Torn(3)

I hadn't bothered to check her 'About Me' page on her site because I didn't give a shit about who was behind the camera. That changed though when I walked into her studio and saw her.

The way she's pinned her brown hair up makes her look like she either just woke up or just got f*cked. It's a reckless mess on the top of her head. Her blue eyes are piercing, striking and wide. Her lips are full and pink. If she's wearing any make-up, I can't tell. She's beautiful even though she's not trying to be.

I've known my fair share of women who are a vacant shell underneath the eye shadow, lipstick and bronzer they meticulously apply before they face the world. This one, the photographer who can't take her eyes off of me, is breathtaking in her own right.

The skirt she's wearing skims the middle of her thighs each time she moves. Her legs are long and toned. She's not rail thin, like the model I dated a few months ago. Falon's body is athletic. She's lean with curves in all the right places.

Even before she walked over to talk to me, I knew I'd need to ask her out. I doubt she'll say yes to me. She may be staring at me with the same hunger that I feel inside of myself, but there's something beneath the surface. I saw a flash of hesitation in her eyes when she studied my face. With my f*cked up luck, she has a policy against dating celebrities. It wouldn't be the first time a woman caught my attention only to hear her tell me that she wasn't interested in a guy whose face pops up on every online gossip site at least once a week.

Fame is great until it steals your life away.

Falon stiffens at the exact moment my phone rings. I saw the sign posted on her studio door about silencing all electronic devices. I get that distractions mess with her creative process. It's the same for me. I shut myself off from the world when I'm writing music.

On any other day I would have turned my phone off or handed it to one of my assistants, but I've been waiting for this call since this morning. I'm not missing it, even if it pisses the hell out of Falon.

"You'll need to turn that off," she calls across the space towards me. "I'd appreciate if you silenced your phone."

I raise my index finger in the air, motioning that I need a minute. It's going to take longer than that. This call could change everything for me. I'm not going to miss it because some executive at my label thinks I need a new, edgier set of headshots. Falon, and every other person in this room, can wait until I'm done.

"That's not going to work for me." She marches across the floor towards me, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

I tug my phone from where it's vibrating in my back pocket. I glance down, my breathing quickening at the sight of the incoming number.

"My assistant will hold the phone for you." Falon's hand reaches towards me. She catches the edge of my phone's case between her index finger and thumb. "We should be done in thirty minutes. You can call whoever it is back then, can't you?"

I calmly pull the phone back towards me. "I can't. It's urgent. I'm taking this."

She says something under her breath but I'm too preoccupied to decipher what it is. I feel an unexpected rush of disappointment surge through me knowing that I've pissed her off. I'll probably never see her again after today but I don't want her to view me as the arrogant * who doesn't respect her creative process.

I shake off the thought as she turns on her heel to walk towards her assistant.

I swipe my thumb over the screen of my smartphone, bring it to my ear and try to level my tone as I say a harsh "hello" to the man who holds the key to my family's f*cked up secrets.





CHAPTER 3


Falon




"Why did you clear the room?" I finally ask. I'd stood silently in confusion as he ended the whispered phone call before turning to order everyone, including my own assistant, out of my studio.

No one had moved an inch at the first request but when he barked the order out again, the room had quieted before most of his entourage gathered around him. Their discussion was muffled but it was clear that whatever he said to all of them was enough to drive them towards the exit in a hurry. They'd left, in single file, before he calmly asked Remy to follow them.

Her raised brow was a mute question about whether she should listen to him or stay put so she could do the job I'm paying her to do. I shrugged my shoulders before tipping my chin towards her. She'd taken it, as it was meant, and when she closed the studio door after she walked out, I wondered if I should have fallen in step behind her.

Do you want me to leave, Asher?" I ask, with the hope that he'll point his finger at the door and wave me away.

It may be my studio but I don't want to be alone with him right now. I might have wanted it five minutes ago when I was taking his picture, but everything has changed. The boyish grin on his face has been replaced with a vacant stare. His shoulders have stiffened and his left hand has balled into a tight fist. Whoever was on the other end of that telephone call stole his carefree spirit away and replaced it with anger, or maybe despair. I can't tell.

"Take my picture, Falon." He walks quickly back to the spot in front of the canvas where he was standing just moments ago when the music was pounding through the speakers and the room was abuzz with the frenetic energy that comes with a photo shoot like this.