The Distance Between Us (9 page)

“Probably a good idea since your family owns a bunch of hotels. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a horror movie that takes place in a hotel. So. Scary.”

“What does red rum have to do with anything?”

“It’s murder spelled backward.” I finish with three warning beats: “Dum dum dum.”

He gives me one of his are-you-for-real looks again. “Sounds terrifying.”

“That’s it. You have to watch the movie. I don’t care if it makes it so you can never step foot in a hotel again. You’re watching it.”

He tosses his car keys to an attendant standing by the entrance and then opens the door. The lobby is gorgeous. Luxurious furniture, large plants, shiny tiles and . . . bigger than my entire apartment. The front desk people smile when we walk through. “Good afternoon, Mr. Spence.”

He gives a small nod and directs me down the hall by placing a hand on my lower back. A chill goes through me. We come to a double-door gold elevator and he pushes the Up button, dropping his hand from my back. There’s an actual elevator guy inside wearing a blue jacket with big gold buttons. He says hi to Xander and me and I wave. He presses the button next to the number twenty. The elevator goes higher and higher until it finally stops with a ding.

The hall we step into is wide and leads to only one door. I have no idea what could be behind the door of what is obviously the penthouse suite that could possibly have anything to do with discovering what I want to do for a living.

Xander seems excited, though, as he turns the knob and opens the door. I’m overwhelmed by a lot of chaos and noise. Big shaded white lights are being assembled by a couple of guys. A few women arrange pillows on the couch. A man with a large camera hanging around his neck walks around analyzing different locations. Every once in a while he takes out a black stick thing and pushes a button.

“What are we doing here?” I ask Xander.

“It’s a photo shoot. My dad wants some new pictures taken of the room for the site so he sent me here to oversee it.” He walks to a large hutch against a wall, removes a camera from a case, and attaches a lens. “You are going to shadow the photographer. You’ll be like his apprentice.”

“Did you warn him that some girl who knows nothing about photography is going to get in his way all day?”

“I did.” He steps in front of me and slides the camera strap over my head then frees my hair from beneath it. I try not to sigh. He smells like expensive soap and laundry detergent. “He was flattered someone wanted to learn from him.”

“If you say so.”

His cell phone rings and he turns away to answer it. “What do you mean ‘where am I?’” His voice has gone hard and cold. “Yes, I’m at the photo shoot. That’s where you asked me to be. . . . Yes, well today I decided to . . . Okay . . . Yes . . . No, I have other plans tonight. Fine.” He hangs up without saying bye.

I raise my eyebrows and look at his phone.

“My dad.” He shrugs like his coldness on the phone was just an act.

“Mr. Spence,” the photographer calls. “If you’re ready we’ll get started.”

“Just let me change.”

Change?

While he’s gone the photographer calls me over and shows me a few basic functions of the camera and how and when to shoot. Xander comes back out wearing a suit that he totally rocks. A suit, coupled with his conservative haircut, makes him look a lot older than seventeen. He picks up a magazine off the table and sits on the couch. Seriously, I’ve never seen someone look so good in a suit. The photographer takes a few shots and then starts directing him. After he takes a dozen or so he turns to me. “Why don’t you try a few while I set up the next scene?” And then he goes into the kitchen (the hotel room has a kitchen) and starts moving things around.

“You didn’t tell me you were the model.”

“Didn’t I tell you my dad is making me the face of the business?” he says, and looks down. For the first time ever I see him blush. “It’s embarrassing but he’s found that people are more drawn to shots with life in them.”

“So these will be on flyers and things?”

“Mostly on our website, but yes, flyers, too.”

A website. Why didn’t we have a website for the doll store? I smile and put the camera to my eye. “All right, hot stuff. Work it.”

Looking at Xander through the lens of a camera is rewarding. I can do it without worrying about staring. As the day progresses I learn how to zoom in, focus on his smile or his eyes. His skin is amazing. His hair the perfect amount of shine and body. It’s just a little wavy, which, although it’s on the short side, makes it stand up perfectly.

I get to set up a few shots. I play with the light coming through the windows. First overexposing him, bathing his face in light. And then reversing the effect and backlighting him so he is like a dark shadow, all edges and curves. I get a few with the ocean in the background. The hotel room has the perfect view.

“Loosen up, Xander,” I say at one point.

“What? I’m loose.”

“You’re just so formal. You’re supposed to be on vacation in these shots, right? Act like it.”

“I’m in a suit. I’m probably actually at a business meeting or something.”

“A business meeting for uptight employees?”

“Hey now.” He laughs, and both the real photographer and I snap more pictures.

Just when I think the photographer has gotten all the pictures (and more) that he could possibly need, the hotel room door opens and a handsome middle-aged man walks in. I don’t need Xander to curse under his breath to realize it’s his father. The resemblance is obvious. They both have the brown eyes and the light brown hair, the high cheekbones and full lips. And they both carry themselves in exactly the same way: like they own the world. Xander’s father scans the room and stops on me.

Chapter 15

M
r. Spence pauses on me for a full thirty seconds, taking me in from my six-month-old at-home haircut to my ratty Converse. Then he gives me a small nod of acknowledgment. I sense he thinks I’m an assistant to the photographer, and if Xander wants to play along with that, I don’t blame him.

Xander looks between his father and me. If I was so hesitant to introduce Xander to my mom, I can only guess how he feels about introducing me to his father. I keep my mouth shut and maintain a tight grip on the camera.

Mr. Spence spots the open laptop in the corner. The photographer, most likely realizing what that means, says, “They are the raw, unedited shots, but you’re welcome to look at the ones I’ve captured so far.”

Xander stands. “But either way, we’re done.” He walks to the bedroom, and right before he gets to the door, he looks back at me and says, “Caymen,” almost like he had expected me to know to follow him. I give him the
Are you sure?
look and he holds out his hand. My heart flips and I take a deep breath and walk toward him, but am not stupid enough to grab his hand when I reach him. I just walk past him and into the bedroom. He follows me in and shuts the door.

For some reason I’m out of breath.

The clothes he came here in are hung nicely over a chair in the corner and he walks over to them muttering something I can’t understand. As he slides out of his suit coat and starts to unbutton the shirt underneath, something hits me. What if
I’m
his signal: another one of the messages to his dad to show that he doesn’t want to be part of his father’s world, a pawn in his game of rebellion? Is that why he started coming around? Hang out with the poor girl. That’ll really get under his father’s skin. I turn to face the wall while he changes.

I slip the camera off my neck and trace my finger over the silver button on top.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not changing in here. I’ll go in the bathroom.”

But when I turn back around, thinking I’m safe, his shirt is all the way unbuttoned. Regardless of the fact that his clothes are resting over his arm and he’s heading for the attached bathroom, my face reddens at the sight of his bare, nicely defined chest.

Even after the bathroom door clicks shut, my heart continues to beat an accelerated rhythm. I walk slowly around the room, trying to calm it. Xander will not have this effect on me. I won’t let him.

The furniture and bedding in the room are nicer than anything in my house. I let my hand trail over the rich material. When he comes out clothed I ask, “Xander, is this your camera or the photographer’s?”

“It’s mine.”

“Do you think I can borrow it for a few days?”

“Of course. For what?”

“I have a porcelain doll fetish. Thought I could take some high-quality pictures of them.”

He shakes his head. “And let’s try that again. For what?”

“I kind of like the website idea. Maybe it’s time our store has one.” It could possibly save us from financial ruin.

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like the best way to show your mom you have no interest in the store.”

I shrug. “I’ll just set it up and have her run it. Bring her into the modern world.” Maybe a website could eventually take the place of me. People could place their own orders, we could make more money . . . then my mom could afford to hire a part-time employee. I try not to get my hopes up, because it could take months, but I like the idea.

He doesn’t answer but takes the camera from me and nods his head toward the door, behind which his father exists. How bad is this going to look when we walk out there, Xander fully changed?

He must sense my hesitation because he says, “I don’t care what he thinks, Caymen.”

Of course he doesn’t care what he thinks. He probably wants his dad to think something is going on between the two of us.

“Whatever.” I open the door and try to walk out as casually as possible. My face doesn’t get the memo and blushes. His dad is still studying the shots on the screen in the corner.

I turn back to Xander, wondering where to go. He’s holding the camera up and fires off a shot. I put up my hand. “Don’t.”

“Come on, you have to be on the other end of the camera now. I have to see if modeling is something you’d want to do.”

“Not even a possibility.”

“With those eyes?” He shoots another picture. “It is definitely a possibility.”

It may be my imagination, but he seems extra flirty. I swallow the lump in my throat. “These eyes are about to commit redrum.”

He laughs louder than I’ve ever heard him laugh, confirming my suspicion that he’s doing this all for his dad’s benefit. “Come on, Caymen, loosen up,” he says quoting me.

I cross my arms and glare at him. He takes one more shot with a laugh and then walks to the hutch, puts the camera in its case and then hands it to me. “Go crazy with your dolls.”

“Thanks.”

Xander’s focus changes to something over my shoulder. When I turn around I’m surprised to see his dad behind me. “I thought you were here with the crew. I didn’t realize you were one of my son’s friends.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Blaine Spence.”

I take his hand. “Caymen Meyers,” I barely choke out. I’m still shocked he wanted to meet me at all. Did he want the camera back?

“Good to meet you,” he says, seeming very sincere. Was he using reverse psychology on his son? Then he turns to Xander. “Alexander, a lot of those pictures are great.”

Xander’s face instantly hardens. “Good. So I’m done, then.”

“I’d like you to work with the designer on a web layout and flyer.”

“I don’t have a lot of time for that, what with school and stuff, but maybe I can find some time in a few weeks.” He puts a hand on my lower back as if trying to direct me out of the room fast, and I jump in surprise but then let him guide me toward the door.

“Nice to meet you,” I call behind me.

“Alexander.”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Mr. Spence emphasizes the
s
on the word, and Xander’s jaw tenses.

“Yes?” Xander emphasizes the
s
even more.

“Your mother’s benefit is in four weeks. Your presence is required. And you will have the flyers ready for that night.”

We step out into the hall, and Xander says, “I hope you’re taking notes. I’m so much better at pissing off my family than you are.”

“I’m taking notes.” Find the last person on earth my mom (or in his case, dad) would want me to date and pretend to be dating him. Of course, my mom would actually have to know about it. But that’s where we differ. I’m not using Xander. “Extensive notes. When my mom tells me to do something”—I point over my shoulder to the door we just exited—“I do it and pretend to be mad about it.”

“So rude.” He shoots me a half-smile, which I’m angry about because I thought that bit of sarcasm was at least worth a full smile.

He hits the Down button on the wall next to the elevator. “So, photography? Your future?”

“On the maybe list.”

“I thought you might like it because you said you like science, which requires observing things and noticing detail. You’re good at that and those traits serve well when looking through a viewfinder.”

I look up at him in surprise.

“What?” he asks.

I realize I must be staring at him in shock and turn back to look at the blurry reflection of us in the gold elevator doors. “I . . . thanks . . . for noticing.”