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I decide that I do not like Nick Knight and the rumors about him being a pain in the ass to work with are obviously true. The whole thing puts a damper on my mood. So much for an amazing weekend in Vegas with a talented photographer.
Then, it hits me. He has the power to make my pictures look like shit if he wants. He literally holds my career in his hands.Ugh. The thought makes my stomach hurt.
When the waiter returns, I look up at him with a smile. “Do you have a vegan menu by any chance?”
Nick lifts a hand to cover his mouth and, for a second, it almost looks like he’s smiling behind it.
“Of course,” he says and returns with one a moment later.
I look over the unfamiliar food and inwardly groan.Yuck, yuck and yuck.I end up deciding on some pea-crusted tofu and hope it’s edible. Meanwhile, Nick orders the New York Strip steak with a sly smile in my direction.
I look away, checking out the other customers and cool decor. Neither of us says anything and the coolness grows until it’s like frost hangs in the air between us.God.We definitely got off on the wrong foot and I feel like I need to do something to fix that.
But, I didn’t do anything. He’s the one who started being rude.It’s my career, though,I remind myself. Just suck it up and do a little ass-kissing. “So, Nick...” I say. “What made you decide to become a photographer?”
“I enjoy taking pictures.”
“And, that was always your dream?”
“No,” he admits. “I started out as a model, but got bored fast. As you know, it’s not exactly challenging work.”
What a dick.I feel my eyes start to narrow, but I stop myself from getting angry and focus on remaining positive.
“One day, I picked up a camera and decided it was better being on the other side of the lens.”
“Are you from L.A.?”
“I live in Los Angeles, yes.”
“Me, too. What part?”
“Malibu.”
Of course.With the rest of the rich snobs.But, I can’t help my curiosity. “On the beach?” I ask a little wistfully, feeling a tinge of envy. I always dreamed of living on the beach one day.
He nods, clasped hands below his chin, studying me closely.
“That must be nice,” I say, completely sincere. “Falling asleep and waking up to the sound of the ocean.”
He clears his throat. “I like it.”
“When you open your back door, do you step right out onto the sand?”
Again, he nods.
My mouth curves up as I imagine living in a house like that. It’s probably $10 million or more. “I’m jealous,” I say and pick up my fork, twisting it around. He’s looking at me again in that very intense way of his, this time at my mouth, and it’s making me nervous. I hit the fork against my plate and it dings loudly so I quickly lay it back on the table. “What’s the best part?”
His gaze lifts from my mouth to my eyes. “Sorry?”
“About living on the beach?”
His gray gaze penetrates mine. “The beauty. It’s like, sometimes, you can’t look away. It sucks you in, captivates you. Take my breath away.”
My stomach flips at his words and his low, intimate tone makes me wonder if he’s still talking about the beach. I get the feeling this conversation just went somewhere else completely.
