Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
It took me a second to process what he said before I gave a laugh. “Uh . . . you’re mad.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I gestured to all the artwork and collectibles he had in this room. “This place is a museum of history, and you’re going to have scandalous photos of some woman next to it all?”
“Some woman?” he asked. “Oh sweetheart, you aren’t just some woman. Let me teach you something about private art collections. They’re not for viewing—they’re for feeling. Their purpose is to project power, status, and wealth. Have you ever been to the Vatican Museums? The pope doesn’t keep that stuff to enjoy it. It’s to remind every single person who steps into his domain that he’s the most powerful person in the world. The same is true here.” He turned back to the empty spot on the wall. “And there’s nothing that makes me feel more powerful than you.”
Oh Jesus, this man . . .
“So?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Why not?” he pressed.
“Because I think you have a distinct vision of what you want in your head, and I’m just not sexy.”
He released a booming laugh like I was a goddamn comedian.
“You know what I mean. I can’t turn toward a camera and flip my hair and look all sexy.”
“You look sexy right now. You’re doing it right now.”
“Look, I’m supposed to get half naked and do poses and stuff, and I’m better behind the camera rather than in front of it—”
“This is what I want.”
“Well, just because it’s what you want doesn’t mean it’s what you get.”
He smiled at me, but it wasn’t that boyish, charming smile he wore most of the time. It was that sinister, deadly one that I’d seen a handful of times. Like the emperor entered the room and Constantine left. “You said Maximillian Cattaneo was the greatest photographer of your generation, did you not?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with this?”
“Because I hired him.”
“He’s booked out like a year . . .”
“Not for me.” He continued to wear that hardened gaze, like I’d been outmatched by an opponent who could squash me with the snap of his fingers. “You say he’s the best, but you don’t trust him to do you justice?”
“I’m just not one of those girls.”
“What girls?”
“Someone who can pull this off.”
“There’s no fucking way you don’t know how beautiful you are. I’m not buying this.”
“I’m not saying I’m not beautiful. I’m just saying I’m not model material. Not the kind of woman who needs to be blown up and put on this big-ass wall.”
“Listen to me.” He continued to speak to me in that authoritative tone, like I was one of his men who wouldn’t follow his orders. “You’re the single most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I saw you across that bar, and my heart was already lodged in my goddamn throat. That other woman came to the table, and I didn’t give a damn about the easy lay, because I wanted you. I don’t know what the fuck you see, but I see a fucking empress. You’re mine, you’re one of my collections, and I want to see you up there every time I walk into the room. I want you next to my Michelangelo because you’re equal. So don’t tell me no again, not unless you have a legitimate reason.”
“What’s a legitimate reason?”
He stared me down for a while. “You don’t trust me. You don’t think this is going to last, so you don’t want me to have a piece of you. Something intimate, personal, and, frankly, sacred. That’s a legitimate reason.” His eyes started to withdraw their hostility, like he was afraid that was my reason all along.
I wanted this to last forever, but it seemed too early to say something so serious, so I said something else instead. “Can I see the photos first and then decide if I’m comfortable with them on your wall?”
The disappointment passed like clouds in the wind. He came back to me, the light returning to his eyes, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Sure, sweetheart.”
He sat behind his desk, taking care of phone calls and emails. I didn’t understand a lot of what he spoke about. He said a lot of people’s names and issued quick orders without details.
I stayed on the couch and worked on my laptop, going through all the edits I thought I would never catch up on. I used to love my work, but now I was working all the time to keep my head above water, and it was starting to kill the passion.
He took another call and seemed to be talking to Rocco, judging by the way he spoke to him differently from everyone else. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he said that last time.” He leaned back in the chair and shifted his eyes to me.