Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
No matter how beautiful they were.
Willow’s chin was raised, and there was a small, smug smile on her lips. My heart started beating unpleasantly fast, and I had to drag my eyes away from her mouth. What the hell was it about this woman? I’d have fired anyone else for half as much attitude as she’d dished out, but with her, I practically fucking encouraged it. Anything to light a fire under her cool indifference.
“Then act like it,” I said roughly and forced myself to turn away.
I’d never been one to play with fire, and I wasn’t going to start now.
9
WILLOW
I didn’t expect Julian’s demotion from head of the studio to camera man to last more than an hour. That Sony FS7 wasn’t light, for one thing, and despite his broad shoulders and hard chest, I couldn’t imagine he did much of his own heavy lifting. For another thing, Miller continued snapping out commands as though it were still Tom taking his orders and not the man who signed his paycheck.
“Miller, if you keep barking at me, I’m going to shove this camera up your ass,” Julian said at one point, but he didn’t put it down.
Unwilling, grudging respect grew as the hours went on. It wasn’t just heavy lifting and Miller’s attitude that got old. The skateboarding competition itself got boring. At least, it did to me. The tricks and flips that were awe inspiring in the first hour were old hat by the end of the third. I was ready for someone–anyone–to win so we could call it a day.
Worse than the boredom though was the way I started to feel comfortable around Julian. I forgot he was a spoiled, rich asshole who would grow up to be exactly like my father and his. I forgot that I was a spy from the enemy camp–even though technically I had no intention of spying. Horribly, I started to feel a sort of comradery with him. The jostling crowd kept me close to his side. Miller’s abrasive commands made us lock eyes in weary solidarity more than once.
Even worse than that, sparkling around the edges of the comfort, was something else. Something I didn’t even want to name. I’d always been a sucker for useful men. Men who didn’t just move people and money around like pawns on a Chess board. Men who didn’t just act like men. I’d had Julian pegged as the former, but now I was seeing another side of him. He hadn’t been bluffing when he told Miller he knew how to handle the camera. When we pulled it out of the van, he picked it up between his large hands, studied it, and then nodded.
“Yeah, I can do this.”
And then he did. He wasn’t as skilled as Tom, but he did a better job than I could have, and he made it look easy.
At one point, he had his sleeves rolled up, the camera hoisted, the weight of it defining strong biceps beneath golden-tanned skin, and I thought, oh. Feline interest flicked through me before I remembered who he was. Who I was. But as I pulled my gaze away, I ran headlong into his. He’d seen me watching him.
I looked away immediately and put some distance between us, sliding my way through the crowd to where Brendan was standing with Michio’s best friend. Unlike me, they were fixated on the competition that was in its last round and barely acknowledged me when I came up beside them. I was glad for it. I didn’t want to make small talk. I was inexplicably irritated, flustered. My heart was beating too fast, and my throat was dry. I told myself it was because I’d been out here for three hours, and I’d finished my iced coffee in the first half hour.
Standing on tiptoes, I looked around the crowd. Over helmets and brightly colored spikes of hair and high ponytails, I saw a covered pavilion with a drink machine and a snack machine set against the back wall. I felt in my pocket to make sure I had my phone, then made my way over to it. It was deserted at this point in the competition, a few wrappers and soda cans littering the abandoned tables. I got my Dr. Pepper and stood there for a minute, enjoying the space.
What the hell was I thinking, checking out Julian Lewis? He carried around a camera for a couple of hours and I forgot who he really was? That wasn’t like me. I’d made that mistake as a kid when I tried to turn my dad into someone he wasn’t. I’d learned my lesson.
I took another sip of my drink, took a deep breath, and then started back toward the crowd. As I drew closer, I could tell something had changed. The fun had disappeared from the frenzy, leaving a shifting, surging malevolence in its wake. Awestruck faces had morphed into avid, bloodthirsty curiosity. People were pushing forward, trying to see something.