Dirty Deal (A Perfectly Matched Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (5 page)

Chapter Five

“If you don’t quit messing with the props, you’re going to break something, and François is going to be pissed.” Grace snatched a rubber chicken from Serena’s hands and looked into the bird’s expressionless eyes. “Although why this is here, I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“I think it totally works. We could be like, ‘Don’t be a chickenshit, let Love Will Find a Way pick a match for you today!’” Serena said in her best commercial voice before grabbing the prop and tossing it back into the bucket of other, equally strange items that sat beside the shooting stage.

“Please, don’t mess with the art.” The photographer sniffed and adjusted his lens for the seventh time. His French accent was so bad that he must have picked it up from a daytime soap opera, and his crappy, condescending attitude grated on her, but it wasn’t worth arguing with him over. She had more important things on her mind, like Dr. Bryan “I’m too cool to show up on time” Metcalf.

She was usually the one behind schedule, but today she’d been a few minutes early. Granted, that was only because she and Grace had come over together from the office, but still. She was here and ready to go. Too bad the same couldn’t be said of their model. Surely all those years in the army should have taught him punctuality, but he was already ten minutes late for the photo shoot.

Maybe he’d decided to bail after all.

She hadn’t heard from him at all in the three days since their “forgotten” night on the beach. Apparently, he’d taken her words to heart. All the arrangements for today’s shoot had been made through Grace. Hell, the one time he’d called the office and she’d answered the phone, he asked to speak to Grace after barely offering a quick hello. He was polite, but not at all needy or clingy or any of the stuff she hated.

That was a good thing,
she reminded herself.

What
wasn’t
a good thing was the fact that they would have blown a grand on this studio session if he didn’t bother to show.

She twirled the giant pinwheel that was sticking out of the prop bin and Grace slapped her hand.

“Seriously? François is going to yell at you again, you know. It’s like you’re baiting him on purpose. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Serena stalked toward the little tray of food François’s assistant had set out and noshed on a celery stick. “Hungry, I guess,” she said.

Grace glanced toward her watch and then the door. Apparently, Serena’s reply was enough to satisfy her curiosity because she was on to a whole new subject within seconds. “He’s late, but he did say he was coming. He texted me a couple minutes ago.”

“He did?” Serena kept her focus entirely on her celery stalk, ignoring the little kick her pulse gave at the news.

“Yeah. Honestly, until he did, I was fifty-fifty on him backing out. I still don’t know how you got him to change his mind. I’ve been trying for months.” Her friend shook her head. “You must have been very convincing.”

“Guess so.” She swallowed her food and donned her notoriously good poker face. It wasn’t like the sex had been part of the deal, but somehow the two things were connected in her mind in a way, and if Grace even sniffed a hint of interest in Bryan on her, she’d be relentless. She and Trick were so happy together, she was sure that once Serena found the right guy, she’d see the error in her ways and find a guy to be happy with, too.

Not likely.

“How did you do it?” Grace’s dark eyebrows shot up, and her friend gave Serena that look that made her feel like she was under a dozen interrogation lights. Not for the first time, she thanked the gods that Grace’s freaky matchmaking tingles didn’t come along with the ability to read minds. Almost in response to her thanks, the gods sent Bryan crashing through the front doors before she had to answer the question.

Win, and double win.

“Hey, ladies. Sorry I’m late,” he said. He’d come dressed for the job, a tight, black U.S. Army T-shirt stretched over his muscular chest, and a pair of washed-out jeans completed the look. With his hair freshly buzzed, he looked like a casual GI Joe. A GI Joe she knew firsthand was anatomically correct as a motherfucker.

Her pulsed skittered, and she tore her gaze away and swallowed the chunk of celery lodged in her throat. He’d looked great in his shirt and tie and even better in a fig leaf, but Bryan in a fitted T-shirt and jeans should’ve been illegal.

“Not a problem. We are super excited to get started,” Grace chirped and ushered him past the table where Serena stood with celery stick in hand.

“And I’m just as excited to get it over with.”

On his way past, their shoulders brushed against each other and that peculiar, tingling familiarity that she’d felt on the beach returned to her. Except this time it was sharper, surging through every vein and forcing her to stare after him no matter how hard she tried to look away.

And he glanced at her, too. Only for an instant, but the recognition of the pull still between them was written all over his face.

Whatever. It didn’t mean anything. It was just some stupid crush because it had been so good between them. It would wear off. It always did.

“You’re not going to ready my subject? How am I to create art this way?” The nasal accent echoed through the hall as the photographer riffled through his basket of props. After what seemed like an eternity of searching, he came up with a giant, glittery heart and thrust it toward Bryan. “Hold and smile. If you please.”

Bryan eyed it for a long minute like it was made of rusty syringes and made no motion to take it. “I don’t please.”

The faux Frenchman huffed and glared at Grace. “This prima donna is what you give me to work with?”

“Let’s try some candids,” Grace said with a smile. “Everyone just relax and let’s get some great shots.”

“It will be an effort.” The photographer sighed, but snapped his camera all the same as Bryan moved stiffly toward the lens, smiling like he’d just received the world’s ugliest Christmas sweater.

For the next twenty minutes, Serena hung back and watched in amusement as François shouted directions at Bryan like, “That’s not a smile. You look like a serial killer,” and “Make love to the camera,” while they both got progressively more agitated.

Finally, François snapped.

“Will you stop doing that?” he shouted, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“Doing what?” Bryan asked, dropping any pretense of a smile and letting his annoyance shine through.

“Looking like an animal who is being hunted,” the photographer shot back.

“I can show you what it feels like to be hunted, buddy—”

“Okay.” Grace stepped in between the two men, a serene expression still plastered across her pretty face. “You know, I think this is going really well, but how about we give you something to play off of, Bryan? So you don’t have to perform like you’re in a bubble. Let’s see, um…” She glanced around the studio until her eyes finally fell on Serena and that glint she knew all too well lit her friend’s eyes.

Absolutely, categorically not. Serena had already signed off on her part of this deal. She’d supplied the estate to win the date in the first place. She’d signed on to be the fake girlfriend. She’d done more than her share. Now she was just supposed to be in the background for moral support. Not negotiable.

“Serena, why don’t you hop in here?” Grace said casually.

“I would, but my kind is cursed, and we don’t show up in photographs. So, you know, that won’t be possible,” she wisecracked, hoping that would be enough to let Grace know she wasn’t interested without making a big deal of it.

Apparently not, though. “Oh, stop it. It’s just until he loosens up. And if you don’t like some of the shots and we like them, we could crop you out.”

“Wouldn’t that be a million times easier if I was never cropped in? Think about it. Oh! Or, hey, you could do it.” She gestured toward her friend and then toward the photographer. “Doesn’t she look great? The camera would love that face, huh?”

François shrugged, obviously still miffed at Bryan, but Grace wasn’t budging.

“You have modeling experience and I don’t. Come on. For me.” Grace turned on her hurt-lost-puppy eyes and Serena glanced from her friend to Bryan, who seemed entirely uninterested in the entire conversation. Too uninterested, maybe?

A sizzle went through her as she took another long look at him in his jeans. What was the big deal, anyway? The more she protested, the worse it looked, and it wasn’t like she hated him or even was mad at him. Who cared if he hadn’t called to set up their “dates” yet? Heck, it would be better if he never called. She’d have gotten what she wanted and wouldn’t have to return the favor.

One measly photo shoot. She’d done a bunch of them after high school. This would be a breeze.

“Fine,” she sighed, making sure everyone knew that she wasn’t thrilled about it, and stepped onto the white stage. “So, how do we do this thing? Like, Charlie’s Angels style back-to-back or—”

“An embrace, please.”

Well, what a freaking coincidence. Before, the bastard didn’t know how to fix Bryan, and now he was full of ideas.

Perfect.

“Yeah. Sure. Great.” She skimmed her hands over the outside of his shoulders and kept her arms locked like they were about to waltz, making sure their bodies didn’t touch. Following her lead, his fingers tapped her waist, and they both turned to face the camera. Based on Grace’s dubious expression, it wasn’t looking good.

“What is this, a seventh-grade dance? This is a company that claims to find true love. Let’s see some passion.” The photographer kissed his fingertips then held them to the sky like a stereotypical Italian chef. Geez, if the guy was going to fake being foreign, he should at least have the decency to stick to insulting one country at a time.

From the corner of her eyes, she glanced at Bryan, her mouth still locked in her best “family photo” grin. His brows were pulled together in question, as if to ask if she wanted to follow the photographer’s lead, and she shrugged.

In for a penny, in for a shitload. They were both grown-ups here, and she’d already given up a lot to get him to do this. Might as well make it worthwhile by getting some good pictures for the ad out of it.

She sucked in a breath and wrapped her arm around him. The second she touched his skin, the electricity that had hung in the air between them buzzed to life again, sharp and fast. His gaze flickered to hers, the awareness she was feeling reflected back at her in his gold-flecked hazel eyes.

Damn it.

She’d tried for days to push this feeling away. To deny it. But here she was again, barely a touch and already her body was a mass of seething hormones like some horny teenager at the front row of a boy band concert.

They’d agreed on one time.

It had seemed like enough…had been enough so many times before, but now, looking into his eyes and watching them dilate more with every passing second? Seeing his jaw tense and the pulse in his neck twitch the way it had that night on the beach?

Maybe twice would be better
…

She wasn’t sure what happened then, as the rapid-fire clicking of the camera faded away and the blood rushed to her ears, but when François clapped his hands together a few minutes later, she found herself with her arms linked around Bryan’s neck and his hands resting lightly on her hips. Her breath was short and choppy, and she bit her lip.

“All right,” François shouted, “now we’re getting somewhere.”

Bryan shook his head and blinked as if he’d been in the same stupor as she had, and she pulled away, running her hands up and down her arms to ward off the goose bumps.

She wet her lips and straightened, pasting a shaky smile on her face. “So what now?” Serena gazed from her friend to the photographer, but the trill of Grace’s cell phone broke the silence. Her friend glanced at the screen and then sighed.

“It’s the wedding planner. Apparently there’s a hiccup at the venue and Trick’s tied up at the station. Can you guys finish up here without me? I need to meet her there ASAP.” Grace didn’t quite meet her eyes when she asked the question, and Serena’s bullshit-ometer ratcheted up another notch.

First trapping her with the charity date and now this? Coincidence was one thing, but why did it always have to involve leaving her alone with Bryan Metcalf?

Or, in this case Bryan Metcalf and an indignant Frenchman.

“Look, I’m really sorry. This is the last time. I swear.” Grace held up her hands in an innocent gesture, but her keys were already dangling between thumb and forefinger. “You guys are going to be great.” She started for the door.

“Grace, I—” Serena started.

“I knew you’d understand. You’re the best.” Grace hefted open the iron doors, then called back, “I believe in you,” before closing them behind her.

“What happened to teamwork?” Serena muttered. She strolled back to where Bryan stood, hands in his pockets, and then turned her attention toward François. “So, wild idea. What’s our budget on this? What if we pretend Cupid is shooting us with arrows so we’ll just sort of duck and make screaming faces and then you can Photoshop in a maniacal-looking cherub once we’ve got the shots?”

The only response was the echoing sound of François’s tapping foot and Bryan’s stifled chuckle behind her.

“I think not,” the photographer spat.

“You’re such a party pooper, Franky.” She stepped back and lost her footing, and suddenly she was hurtling toward the floor, one heel in the air and both of her arms flapping wildly to break her fall.

Out of nowhere, a warm, muscular pair of arms wrapped around her, catching her before she hit the ground. It took a few seconds to get her bearings back, but when she did, she noticed three things.