“What?” I call out, rushing over to him. “What isit?”
“Bad news,” he answers, his voice flat. “They were driving over here together and got in a carcrash.”
I freeze a few steps away from him. “Are they okay?” Igasp.
“They’re fine. No one actually got hurt, but the crash was pretty bad. The photographer says she’s going to be held up dealing with her car all night, and the model’s too shaken up to do a shootanyways.”
He gives me an apprehensive look, like he’s expecting me to start hurling furniture across the room in rage, but instead I drop onto the couch next to him and bury my face in myhands.
“I’m glad they’re okay,” I sigh, staring down at my knees, “but we’re fucked, aren’twe?”
The effects of every late night I’ve spent hunched over my laptop and every 6:00AM alarm that’s hauled me out of bed these past few weeks seem to hit me all at once. My head feels too heavy for my hands. I should be flooded with frustration right now, but any anger I try to muster over the situation just drains right out ofme.
“Kind of,” Aaron agrees, “but hey, we can still make this work. We have two days. We’ll rethink our campaign, come up with something less graphicsbased.”
I can tell even he doesn’t believe thosewords.
“Theworldis graphics based,” I respond. “We need quality visuals for a product likethis.”
I lift my head and turn to look at him. I expect him to look as defeated as I feel, but instead he’s staring at me with half a smile, the wheels of his brain turning so loudly I can almost hearthem.
“Are you good at keeping secrets?” heasks.
I search his eyes for whatever punch line he’s hiding. “What is it?” I ask, not willing to indulgehim.
He sits up straighter on the couch, practically vibrating with anticipation. “I have an idea, but you have to promise not to tell anyone aboutit.”
“I’m really not in the mood for whatever stupid game thisis.”
“Just promise me,okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Penn, I promise. I won’t tell anyone about whatever grand plan you’ve come upwith.”
“Good,” he responds, jumping up from the couch. “I’ll beback.”
Then, without warning, he takes off running out of the studio. I blink after him, his exit taking a minute toregister.
“Where the hell are you going?” I call, once the impact of what’s just happenedhits.
It’s too late, though. He’s already out ofearshot.
* * *
“No way,”I gasp, staring at the very large, very professional-looking camera in Aaron’s hands. “Did you just stealthat?”
He looks up after setting the camera down on the desk next to the carefully arrangedlingerie.
“Really?” he demands, cocking a brow. “Is your opinion of me actually so bad that your first assumption is to think I stolethis?”
I give him a look that suggests exactlythat.
“I didn’t steal it,” he confirms. “It’s mine.I...”
His eyes drift to the floor and he takes a moment to heft the gear bag he has thrown over his shoulder onto the desk, turning away from me as hedoes.
“I do photography sometimes,” he continues. “It’s just a hobby. I was going to come back in here after the shoot and play around abit.”
“That looks like more than just a hobby.” I gesture towards all his gear as he turns back to faceme.
