The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2)(32)

“Let’s sit.” He gestured toward the living room.

She chewed a hunk of the Snickers bar and plopped onto the sofa.

He sat beside her and palmed a few M&M’s. When she wedged herself into the corner, he turned his body to face her. Her gaze dropped to his knee, which he’d planted two inches from hers.

“I browsed your website. The colors, fonts, and function work well, but the gallery photos . . . well, those look unprofessional, like you or Steffi used your iPhone and uploaded them.”

“We did.” She broke another chunk off the shrinking Snickers bar and popped it into her mouth, mumbling, “We’re on a budget.”

“I know, so let me retake those photos. Better lighting and angles—artfully framed architectural shots—will give your site more polish and reflect your professionalism. No need to announce your meager budget to the world with amateur photography.”

That slight smile tugging at the corners of her lush mouth would taste like chocolate and caramel now.

“That’s quite an offer, but it’ll lead to more strings.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to feel obligated to deal with Peyton on a regular basis because you’ve helped me again. You don’t owe me anything. I heard Peyton out because you hired me as a favor, so we’re even.”

She balled up the wrapper and tossed it onto the accumulating pile, then motioned for him to hand her some M&M’s.

“I hired you because you’re good at your job, not as a favor. Shooting your projects for free is my thank-you . . . no strings. Honestly, it’ll give me something to do while I’m hanging out in town.” When she seemed skeptical, he added, “I could use an excuse to get out of the house. Otherwise my mom will drag me into all the last-minute gala BS.”

“God forbid you help her with that,” she teased, popping a green M&M in her mouth.

He shifted his body, edging closer. Fuzzy robes weren’t sexy, yet Claire’s cozy pajamas lured him nearer, as if proximity would pass on her comfort by osmosis. “You think that sounds like fun?”

“Of course I do. People around here look forward to that party all year. It’s a great cause and a chance to dress up.”

“I suppose I never looked at it that way.” The literacy fund-raiser was a snooze fest compared with his typical A-list parties in New York. But maybe there was more value in it than he’d ever wanted to acknowledge.

“You’ve probably never looked at a lot of things the way the rest of us do. You might have a love-hate relationship with your last name, but most people would kill for the doors it opens.”

“You’re seeing all the benefits and none of the downside. Trust me, when you’ve got my name, you’re never sure whether people are just using you as a stepping-stone to some other goal.”

Instead of mocking him, she regarded him with compassion. “That’s sad.”

Normally, Logan reflected only what he wanted people to see, but Claire’s knowing gaze might as well have been a microscope lens. “It’s the way of the world, I suppose. Guess I’ve become a cynic.”

Her responding shallow smile proved she saw his retreat for what it was.

“Don’t expect me to feel too sorry for you. The name, the money, the looks . . .” She blushed, twining the robe’s sash around her fingers.

He watched her fingertips turning white. Still harboring that childhood crush on him? Sweet, but he wanted her to find him attractive for reasons other than his face now.

“And yet none of that has convinced you to take me up on my current offer.” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, effectively surrounding her from the tip of his fingers to his knees, all of which itched to touch her.

“I don’t even know if our clients would let us back into their homes.” She hugged her knees to her chest, then popped two more pieces of candy in her mouth.

“Now there’s where my name will come in handy.” He flashed a playful grin. “What Sanctuary Sound resident wouldn’t want Logan Prescott taking photographs of his or her home?”

She laughed so hard she almost choked. “You’re bad, Logan.”

He leaned close enough to smell something other than chocolate and peanuts. Something soft and light, like lilac. “I like you this way, Claire.”

“What way?” One of her brows rose.

“This whole ‘take no prisoners’ attitude seasoned with an occasional wisecrack . . . it’s diverting. Keeps me on my toes.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Believe it or not, that’s not my goal.”

“Prove it. Accept my offer.” A triumphant smile worked its way through his whole being. “Come on, you can be my assistant. It’ll be fun.”

“Can you even take those kinds of pictures? I thought you were a street photographer.”

He scoffed, easing away. “It’s much harder to capture great images in the moment than it is to stage them. Trust me, I can shoot a kitchen or a bathroom.”

He wanted to do this with her. Say yes. When she pressed herself deeper into the cushions, he added, “Don’t underestimate the value of a professional website for grabbing customers’ attention and selling services.”

Her head bobbed from side to side as if weighing the pros and cons of dealing with him more than she’d already agreed to. “I’ll call our clients.”