Dirty Shots (18 page)

“No, I know it won’t. I’ve barely been able to eat these last few days worrying about it.”

“I think we’re just going to have to tell him.”

“Would it be better to tell him in private?”

“He might rein himself in if we tell him in public, give him time to compose himself, perhaps even come to terms with the idea of his daughter modeling for erotic photography.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you think?”

“Well, maybe not. But whether we tell him here or back at the hotel, he’s still going to need to find out.”

She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay, let’s do it now. Get it over with.” It was like having a Band-Aid removed, better to get it over with than drag things out any longer. Besides, her mother had reacted far better than she’d ever hoped for. Perhaps her father would be the same and surprise her?

Anya quickly repaired her makeup in the mirror, and then she and her mother exited the bathroom together.

Eric and her father were deep in conversation, but they fell silent as the two women approached. Eric looked up at her, his eyes saying more than his mouth. “Everything okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine.”

Her mother placed a hand on her father’s arm. “Anya’s got something she wants to tell you, Trent.”

The nerves reappeared in Anya’s stomach. She had to do this, get it out there, and deal with the fallout afterward.

“The photographs Eric has been taking are going to be part of an exhibition of his work in a little over a week,” said Anya.

Her father smiled. “That sounds interesting.”

“It is. But I just wanted to prepare you that some of the photographs are of a ... Err ...” She could barely bring herself to say the word. Even as she stalled, she could see the expression in her father’s face begin to change. “They’re of an erotic nature.”

A cloud filled his features, his blue eyes seeming to turn gray. “What are you telling me, Anya? That you’ve been posing for explicit photographs?”

“Well, yes, but they’re tasteful!”

He wasn’t listening. He turned to Eric. “And you’ve been taking them? You manipulated my little girl into taking her clothes off?”

Her stomach lurched. “Dad! It wasn’t like that! I’m an adult. I do what I want.”

“That’s bullshit, Anya. You’re only twenty-two. You barely know your own mind.”

“Trent, no,” her mother interjected. “She’s an adult. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

He wasn’t listening. He shoved back his chair with a clatter and rose to his feet, pointing a finger at Eric. “And you, taking a young girl and using her in such a way. She’s a good girl, and you’ve made a whore out of her!”

“Dad!” Even she was shocked at his choice of words. People were starting to look, glancing over to stare at the performance.

Eric got to his feet, his face stone. “Mr. Bergman, please don’t ever refer to your daughter as a whore again.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t call my own child. Who the hell do you think you are? Perverting an innocent girl. And you’re going to display these photographs to the public? Over my dead body!”

“Trent,” said Saara, getting to her feet to try to pull him back down. “Calm down.”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

“Please, Dad.” Anya was too shocked to cry.

“Mr. Bergman,” said Eric, keeping his voice calm. “If you’d like to come and view the photographs at my studio, you’re more than welcome.”

Trent’s face was puce with anger, the red making his white hair appear even whiter. “I’m not going into some kind of den for pornography! You’ve turned my daughter into a little whore. I’ll set no foot in that place.”

A muscle in Eric’s jaw twitched. “I told you not to call her that again.”

“Don’t even speak to me!” And her father swung his fist, connecting with Eric’s jaw. His head snapped back, and he staggered from the table.

“Dad!” Anya screamed, jumping from her seat to run to Eric. His nose was bloodied, but he didn’t attempt to retaliate. She was terrified they’d have another episode like with Gavin, but Eric restrained himself.

Her father opened his wallet and threw money on the table. “Pay for the meal with this,” he spat at Anya. “And then keep the change like the little whore you are. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He stormed from the restaurant. Her mother looked between Anya and the direction Trent had gone, before picking up her jacket and purse. “I’ll call you,” she said, before hurrying after him.

Anya burst into tears.

Eric’s arms found their way around her, but she pushed him away. “Leave me alone. I did this for you. If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t have just lost my father. I can’t be around you right now. Just leave me alone.” And with tears streaming down her face, she ran from the restaurant, all eyes on her, leaving Eric alone.

––––––––

E
ric stood in the middle
of the restaurant, frozen in the fallout of the fight between Anya and her father. He gaped after them. Even though she’d told him her father was a strict Christian, he’d never imagined it would be so bad. His nose still hurt. How many times would he get punched in the face over Anya?

A waiter arrived with a silver tray with all of their meals balanced on the shiny surface. Everyone in the room had restarted their conversations, trying to pretend they hadn’t all enjoyed the drama over dinner.

“I think you’d better take those back to the kitchen,” he told the waiter.

The young man hesitated, but a stare from Eric sent him spinning on his heels, taking the meals with him.

Eric picked up his glass of champagne and drank it in one, the bubbles burning the back of his nose. He placed the empty glass down on the table, hard enough to risk it breaking.

He needed to go after Anya.

Briefly, he considered switching Anya’s father’s money for his own credit card, and returning the cash to the older man later, but anyone who upset Anya that much deserved to waste a few hundred dollars.

Leaving her father’s money on the table, he picked up his jacket and walked from the restaurant, trying to ignore all the prying eyes. He hoped no paparazzi had been present for the fight, or at least none who recognized him, or he’d find the argument displayed all over the local papers the next day.

Eric stepped out into the evening air and ignored the valet. He’d have to come back for his car later. Anya would be on foot. Her petite stature compared to his long legs meant he shouldn’t struggle to catch her.

He headed in the direction of her college campus, assuming she’d go back to her room. Farther down the street ahead, he spotted her slight figure, her shoulders stooped, her head hung down. His heart clenched at the sight of her, so forlorn, and then sparked with anger at her father. How could a man cause such sorrow in his own daughter?

“Anya!” he called. “Wait.”

But she didn’t stop, only hurried her pace.

Eric broke into a run, his long stride carrying him swiftly along the street, quickly closing the gap between them.

He reached her, caught her by the shoulder, and pulled her back around. “Anya, please wait.”

Her eyes were rimmed red, her skin blotchy. But no fresh tears ran from her eyes. “Please, Eric. Just give me some space, okay? I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“Can’t you think about it at my place?” He didn’t like the pleading tone to his voice.

She shook her head. “You’re too involved in all of this. You’re a huge distraction.” She gave a little smile. “A great distraction, but one nonetheless. This isn’t against you, Eric. I don’t blame you for my father. I knew how he was going to react. I just kidded myself for a while that things might go differently.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry he hit you.”

Eric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I seem to be getting you into trouble more than you deserve.”

He didn’t tell her that he’d thought the same thing only a few minutes ago. “You’re worth it.”

She looked at him. “Am I, Eric? Am I really?”

“Yes, of course you are. At least come back to the restaurant and let me drive you home.”

A shiver ran through her; he noted her shoulders trembling. “I don’t want to go back to that restaurant. Ever.”

“Okay. I understand.” He spotted the familiar yellow light in the distance, and he stepped out into the road with his arm held out. “I’m paying for your cab, then.”

“Eric, I can get my own cab.”

“Please, Anya. Just do as I ask this once.”

Her shoulders slumped. The cab pulled up alongside the curb and Eric opened the back door for her. Without further argument, she climbed into the back seat. Eric handed the driver a couple of twenties and gave him the address.

She slid down her window. “Thank you.”

“Call me, okay?” he said, suddenly panicked. What if this was the last time he saw her? What if she decided enough was enough, and never wanted to see him again?

She gave a sad smile. “Sure, Eric.” And slid her window back up.

He stood on the sidewalk and watched the cab pull away and grow smaller as it merged with the evening’s traffic. Eric sighed and pulled his jacket closer to his body for comfort. The cab vanished from sight and he turned around and made his way back to the restaurant.

The valet stood, looking awkward and unsure until he spotted Eric returning. He obviously wasn’t used to having vehicles abandoned not long after arriving.

Eric collected his car and drove home, his head a jumble of thoughts. What was going to happen now? After her father’s reaction, he struggled to imagine Anya still wanting to go through with the exhibition. They were back to square one. Perhaps he should never have persuaded her to tell her parents about what she’d been doing. If she’d kept it secret for as long as possible, they’d at least have had the gift of a few more days doing what they loved.

His apartment felt cold and empty without Anya in it. It was strange to notice that now. He’d never had a problem with his place before—in fact, he’d always enjoyed spending time here alone, appreciated what his hard work and talent had bought him—yet now his surroundings felt sterile.

He removed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped a tea-towel around them before pressing them to the socket where the start of a black eye was blooming. His nose also throbbed, but he didn’t think it was broken. He hoped the bruising would fade before the exhibition. But then he realized he probably shouldn’t waste his time worrying. Anya was sure to want to cancel now.

His stomach twisted with anxiety. Logan had already started sending out personal invitations to everyone influential and important in the New York art scene. What the hell was he supposed to do if he had to turn around and tell everyone the exhibition had been canceled? He’d be a laughing-stock, and no one would ever take his exhibitions seriously again. Logan was an old friend, but he was also a professional. Eric hated that he might have wasted his friend’s time.

The first flames of anger started in his stomach. If only Anya had been honest with him from the start, none of this would be happening now. But even as the flames emerged, his common sense extinguished them. If Anya had told him right from the start and he’d sent her away, he’d never have experienced this last week. He’d never have sunk his cock into her tight, soft heat. He’d never have felt her slim fingers touch his cheek with such intimacy. He’d never have witnessed her expression of delight when a huge dish of tiramisu had been placed in front of her. He was torn. Though his work meant everything to him, his feelings for Anya were starting to overshadow them.

Once again, he hadn’t eaten, and he couldn’t bring himself to stomach anything. Instead, he went to his computer and began to run through his favorite images of Anya. He scrolled through them, pausing on each one to study the composition, the use of lighting, but most of all, to study Anya. Having her image imprinted upon his brain was the closest thing he could get to being with her. He didn’t want anyone else, he realized. He didn’t want to photograph anyone else, or have anyone else in his bed. She’d become his whole world.

Fresh anger burst through him and he lashed out at the items on his desk—pen holders, paperwork, a glass of water—sending them crashing to the ground.

She was going to ruin him, and he was going to let her.

***

E
ric woke the next morning
to the sound of his door intercom buzzing.

He’d fallen asleep at his desk, his head pillowed on his arms. His shirt was creased, and he knew it would have left lines on his cheek where he’d been resting. Pieces of glass and other items from his desk were strewn across the floor from where he’d lost his temper.

The buzzer went again, and Eric got groggily to his feet and made his way over the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

He pressed the intercom. “Hello?”

“Eric, it’s me. Can I come up?”

His heart leapt.
Anya!
“Yes, of course. I’ll buzz you in.”

He hit the button to let her up and suddenly became aware of the state of his apartment and himself. He was still dressed in last night’s clothes, and he reached up to smooth his hair down where it was sticking up on one side. He hesitated. Was he better to tidy himself up, or his apartment? He didn’t want her to know he’d lost his temper last night, but he figured meeting her at the door with bad hair and morning breath was worse.

Rushing into his bathroom, Eric ran the tap. He added a swipe of toothpaste to his brush, scrubbed his teeth with one hand, while running water through his dark hair to try to tame it with the other.

A gentle knock came at the door, and he spat and washed away the toothpaste in the sink. He took a deep breath and headed to the door. He didn’t know why he was so nervous.

He swung open the door.

Anya stood in front of him wearing a pair of six inch stilettos, and an extremely short black dress that appeared to be made of latex. The material clung to her curves, accentuating the fullness of her breasts and the way her large nipples poked from the globes. He could see the slight roundness of her belly, leading down to the juncture of her thighs. The dress stopped barely an inch below her pussy, revealing her long, naked legs.