are you getting married?” I ask Sebastian and Helen.
“September twenty-third.”
I sit behind my desk and jot that information down. Then I go into describing the various packages I offer, starting with the least expensive. “All of the packages are detailed in this brochure,” I add when I’m finished, handing them a glossy full-color brochure that cost a small fortune to produce. “But don’t feel that these are set in stone. I’m willing to tailor a package specifically to your needs. You can use this as a guide and tell me what changes you’d like to make, if any.”
“You do all these photos?” Dominic asks, glancing at me over his shoulder.
Damn, he’s got a nice ass. Honestly, I can’t remember seeing a butt that looked so cute in a pair of Levi’s.
“Yes,” I answer. “I took all the photos.”
“I love this one,” Dominic goes on, fingering the silver frame of a black-and-white photo of a naked and sleeping baby.
“That’s one of my favorites,” I tell him, pleased.
A quick look at Sebastian and Helen and I see that they’re still evaluating the various packages. So my gaze wanders back to Dominic. He grins at me.
Now I know I’m desperate, because that simple and sexy grin has my vulva pulsing. I’m actually shocked. I don’t ever remember feeling this kind of immediate carnal attraction even in the early days with Charles.
And yes, he does look familiar. Where have I seen him before?
For the sake of my sanity, I have to look away from him. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I face the young couple once again. “Do you have any questions?”
Helen shakes her head. “Not really. Obviously, you’ll do both black and white and color.”
“If you like.”
“Oh, I know,” Helen quickly says. “How much of a down payment do you need?”
“Depending on the package you choose—and you can change your mind anytime before the big day—I ask for twenty percent up front.”
I watch Sebastian’s and Helen’s faces for a reaction. Helen worries her bottom lip.
“Or you can give me ten percent when you secure the booking, if it’s easier, and the final ten percent thirty days before the wedding. Just let me know.” I pause. I hate when the couple isn’t saying much. I always feel as if I’ve lost them.
But, the last thing I want to do is pressure anyone. I don’t believe in the hard sell, though Charles says I should. He tells me all the time that I’d make more money if I were a bit tougher.
But that’s not me. “Take your time,” I tell Helen and Sebastian. “Look around the studio if you want. I have sample albums you can go through, as well. No pressure.”
“We’ll take a look around, but we already know we want you,” Helen says. “We’ve heard such great things about your work. And the photos you have displayed speak for themselves.”
Yes! But I keep my cool and say calmly, “Why, thank you.”
“We can’t leave a deposit right now, though,” she continues. “We’d like to figure out the package we’ll go with, then come back and leave a deposit.”
This is the point where some photographers get aggressive to try to secure the deal, by insisting that a client at least leave some money down. But I hate to scare anyone away, even though I know I might never see them again.
So I say, “Whenever’s convenient. Just give me a call.”
“Thanks so much,” Sebastian says. “It’ll be later this week, or early next week, when we can bring the deposit.”
“There’s always the chance that someone else might come in wanting me for the same date, so for now, I’ll mark your wedding date down. I’ll see you by next week?”
“Yes,” Helen answers.
“I look forward to it. And congrats on your nuptials.” Sebastian and Helen get up and start for the door. I get up, too. Dominic, who’s still checking out my pictures, doesn’t even realize that his brother is ready to leave.
“Yo, Dom,” Sebastian calls out.
Dominic whirls around. “You ready?”
“Uh-huh.”
It’s like an invisible bat hits me hard when Dominic looks at me again. I can’t help wondering why he bothered to tag along with his brother for this visit.
“Did you have any questions?” I ask him. There’s a part of me—a big part—that doesn’t want him to leave yet.
He shakes his head. “None.”
“Okay.” So he’s Mr. Mysterious.
“I think Dom is bored and needs to get a life,” Sebastian tells me. He turns to Dom. “When was the last time you were on a date?”
So he’s single…
And you’re married. Don’t even let yourself go there.
Despite what I tell myself, I do my best to hide my ring as I see them all to the door. I know nothing will come of this, but at least I have someone to think about when I masturbate. Thinking about Charles usually doesn’t work for me anymore, because it’s hard to get off fantasizing about someone who doesn’t fucking want you.
Sebastian and Helen are unable to let go of each other, as if the very act of releasing hands for even a moment would be physically painful. I watch them, feeling a lump form in my throat as I reminisce about my courtship with Charles, how he was the same way, always touching me, always giving me soft kisses on the cheek.
Always letting me know I was loved.
I can’t stand thinking of Charles right now, so I let my gaze wander over Dominic’s tall, muscular frame.
He’s almost out the door when he turns back to smile at me. I smile, too, and wave.
And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whirl around, close my eyes. Dominic and I barely spoke, yet the way he looked at me has left me feeling like his hands have caressed every inch of my body. My vagina is still pulsing, and my panties are wet.
Is this what Samera meant when she said that dressing sexy makes you feel more sexually alive? If so, then I’m amazed.
The sound of door chimes has me whipping around. There he is again, smiling that charming smile that makes me so hot.
I swallow. “Hi. Did you forget something?”
Dominic walks the few steps toward me. “Actually, I realized I couldn’t leave until I came back in to ask you something.”
My heart slams against my rib cage. What could he possibly want to ask me? Something personal? Of course he won’t ask something personal. He’s thought of something he didn’t ask about my services.
“I knew you’d think of something,” I joke.
He withdraws his wallet, takes out a card. He extends his hand, like he’s going to pass it to me, but instead asks, “Do you have a pen?”
“Yes.” I head to my desk, aware that my walk is different. Sexier. Liberated.
Even the way I stretch forward to reach for the pen, lifting one foot that’s in a cute sling-back as opposed to a comfortable flat shoe, is deliberately orchestrated to tease.
Really, what am I doing here?
I pass Dominic the pen.
“This is my card,” he tells me as he scribbles something on the back. “My office and cell numbers are on the front. And