“What do you get?” I call out, louder than I intended.
Ronan faces me with a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, I get to hang out with you.”
“And the rest of the band?”
“I’m used to shutting them out.”
“Can we please just get back to the matter at hand? The original one. The photograph?”
“First you need to tell me what you think of my photoshoot idea.”
He walks toward me, and I let out a breath of relief, never showing him that my heart rate sped up so fast I feltlightheaded. Gathering my wits, I watch as he flops down in the chair in front of my desk. He spreads his long legs and clasps his hands on his stomach.
“Am I mistaken?” I query, resting my hip on the desk, quite liking how I tower over him. “But didn’t we agree two songs on the mixtape, for one copy of the photograph?” He looks at me as if I’m talking Italian. “That’s the way I recall the conversation going.”
“True, but with this new deal, you’re the real winner.”
“Getting to work with Velvet Echo makes me the winner.”
“Many photographers would bite my hand off for this opportunity.”
“So go talk to them.”
Ronan contemplates me in silence. I stare back. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Also, am I out of my mind? He’s right, my competitors would lose their shit being offered this chance. I can’t do myself out of this job because I’m trying to one up the hot rock star. He’ll always win.
“Or,” I walk around the desk and take a seat in my chair. “You hand over the photograph, and we talk terms.”
Ronan grins. I hold up my hands. After a mini battle of wills, he takes out his phone and picks up one of my business cards. Keeping up his bullshit ruse he lost the one I gave him at the wedding. He pauses after clicking around a bit and looks up at me.
“You were right you know.”
“I usually am,” I say.
He laughs and shakes his head. “And humble too.”
“What was I right about?”
My phone pings, letting me know an email has arrived. I’m too caught up in Ronan’s mesmerizing gaze to turn away. His voice is gentler when he speaks. Almost reverent, which is disconcerting.
“A beautiful image. Capturing a perfect moment.”
He’s flustering me. I don’t do flustered. I snap my focus from him and click into my email. The weirdness is not going to stop me looking at this photograph.
My desk is L-shaped, with three screens. Two I work on when editing. The one I open the email on is angled so clients can view it. Which means Ronan sees exactly what I’m reacting to, which is not surprising, given it’s a picture of him.
My jaw drops, then I snap it closed and side-eye the man sitting opposite me.
“You needed proof. There it is. My Walkman, in all its glory.”
He’s lying on a bed topless, in jeans with one leg bent outward. A Walkman is resting just above his crotch. He has one hand on it, the other is out of shot. My gaze follows the wire of his headphones trailing up his toned, muscular stomach and chest.
He’s cropped off most of his face, just the sexy grin is showing right at the top of the image. It’s the perfect composition. Enough to tease, draw in the viewer and leave them wanting more.
There is a tattoo on his left pec, which Ronan is famed for. A detailed roadmap of the Pacific Northwest, centeredaround Portland, Oregon, where he was born. It looks mighty fine against his tanned skin.
“It’s a nice one.” I clear my throat and click on the attachment, ignoring his smirk. As unsolicited pics from guys go, this is a treat rather than a trick.
“It’s worth a lot of money.”
