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“Has it?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s kind of boring, so I guess that’s helpful. It’s hard to lose your temper when there’s nothing going on. Also, they have a little girl. Emily told me that, in no uncertain terms, I need to behave myself around Amelia.”
“Good advice,” Bradford nods.
“But enough about me,” I shrug. “How did you get into your career?”
“I always liked it as an art form,” he says. “I took a photo class after college and realized just how technical and challenging it could be, and that made me like it more. I wanted to learn all I could to make it my career.”
“That’s ambitious,” I say, impressed.
“Or stupid,” he chuckles. “But it was the first class that really clicked for me.”
“No pun intended,” I say and he laughs.
“Of course not. And then when I started modeling, I found that I was much more interested in what was happening on the photographer’s side of the camera than mine.”
“That’s right. I heard you’ve been pretty successful as a model.”
Bradford shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “That’s not usually the career that I lead with on dates,” he says.
“Why not? I feel like it’s every guy’s dream to either be a model or date one.”
“Except that when I tell guys I model, they automatically assume that I’m some dumb mannequin without any thoughts or interests. That I’m just a body.” Bradford shrugs and grins again. “Sorry, I shouldn’t complain. I get paid a lot of money to wear nice clothes and get my picture taken.”
“Every job has its drawbacks,” I say. “And its built-in assumptions. I’ve been called a bastard, soulless corporate stooge more times than I can count.”
“Yeah, but in your case it’s true,” Bradford jokes and I laugh.
“Maybe we let that be our little secret,” I tease, but his face grows solemn.
“You and your secrets,” Bradford says quietly.
“What?” I ask, even though of course I know what he’s talking about. I just didn’t expect him to bring it up so soon.
“I remember when I was your little secret,” Bradford says. He drinks some more wine and then meets my eyes. “You always had a reason to not tell anyone that we were together.”
“I know,” I say softly. I want to look away from his dark brown eyes, framed by those unbelievably long lashes. But I can’t.
“You hurt me, you know.” Bradford says this without rancor or anger, and somehow that makes his words hurt more.
“I don’t think I really did know, not back then,” I admit. “I was young and stupid. I thought that the only way to move through life was alone and unencumbered.”
“Do you still think that?” Bradford asks.
I shift uneasily in my seat. “I’m not sure, Bradford. If you’re asking if I’ve ever had a serious relationship, the answer’s no. But that’s because I’ve been devoting everything I have to building my company.”
“So you’re not scared of love?” he challenges me. “Of sharing your life with someone?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to be,” I say. “That’s as honest as I know how to be. But I understand if that’s not enough for you.”
Bradford stares at me, a smile playing on his lips. “You know, I have had serious relationships.”
“Oh,” I say, hating that his words make me feel jealous.
“A few,” he continues. “But as much as I didn’t want to, I always compared them to what we had. And they never measured up.”
“Are you still in a relationship?” I ask him. Then, remembering what Gorlag said, I hastily add, “I’m not trying to imply that you’re the kind of guy that would be unfaithful. I just don’t want to assume anything.”
