Torn(35)

"I don't know yet," I answer back when there's a lull in all the other conversations taking place. "I'm booked to do the shots at the hotel in Tribeca on Tuesday. I should hear something a week or two after that."

"How many other photographers are they considering?" She makes eye contact with me when she asks. Clara is, by far, my biggest supporter. She loaned me the money I needed to buy my first professional camera. She's an accountant and takes care of my financials. I pay her for that, even though she insisted I don't.

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. I've tried not to think about it. When one of the junior executives in marketing for Bishop Hotels called to tell me that they'd arranged for me to photograph their flagship hotel on West Broadway, I was relieved.

I want this job more than I've wanted any other job. It could take my career to the next level.

"You'll get it, Seven." Elijah taps my shoulder as he walks behind my chair. "Do you know when we're going to Asher's studio yet?"

Dammit. I knew that was coming.

The first thing on my agenda when I walked into the house today was to find Elijah to see if he'd come into the city on Wednesday to hang out with Asher. I wanted to keep that quiet and away from the bulk of my family.

"Asher who?" My brother, Mike, turns towards me. "Who are you talking about, Eli?"

"Foster," he says simply.

"Falon is taking you to meet Asher Foster?" Clara chimes in. "As in the singer? You know him?"

I don't respond because it's a trick that I've used successfully whenever I want to disappear under all the crossed conversations that take place when my family gathers under one roof.

"Answer me." She's behind me now, her head lowered to mine. "How do you know him?"

I turn towards her. "I took his picture, Clara. It's no big deal. He met Eli and offered to sign his guitar, that's it."

"That's not it," Elijah says from where he's now seated across the table from us. "He's her boyfriend."

"No." I try to giggle but it comes out as more of an anxious cackle. "I'm not dating him."

Eli's eyes drop to his phone before he sighs, heavily. "If you're not dating him, why were you kissing him?"

Every conversation grinds to an abrupt halt as he turns his phone towards the table to show everyone, including me, a gossip website where there's a picture of me and Asher kissing in the pizza place in Brooklyn, completely oblivious to everyone around us.

***

"Were you embarrassed?" Asher looks down at his guitar. "What did your folks say?"

"I wasn't embarrassed at all." I want to make that clear before I say another word to him. "I kind of liked it. The caption under the picture identified me as unidentifiable brunette. That's my new claim to fame."

He grins lazily as his eyes meet mine. "You're anything but an unidentifiable brunette. I'm sorry they posted that photo. I didn't know anyone trailed me that night."

The words take a few seconds to register with me. I'm not oblivious to the world we live in. I know that online gossip sites and print magazines pay top dollar for shots of their favorite celebrities.

I totally get that the men and women who take those pictures are just trying to put food on their tables the same way I am. What I don't understand is why they have to be as aggressive as they are.

When I was searching for anything Asher Foster related the other night, I stumbled on a few video clips of the paparazzi chasing after Asher and a model. They both covered their heads as they held tightly to one another's hands. I didn't feel jealous of how he tried to shield her from the onslaught of cameras. I felt pity for them both. All they wanted was to enjoy an evening out, alone in Los Angeles and it turned into chaos as soon as they exited the restaurant.

"Your folks?" His voice is low and deep, edged with curiosity. "Did they say anything about the picture? About me?"

They hadn't really. My mom covered her eyes in jest, pretending to be embarrassed but later, as I was leaving she whispered that she thought Asher was cute. My dad told to me to be careful, patting his hand over his own chest above his heart. I told them both that it was a date, nothing more.

"They didn't say much," I answer honestly. "My siblings had the biggest reaction. A few of them are fans."

He nods, his gaze falling back to his guitar. He asked me to meet him here, at the recording studio after work today. I thought I might have heard from him last night after I was done in Brooklyn, but there was nothing.

Today I did edits for most of the morning before I had a session with a family with twin five-year-old boys. I was wiped by the time I locked my studio door behind me. I'd typed out a text message to him on my phone telling him I needed to bow out since I have so much work. I deleted it before I sent it though, realizing that the work will be there tomorrow, but his need to see me might not be. I knew I made the right decision when kissed me as soon as I arrived at the studio.

"I've been working on that new song," he says, his voice low and throaty. "You inspire me, I think."

That's a compliment, I think. It is, right?

"I inspire you?" I ask quietly.

"You do." He clears his throat. "There's something about you that just gets to me. I can't explain it."