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Jason’s heart sank. Here it comes, he thought to himself. It was no more than he deserved. “I am so sorry, Zoë. All this trouble came from one glib remark I made to Gregory, years ago. I was stupid, showing off. I knew he fancied you, and I did the dreaded lad thing and told him some of the stuff that we got up to.”
“At least you’ve got the decency to look ashamed of yourself,” she remarked, and then sighed. “Gregory is such a sleazeball. He always was a sleaze, and he’s got worse, if anything. Kelly summoned him to the house when I went to collect the photographs. She was trying to get him to apologize to me.”
“You’ve seen him?” Jason was amazed at his little sister’s level of involvement behind the scenes.
“Yes, I’ve seen him. He told me that even though I had ‘the goodies,’ he still had a way of getting them from me.”
“Yes, well ... his plan is to put pressure on us for them. He’s got one of my friends, Georgie, and he’s holding her captive somewhere until we can resolve this.” He glanced away. He really was in a sorry situation.
“Kidnaping!” She shook her head. “Gregory doesn’t scare me; I doubt he could scare anybody. What’s this friend, Georgie, like?” She watched him carefully, weighing up his responses.
“She’s pretty tough, I guess.” He shrugged. “He’s got some rather unsavory friends he picked up in London, but basically I agree with you.”
“I think you’re falling into his hands too easily. There really is nothing he can do about it. If we take away his object of desire -- which is only the money he would get for publication -- then he’s got no reason to hold her, right?”
“Well, yes, I guess so. I also figured that you would have destroyed the photos by now ...?”
“But he still has your girlfriend?” She had avoided the real question.
“Friend,” he clarified.
She gave a slight nod, taking in the information.
“Greg has invested time and effort into this. He fixes onto what he decides is a winner, and he’s promised some sort of scoop to the press, your name having been mentioned. They are ready and waiting -- I had two big offers simply because he made a fundamental error and mentioned the photographer’s name. He thought that mine being a name recognized by the press would add to their value.” He shook his head. “The first thing they did was come direct to me and try to cut out the middleman.”
Zoë looked directly at him with curiosity. “And?”
“No, I would never consider selling photos in that way. You know I’d never do that without someone’s involved consent.” He went on to answer her silent question. “I kept the material out of sentimentality; I never thought either of us would find ourselves here, in this sort of situation.”
She listened to him attentively.
He didn’t want to deliver Greg’s ultimatum, but having no alternative was driving him toward considering it.
“You would have had control of them, as the photographer.”
He could see she was curious to know where she stood with him, as a friend, and in the professional photographer/model relationship. Jason smiled wryly in response.
“Ironically, no. If I had taken them without your consent -- without your knowledge -- they would be mine to do with as I pleased. It’s a crazy old world.” He shook his head. “It’s irrelevant, though, isn’t it? We took them for us, didn’t we?”
She nodded, slowly. “For your portfolio, too?”
“Yes, and it got me onto a course and where I am today.” His smile grew less cynical; he eyed her warmly, momentarily forgetting the issue at hand. “However ...” He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate. “Greg’s got himself into this stupid situation, and he’s clutching at straws trying to muddle through it and deliver on his promises.” He paused. “He wants a scoop. He says the press is begging for a hot piece about you because of all the plugs he’s put in, and if he can have something, he’ll let Georgie go. We just have to give him something ... anything?”
Zoë shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket and stared at the window, as if gathering her thoughts.
Jason looked at her profile, his glance quickly taking in the shape of her breasts slowly rising and falling inside her jacket.
The waiter arrived with her coffee, and after he had retreated again, Zoë pulled one hand out of her pocket. Clutched in it was a crumpled photograph that she dropped on the table in front of Jason.
He recognized it immediately. It was a shot he had taken of her during their final summer together, just before he’d gone away to London to study. They had a blissful week in her parent’s holiday caravan, which her parents had reluctantly allowed them to use on the basis that they were just about to turn eighteen. He’d taken the shot when the sun was going down and the light was filtering through the frothy lace curtains on the small windows. He’d asked her to stand up against it, and the light poured in across her body as she looked out into the sunset. It was one of his favorite shots, natural and unaffected and very feminine. She lacked any self-consciousness about her nudity. It was extremely artful.
The print was rumpled and ripped on one side. It looked like she’d been going to destroy it, but had changed her mind. Perhaps she’d brought it just to make clear how upset she was with him. He felt a deep groan ebbing up in his chest, and he put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands with a sense of despair. “I am so sorry,” he muttered into his hands.
“I’m not.”
Jason’s head shot up.
“I think it’s a lovely photo. I think the press would be happy with it, don’t you?” She stared at him. The challenge was in her expression, and he could see something else: a glint of mischief. Jason felt relief begin to flood his veins. She isn’t angry about the photos. She was putting him through the hoops because she was annoyed that he hadn’t got in touch with her since he’d moved away.
