travel photos, beautiful plates of food, and Munchkin.
“Ever thought about taking your own advice?” Andrew said with a smile. “Don’t get me wrong, these are great—but you could be showing off your real work on your page. Go public.”
He was right. Ishouldpost more of my professional work on social media, for the whole world to see. But I always hesitated. I worried my life would start revolving around the number of likes and comments I managed to get, and the possibility of getting trolled or harassed.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to deflect.
“Seriously,” he said, his voice going softer. “What kind of photos would you want to fill your account with? If you knew nobody would judge you?”
“Hmm,” I said, sipping my drink while I mulled it over. “I think I’d put up photos I’ve done during my off hours. I work with a lot of beautiful models, but I like showing them in a different light. Not just shooting them for the sake of a pretty picture. Some of them have the most incredible bone structure. I like exploring different kinds of beauty, I guess.”
“I love that,” Andrew said, completely rapt.
I knew I might be crossing a line, continuing to engage with him—especially since our conversation was moving away from the magazine and work—but I needed the distraction. Andrew wasn’t taking my mind off of Ford entirely, but at least I had something to do.
After all, my brothers were still busy schmoozing and making contacts with people who might be able to help Danica Rose, leaving me to fend for myself. Or maybe this conversation with Andrew was exactly the kind of networking that Stefan and Luka wanted me to be doing.
Andrew looked at his watch. We’d been at the bar for a few hours already, talking and nursing our drinks.
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I’m totally monopolizing you.”
“Not at all. Would you like to continue this conversation over dinner? My treat.”
“I’d love to,” I said, telling myself it was still all about business—because it was, right?
And even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter what Andrew wanted out of it. I was going in a purely professional capacity. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty. Ford going out with Claudia sure as hell hadn’t been business.
First, though, I needed to get ready and text my brothers to let them know I wouldn’t be meeting back up with them.
“I should change,” I said. “I’ve been sweating in this wool suit all day.”
“Good idea,” he said as we paid our tabs. “Let me walk you to your room and I can pick you back up in an hour or so.”
As we rode up to my floor in the elevator, we talked more about the power of Instagram.
“People scroll through their feeds so mindlessly now, you have to grab them as quickly as possible,” I said. “Every image has to be its own story.”
Andrew nodded and I could tell he was listening, but I also knew that he was focused on what would happen at my hotel room door. If I asked him to, he’d probably come right on in. All I had to do was give him a sign that I was interested.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I hesitated.
“Shall we?” he said.
“Right. I’m just at the end of the hall,” I said.
We headed toward my door, and I could feel a subtle tension building between us. I couldn’t help fantasizing about how different it would be to kiss a man who was actually interested in me. Who wasn’t doing it because of some stupid hoax. Who wanted to kiss me because I was me. Not because I was the solution to some problem he had.
But even in my fantasy, and even with Andrew right in front of me, when I imagined kissing him, he ended up looking like Ford.
We reached my room. I slid my keycard into the reader, and the green light blinked. Andrew was lingering just a little too close.
“I’ll, umm, see you soon?” I said, looking up.
And that was when he made his move.
Leaning in, it was obvious he meant to kiss me. Without even asking. Startled, I put my hand on his chest to push him away.
