"Or I, you." Jessica came close to him, absentmindedly tickling the top of his shaved head. Every morning now, she made sure there were no errant strands he'd missed. Her hand drifted down to an ear.
He leaned in again. "Whatever are you doing, Mrs. Vincent? We've got work to do, you know." He kissed her, long and hard. Their embrace brought all of their attention and focus onto the moment. "You know, I do have a lock on my door," he said roughly as their hands and lips explored one another.
From around the corner of the wall, they heard a delicate clearing of a throat. They separated. As Jessica smoothed her hair and Worth adjusted his trousers, Skip's head peered inside. "Worth, I just saw the email you copied to me from Lance Glover. Shall I post the job opening online?"
Worth returned to his desk, once again all business. "That'll be fine, Skip—oh, but check with Paul before you do. Maybe he already knows of someone who's looking. I would trust his judgment."
Skip gave him a thumbs-up and grinned at Jessica. The hunger in the room was palpable, and he had stumbled upon many such scenes during the last year. "Sorry to interrupt. Carry on, you little lovebirds!" he said as he stepped out.
Jessica and Worth shared a tender look, but the moment had passed. Jessica had numerous phone calls to make as well as a column to finish. Worth had several other appointments on his schedule before he could even think about taking a break, she knew. She sang out to Skip, "I was just leaving!"
Blowing a kiss at Worth, she walked past Skip and returned to her desk.
Lance Glover had felt it prudent to leave the magazine, but he certainly wasn't ready to leave the city. There were so many photos still to shoot! Some months earlier, he'd stumbled onto a sort of "help wanted" ad in the chat room of one of his favorite porn sites. Not only were photographers needed in his particular area, but the pay mentioned was top notch. There was an element of risk, the kind of photos they wanted required… finesse, patience, sitting in the dark for hours at a time. Once Lance had called the number to discuss it, he was warned that out-and-out stalking might be necessary in order to get the best shots. He had fairly jumped at the opportunity—the job combined his two favorite things: photography and women.
Lance knew there were others out there hoping to cash in on the offer. Soon after he had begun the work, the Peeping Tom reports had started flowing in. No way was he responsible for all the Peeping Tom reports. Perhaps none of them—he was careful. He was professional. He had also gotten distracted from the money somewhere along the line. Looking at things objectively, he realized that he had been too focused on his favorite subject. "Oh, Donnalet. You slipped away too soon," he said out loud as he looked through his photos of her. "All I wanted to do was take your picture in more suitable attire."
He laughed. "Or lack thereof. After I make you a famous model, perhaps you'll let me do nice things to you. Donnalet. And if you won't, perhaps I'll do them anyway."
He looked at his watch. Time to grab a bite to eat, then another night of hunting. Now that he wasn't at the magazine office, he'd have to be more strategic where his favorite subject was concerned. He might need help to follow through with Donna Brown. He preferred to work alone, but in this case, he knew a fellow. He called a number on his phone and arranged to meet.
Eric played with the vegetables on his plate. The place wasn't crowded, so he'd taken a booth. He glanced at his left arm, amazed at how free he felt without that damn cast. Fortunately, he'd gotten tan enough before it went on that it hadn't faded too badly, he thought. When Donna came home from the club, wouldn't she be surprised?
The club. Eric sighed, remembering her wedding night gift that seemed a distant memory. She planned to quit soon, she'd assured him, now that he was back home. But someone had called in sick. Madame X had pleaded for just a little longer? She'd help out this week, anyway. But after… maybe she'd be open to celebrating his newly freed arm in the red room. Unless the Daddy thing is still an issue.
He frowned as he cut off a bite of steak and put it in his mouth., barely noticing the taste. Donna was different since Florida. It had taken a lot for her to tell him about her father. And, he had to admit, his response hadn't been overwhelmingly supportive. He'd been appalled that someone would do that to a child, to his own daughter. His thoughts were relentlessly accusing: You also thought mainly of yourself, how the change of attitude might affect you. Us. He continued to mentally berate himself until suddenly, his ears pricked up.
Through the slats at the top of the booth behind him, two men were deep in conversation. Eric couldn't hear every word, but what he heard sent a chill down his spine.
"No, I quit," a voice was saying. "No notice, just left. All because of that gorgeous little bitch. I wish I'd pulled every strand of that blonde hair of hers
