Three Minutes to Happiness (13 page)

Val set up the lights and the camera tripod as the make-up artist slicked back Ken’s hair. Then he walked over.

“Good to meet you, Ken,” Val said, coming out from behind the camera to shake his hand. He was pulling in his stomach, and looking nervous. “Don’t worry. This is going to be fun.”

“I sure hope so,” Ken said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m afraid I’m going to look like an idiot.”

Val shook her head. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Try not to think of being photographed. Try to think of connecting with your fiancée through the camera lens. She’s the only person who’s going to see these shots, right?”

“I guess she might show them around.” A flash of panic widened Ken’s eyes. “Jeez, I hope she doesn’t show them to all her friends.”

“Let’s take the pictures, and then you can decide which ones you want to give her.”

Val walked him to the chaise, and Sharon dashed over.

Professional models could strike a pose on demand, and make it look sexy. An untrained subject usually found this more difficult, so Val always took a lot of warm up shots. Susan positioned Ken on the chaise, stomach down. The make-up artist smoothed baby oil over his shoulders and back, to give his skin a gleam. Val watched through the viewfinder. “Okay, Ken, can you angle your left shoulder up a little? That’s perfect.”

She fired off a few test shots. “Now, how about a smile?”

His grin was closer to a grimace.

“Lovely,” Val reassured. “What’s your fiancée’s name?”

“Betsy.”

“Okay, now think of Betsy. Imagine she’s looking at you.” Ken’s expression shifted to serious. “What are you telling her through this shot? Show me.” A slow half smile transformed his face. Val fired off a few more shots. “Tilt your head down a fraction—that’s good. Now bring the sexy.”

Ken smoldered like Gandy, and the hair stood up on Val’s arms as she captured the moment on film. He wasn’t her type, but she had no doubt that Ken’s fiancée would love the shots.

“That’s fantastic, Ken. Hold that look, and push back your hair.”

Ken pushed his hair back with one tanned hand, Sharon had revealed that they had organized a session or two on a tanning bed in the week previous, to banish the pasty winter pale. He tilted his head to the side, and closed his eyes.

“Wow, Ken wait till you see these shots.” Val snapped away. “You look hot.”

Sharon agreed. “Great, Ken.” She glanced at Val and her eyebrows rose. “I think we’re ready for the shots on your back, do you agree, Val?”

She’d taken hundreds of photographs already, and was sure she had what she needed. “Yes, go ahead and set up.”

Ken sat up. “Can I see?”

“Let’s take the next series, then you can look at them before you change into the next outfit,” Sharon said.

Val rearranged the lights as Ken slipped off his jeans and lay on his back on the velvet chaise longue. Sharon artfully draped a sheet over Ken’s crotch, bringing it high enough to hide his slight paunch. She tilted his hip up a little, and angled his body to create shadow and definition.

She looked up at the make-up artist. “Bridget, could you just emphasis Ken’s abs a little for me?”

The make-up artist picked up a shadow pallet in shades of grey and brown, and a large brush. “No problem, Susan.” She walked over. “Now, Ken, I hope you aren’t ticklish.”

He was. And unfortunately the large brush made Ken laugh so much that his entire stomach quivered with each stroke. His laugh was so infectious, before long all three women were laughing along with him.

“Okay, come on. We have to get this done,” Sharon said. “Everyone, get a grip.”

“Be brave, Ken. I’m going back in.” Bridget picked up two small brushes. “I’ll be quick. Just hold it.”

Ken nodded. He pressed his lips together, and appeared to have stopped breathing as Bridget applied shadow to one area of his abs, and highlight to another.

“There. Done.”

All three women examined Ken’s torso critically.

“That’s amazing.” Val never would have believed the skillful application of the difference that a little make-up would make. “Good work, Bridget.”

Bridget grinned. “I used to work on movies. I’ve had plenty of practice. I worked on ‘Three Hundred’.”

“The movie with the Spartans?”

“That’s the one. Although by the time we’d finished defining all the abs, we’d renamed it ‘Eighteen Hundred’.”

Val downloaded photos to her laptop, and showed Ken some of the best shots before he went to change into his next outfit, which seemed to consist of a brief pair of shorts and a pair of runners.

“Apparently she likes him sweaty,” Sharon said. “So Bridget is going to spray him down before he gets on to the exercise bike.” She leaned forward. “Can I have a look?”

“Sure.” Val pushed out a chair from the table she had set up in the corner, and located some of the best photos.

“These are fantastic,” Sharon said. “You’ve got a great eye.” She glanced over to where Ken was explaining something to Bridget while she misted him with warm water from a plant sprayer. “Ken has really relaxed with you. I hope you can do some more work for us in the future.”

“I’d be delighted to.” Val handed over one of her newly printed business cards. “My cell phone number is on these.”

Sharon pocketed the card. Glanced at her watch. “We have another couple of hours and three more scenes. Better get to it!”

Val photographed Ken pumping muscles on the exercise bike. Showing off his back and a hint of bottom while lifting weights. Then finally dressed in a sharp black suit with an undone bow tie, lounging on his bed. They’d had to relocate upstairs for that one.

When the session was finished, Ken offered a glass of wine, but she had to decline. “I have to go back in to the studio. It’s been great working with you, Ken.”

“I’d like to thank you ladies for everything.” Relief that the photography was over was evident in Ken’s expression. “I was so nervous, but you made it fun.”

“Val has got some great shots—we’ll put together a portfolio of the best ones for you. I’ll call you when they’re ready,” Sharon said. “We should have them by…” She looked at Val.

“Wednesday next week,” Val said.

Sharon nodded. “That’s fine. So I’ll meet you Thursday or Friday, Ken—whichever suits, and you can make your selection.”

*****

When Finn returned after lunch with Matthew, Anna brought four files into his office and set them on the desk. “Connor has made his selection. Now it’s your turn.”

Finn hesitated. He was interested to see the photographs, but for the first time the implications of making the choice bit. “Thanks.” He made no move to open the files until Anna had left the room. One of these folders contained photographs taken by Val. The other photographers were established, with a strong body of work, while she was an unknown quantity. The likelihood of her photographs being the best was slim.

And if he rejected her, what effect would that have on their nascent relationship?

Finn breathed in deep and opened the first file. He couldn’t let personal feelings compromise his work. She might be disappointed, but he would just have to work harder than before to ensure that it didn’t change things between them.

Ten minutes later, he’d rejected two. Another fifteen minutes, and he was still torn between the final two. Both were exceptional. One really emphasized the architectural elements; he could imagine them featured in a glossy architectural magazine. The other photographer had included some of the owners in their photographs. The humanizing element took the pictures from businesslike to extraordinary.

There could only be one winner. Finn selected the most suitable candidate. He piled the folders up and buzzed Connor. “I’ve made my choice.”

“Cool. I’ll be right in.”

When Connor came in to the office, Anna was with him. “I’ve got my favorite too,” she confessed. “I know my vote doesn’t count, because I know the identity of the photographers, but I’m so curious, I couldn’t stand to wait.”

Finn grinned. He fanned out the folders, all of which were marked with large red numbers.

“I chose number three,” Connor said.

“That’s a relief, because so did I.”

Anna pouted. “I chose number two, but I’m glad you guys agreed. Would you like to know who took the winning pictures?”

Chapter Thirteen

Val really wished she could just live in the moment. Forget her previous failed relationship, and stop overthinking everything. The habit was difficult to break. Finn had invited her for dinner, but already thoughts of tomorrow were making themselves heard.
Will I stay over? Should I pack a bag?

Val pulled on a pair of jeans and a casual top and left the house.

He met her at the front door, dressed in an apron with Kiss Me Quick written on it.

“Is that an invitation?” Val went up on tiptoe and kissed him before he could answer.

“A present from my mother,” he murmured against her lips. In a smooth move, he shut the front door before backing her up against it and claiming her mouth in a longer kiss that sent shivers up her spine. “I’ve missed you.”

Val felt light and happy. It had only been a day, but she felt the same. Who needed food when they could feast on each other?

Finn stepped away. The look in his eyes revealed it had taken him some effort. He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, his eyes dark and dangerous. “Dinner. I’m making pasta, and it’ll be mush otherwise.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m hungry too. But we have to eat first.”

He could make her laugh so easily. Val followed him into the kitchen. A couple of saucepans bubbled on the stove, and the kitchen table was set for two.

Finn took a bottle of wine from the fridge, opened it with a flourish, and poured two glasses.

“Are we celebrating?”

“Not especially. I just had a bottle hanging around, and I thought you might like some.” He peeked inside one pot, and stirred another.

The light bubbles made Val’s nostrils flare in the way they did when a sneeze threatened. She sipped, then, “I better warn you, I get tipsy pretty quick on champagne.”

He stilled like a hunting tiger. Stared into her eyes in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. His slow smile heated her blood. “What do you do when you’re tipsy?”

“I lose my inhibitions.”

“I like the sound of that.” Finn took the large saucepan off the stove, drained it, and poured its contents into a large white serving dish. He put the sauce into a smaller bowl, and sat next to her. “Ravioli. Easy to make, quick to eat.” His eyebrows rose. “More champagne?”

“Trying to get me drunk?”

One hand at her nape, he kissed her again, so passionately she was tempted to push the food aside, and drag him off to the bedroom. “I have to talk to you about something.”

The contract popped into Val’s mind instantly. She chewed her bottom lip. It could be anything. Their first date. The fact that it was Friday. She didn’t want to think about work, knew that bad news would shatter the mood, but couldn’t wait. “Tell me.”

He refilled her glass and sat down next to her. “We chose the photographer.”

There was a somber look in his eyes—she didn’t have to ask, but couldn’t stop herself. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

“No.”

Disappointment twisted Val’s gut. “Shit.”

“It was a tough call. You were everyone’s second choice. But Leo Sorensen won.”

Leo Sorensen was a fantastic photographer with a large studio in town. If she had to lose out to someone, at least it hadn’t been a mediocre photographer. “He’s good.”

“His pictures were very different than yours. Minimalistic.”

She’d taken a chance, including people in her shots, but still, the loss of the contract hurt.

“I’m sorry.” There was concern in Finn’s eyes. Concern for her reaction.

Val took a drink and forced a smile through stiff lips. “If I had to lose, I guess Sorensen is a good person to lose to.”

“I don’t want this to change things between us.”

“It doesn’t.” Just as he’d promised, he’d made a decision based purely on the work submitted. She couldn’t fault him for that. “I’ll just have to find another way—”

“Another way to what?”

“To make some money.”

Finn stood, drained the pasta, and brought bowls to the table.

“Is money a problem?”

She didn’t want to make him feel guilty, but couldn’t lie. “I worked part time at a bookshop, but I’ve recently lost my job there so I need to expand my photography workload. Your commission would have made things easier, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll work something out. I did my first commission for another photography studio today. A dudeoir shoot.”

Finn frowned. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s like a boudoir shoot—an intimate shoot where the client wears underwear or poses sexily, usually as a private picture for themselves or for their partner. But with dudes.”

“So you’ve been photographing a man naked?” His eyebrows rose.

“Not exactly naked, but close.” The shoot had been fun, and the client’s satisfaction with the pictures had boosted her confidence. “I was nervous about it.” She hadn’t spoken to Finn about her inexperience before, not wanting to jinx the photography commission.

“Because?”

“Everything about the job was an unknown,” Val said. “The studio needed someone to fill in, and asked me, I hadn’t done dudeoir, or,” she shot him a glance, “taken on a job on my own before.” She twisted her napkin into a figure eight, rolling the tissue between her fingers. “I knew I was capable of it, of course, but the only major job I’ve done before was the commission for your company.” And that hadn’t worked out so well, had it?

“I don’t understand why you are working for other photographers. Wouldn’t you like to open your own studio? Go out on your own?”

“Sometime, maybe.” Simon had given her a start in the business, even if she was successful enough to make it on her own, she couldn’t just abandon him. And there was the every present problem of money. “I plan to, but right now, I don’t have the finances.”

“So start small, bring in the work, and build up to it.” Finn pushed away his empty plate. He reached over and rubbed the crease between her eyebrows. “It’s natural to be disappointed. Put your cares on hold for the weekend, and stay here with me.”