Nick turns around and answers. “Because you were the best.”
“I still am.”
Nick offers that sexy half-crooked Ferro smirk before leaning in close and whispering in my ear. “No, you’re not—not anymore.” He walks away without another word. All my suspicions were true. Amy thought I was crazy, but I wasn’t. The guy did everything on purpose. He did everything from stealing clients to spreading rumors about me.
I want to bury him. Before I consider what I’m about to do, I blurt out, “Care to make a wager on that?”
Nick stops in his tracks. He looks over his shoulder at me. “Please, how much more juvenile can you get?”
“Quite a bit, actually. But there’s already a bet going on, so this would just be a side bet anyway.”
Steven is walking toward us, so I explain quickly about the bet for determining the better photographer. I tell him Sophie’s cousins have a lot of money and are bored. I don’t tell him the bet is with me. “I already know I can kick your ass. It’s just a matter of time and the rest of them will notice.”
He laughs. “A little cocky, aren’t we?”
“Me? You’re the arrogant bastard who told Mrs. Getty that I forgot my meds, but I’m nice when I’m on them.” I use air quotes for the last few words along with a deeper, doofy voice that’s meant to sound like Nick.
His laugh grows louder as he tries not to smile. Nick looks up the road, then back at me. “And what are the terms of this bet? Because the way I figure it, after this wedding, you’re washed up anyway.”
Ouch. “Yeah, unless people buy my stuff, which they will. And one term of the first bet will make it so they can’t buy your pictures, only mine when I win. So how about this—when I win, you close your store and jump off a bridge—gear and all.” I beam at him, smiling up into his masculine face.
He’s really nice to look at, like seriously nice. Taunting him is one of my favorite things to do. I realize it as I’m standing here, wishing I were taller, so we could be nose-to-nose. I want to laugh in his face and show him up in every way possible. Note to self: wear heels tomorrow.
Nick laughs my comment away, shaking his head. “Like that’ll ever happen. There is nothing you could bet that would tempt me in the slightest.”
“No? Are you sure?” I circle him once, my eyes sweeping over his body before stopping in front of his face. “Nothing at all?” Holy shit, his smile is beautiful. It glows so brightly I’m no longer sure what he thinks I offered him.
Nick can’t help it, his gaze dips to the ground and then up to his camera. When he turns away he says dryly, “You’re betting your body against my business? You must think pretty highly of yourself.”
I gasp, not realizing that’s what it sounded like. Leaning in, I punch his arm quickly. As Steven walks past us, I say hurriedly, “No! I’ll close my shop and be your model. It’s dually degrading. You wanted a topless model wearing next-to-nothing. I heard you were having a hard time finding someone. That’s what I’m offering you perv—a double slam, not to be slammed.”
Stroking his chin with his hand, his mouth opens. I have no idea what he’s going to say. What I’m offering is humiliating enough that I expect him to take the bet, especially if he’s that confident that he’ll win.
But he says, “Tempt me more, Sky. Offer one more thing and I’ll say yes.” Those sapphire eyes bore into me until my stomach is twisting in knots. I can’t look away and I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I can tell the nature of his thoughts. No guy looks at a girl like that and is picturing something of a friendly nature. Nah, Nick has me stripped naked and doing something.
“What?” I ask, because I can’t believe he really means it. I need him to take this bet. The pieces of the messed up puzzle of my life are falling into place. If I win, he’s gone. I can take the money from slutty bridesmaid and I can expand. It’ll make sure my store has more than a toehold. My career will be set in stone. I won’t have to beg my parents for money or say I was wrong. This is beyond perfect, depending on this last part.
Nick’s dark brows lift and he gives me a look that makes me shiver. Leaning in close to my ear, he whispers, “You close your doors and be the model on my logo forever, and—since I’ll get those parts of the bet anyway…”
“You mean you’re trying,” I interrupt.
He reaches out quickly and grabs my lower lip between his fingers, effectively silencing me. “I’m not trying. I’m succeeding. There’s about a snowball’s chance in hell that you’ll win. My final term, though, the one that makes or breaks this bet—open your legs for me for one night. That’s worth this wager. Think about it.” He drops my lip and steps away from me, leaving me breathless, my heart flopping down into my shoes.