“And quit at the top of your game,” she pointed out. “How come?”
“Always go out with a bang,” he quipped, before thinking the better of his answer. This woman was contemplating a major life change and deserved better than a flippant reply. “If I kept going with modeling, I’d be dead.”
Rather than shock her, his stark declaration caused her to nod. “It really is a terrible business,” she said in complete seriousness. “Why do so many want to break in?”
He wanted to banish the shadows filling her eyes. Their presence hinted at a painful history.
“Obviously for the fast and easy money,” he said, dark amusement lightening his tone.
“And the short hours,” she added, the corners of her lips twitching into a semblance of a smile.
“And of course,” he added, recalling hundreds of rejections that followed hours and hours spent in casting calls, auditions and go-sees, “the self-esteem boost.”
She dipped her head in recognition. “Nothing like being regarded like a piece of meat.”
They both took a second to absorb the words, and Oliver found himself in sync with someone for the first time in more years than he could count. A second later he noticed that his earlier anger was gone. Conversing with this woman was the distraction he’d been looking for.
“So, if you’re not planning to model in the future, what do you want to do instead?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking crestfallen. “And until I have a plan, I can’t stop modeling.”
The same desire that had prompted him to dump a drink on her date and pay her bar tab swept through him now. Having little patience for weakness, he’d never championed anyone before. He had no explanation for why now and why this woman except that since she’d entered the bar, his mood had improved, and he didn’t want the distraction to end.
“Maybe I can help.”
The wild pounding of Sammi Guzman’s heart drove the breath from her body. She gaped at Oliver Lowell, astonished how readily her teenage crush flared back to life.
And yet, was it really a surprise? In snug jeans, a white T-shirt and worn bomber jacket, the man exuded raw male charisma and swoon-worthy sex appeal. She’d been more than a little giddy since he’d sat down beside her at the bar. Now, with his penetrating gaze fixed on her, all sorts of reckless urges were awakening.
“Help how?” she wheezed out, unable to believe her luck.
“Let me take your picture.”
Disappointed, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he echoed, a muscle jumping in his square jaw.
Convinced she’d insulted him, Sammi smiled to soften the rebuff. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say, and I’m flattered that the incredibly talented Oliver Lowell wants to photograph me, but I’m looking to escape my modeling career, not turn up the heat on it.”
Long moments passed while he pondered her response in grim silence. She fiddled with the untouched martini Ty had ordered while her nerves jangled and her thoughts raced. The last time she and Oliver had occupied the same room, she’d been seventeen and he hadn’t known she was alive. In the eight years since, he’d added muscle to his tall frame, changing from a willful pretty boy with an aggressive stare and petulant mouth into a gorgeous hunk with guarded eyes and a commanding presence. One thing that hadn’t changed was his reputation for brilliance and a volatile temper.
“This will be a photo just between us.”
His enigmatic words scrambled her emotions. She didn’t understand his interest in her. For months and months after walking in the same runway show, she’d imagined a different sort of encounter with Oliver, where his penetrating blue eyes wouldn’t look past her or through her, but where she would have his full attention. She’d indulged romantic daydreams where he swept her off her feet and overwhelmed her with soul-stealing kisses.
Of course, nothing like that could ever have happened. Even if Oliver had been interested in her, Sammi’s freedom was limited by her mother. A reckless thrill spurred her racing pulse to greater speed. Although Celeste hadn’t relinquished her influence over her daughter, Sammi was no longer a child.
“Is this your version of come up and see my etchings?” she asked, wincing at the awkwardness of her banter.
He arched his left eyebrow, the one split in half by a scar. Far from taking away from the perfection of his face, the flaw enhanced his appeal.
“No,” he said, even as something hot and unsettling flared in his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “This is a legitimate offer.”
“So this isn’t some elaborate come-on?”
He blinked in surprise. From his startled reaction to her question, she’d read his invitation all wrong. Mortified heat stung her cheeks as she contemplated the bad impression he must have of her. First, he’d seen her badgered and then abandoned by Ty. Now she was misunderstanding his offer to help her.
“Maybe I should explain what I’m talking about.”
“That would be great,” she murmured, determined to stop making a fool of herself.
“What I love about being a photographer is how I get to see the world through the lens of my imagination.” Oliver began his explanation slowly, his gaze directed toward the rows of bottles behind the bar, but his attention was turned inward. “After I quit modeling, I went back to what I’d loved to do when I was still in high school.” His features went as still as stone as he reflected on his past. “Initially I started with what I knew, but being a fashion photographer was nearly as boring as being a model. But I needed to eat, so I took the jobs that came my way. To supplement my income I also helped up-and-coming models build their portfolios. It was in those portrait sessions that I discovered my true passion. And those photos led to my work being noticed. Suddenly I was in demand, with offers from magazines to shoot celebrities and other people of note.”
Oliver paused in
