They were knees.
The phone jerked to the side — the girl holding it was probably too drunk to be managing electronics — and the owner of the knees came into view. The situation wasn’t clear, but it looked a whole lot like part of Tyson, a naked part, based on his pumping ass, was going up the girl’s skirt.
Was he having sex with her?
Syria began gulping gasps of air. He was just a stripper. He wasn’t a prostitute.
Or he hadn’t been. Maybe the money was good.
Just like the money for her shoot.
Syria hit “end” to kill the connection. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Things were never what they seemed. But why had the drunk girl felt compelled to tattle?
Suddenly the energy drink seemed like a really bad idea. Syria stuck the can on her desk and headed to her bedroom, wiping her sticky hand on her jeans. But the silk fabric hanging on the bed posts made her think of Tyson, pulling it down to tie her up. The window was where he photographed her in her underwear, an intimacy both frightening and seductive with someone she barely knew. She closed her eyes, trying not to see him everywhere. She could not, would not overreact. But things were so hard already. He wasn’t coming for Christmas. He was so far away. And now, this. Even if he wasn’t actually having sex…
Syria had no grounds for fault with him. She had been on stage, having sex with Mia in front of roomful of strangers. Tyson had been nothing but encouraging, and when Syria had felt remorse at what happened, he was perfect, understanding and careful. She had to treat him the same.
She eased off her jeans and slid into the covers. When “Santa Baby” played from the other room an hour later, she was still awake, but she didn’t go answer the call.
9: The Proposal
Syria punched the buttons to retrieve her voice mails on the studio line late the next morning, practically noon. She’d slept fitfully, Tyson’s red velvet hat morphing into the Santa doll her father had given her.#p#分页标题#e#
She had the money to go to India now, but no idea how or where to look for him. She absently deleted two calls by photo retouchers looking for work, jotted the number for someone looking for a last-minute photo shoot for Christmas — not that she’d take the job — she was backing off for a bit. Then she laid her pen down as Erik’s satin voice came through the line.
“Syria, I’m in no hurry for the images, but I would like to speak with you privately, if you have a moment. I have a business proposition for you, and I think we would find it mutually beneficial.”
She wrote down the number he gave her and noted that it was different from the one he’d left before, which connected to an office and a secretary.
The wheels of her chair squeaked as she rolled backward and away from the desk. What sort of business proposition could he possibly have for her? Maybe he had more women to photograph, enough to keep her busy for a while. Heck, just a few more jobs like this last one and she’d cover what she made in a year. Maybe he wanted his own private photographer.
Syria paced the room, crossing the set where she’d photographed the women yesterday and sitting on the Queen Anne chair. For the first time in a long while, she wondered where she was going and what she wanted out of her life. Five years ago, she’d been down and out, flunking out of two medical programs. Luck struck in meeting Anthony, a boudoir photographer who became her first lover and helped her discover her talent for sexy imagery. He’d even helped her set up this studio before leaving for Italy.
Since then, she’d been spinning her wheels. She did all right, making enough money for most of the things she wanted, and dating here and there. But Tyson had changed her again, and now she hungered for more from her life, excitement, new people, unexpected experiences.
She punched in Erik’s number, trying to keep her stomach calm as it rang through.
He answered it himself. “Syria, you got my message.” His voice was liquid and low.
“I did. What did you want to speak about?”
“It’s not something that can be discussed on the phone. Perhaps we could have dinner tonight?”
That sounded like a date. She thought briefly of Tyson, but then corrected herself. This was business. “We can’t just meet here?”
“If you agree to my plan, we might feel like celebrating.”
“Well, all right.” Maybe he was going to hire her full-time.
“I will send a car for you at eight. Does that work?”
“All right. Fancy? Casual?”
“It will be a night out.”
“Got it.” Syria’s stomach fluttered again.
“I will see you tonight, then,” Erik said.