Page 16 of Art of Sin

A tripod with a massive, professional camera is set up in the center of the room facing a pristine white wall. On the ground before the wall is a black X.

I hear Finn’s voice as if from far away, “She’s gonna bail.”

“No, she won’t,” says Gideon from behind me. “She just needs a minute.”

Maggie steps to my side. “You’re really pale,” she whispers. “Do you need to sit down?”

If I need anything, it’s a fucking teleportation machine. Shaking my head, I take a few deep breaths. I don’t look at Gideon to assess his enjoyment of the moment, but I don’t need to. This entire situation reeks of careful manipulation.

Fuck that.

My vision clears as my minor dissociative episode is swept away by defiance. I look at Finn, standing uncertainly by the tripod. He, at least, doesn’t seem to be taking any pleasure in my discomfort.

“What do I do?” I ask him.

His expression shifts to surprise tinged with respect. “I’ll be taking a range of shots today. The goal is to capture you from as many positions and angles as possible. We’ll start with basic front and back, then take a break, then we’ll do the posing.”

His calm, professional tone does wonders for my blood pressure, and my overall opinion of him. Nodding, I walk toward the X.

“You’re forgetting something, Snowflake,” murmurs Gideon.

I stop walking, turning to meet his amused gaze. Knowing it won’t work, I still try. “I’m wearing a two-piece bathing suit. I don’t have to be naked.”

Maggie and Finn fade into the background as Gideon strides toward me. Stopping so close I have to crane my neck to keep eye contact, he stares down at me with an unreadable expression.

“Does Finn make you uncomfortable?” he asks, breathing the words to keep them private.

Finn isn’t the problem.

“No,” I say with more calm than I feel. “In fact, why don’t you and Maggie go get some coffee or something. It would be helpful for her to hear your perspectives on publicity. What you want, don’t want, et cetera. She’ll be the one writing content for various outlets.”

Gideon licks his lips and finally nods. “Good idea.” As he turns away, he throws back, “As long as Finn gets the shots he needs, you can leave the bathing suit on.”

By the time I overcome my surprise enough to say thank you, he and a blushing Maggie have left the room.

“That was tense,” says Finn, grinning from behind his camera. “Maybe you’re his type, after all. Sorry about your luck.”

I roll my eyes. “You should be pitying him, not me. Gideon has no idea who he’s messing with.”

Finn laughs, the sound bright and easy, and my opinion of him grows again. “I have a feeling you might be right. I’m ready whenever you are.”

With a deep breath that fills my lungs with the scent of dried paint and faint turpentine, I reach for the hem of my dress. Short and loose on purpose, it comes off easily. I toss it past Finn and make my way to the X.

Planting my feet on the tape, I look up to find Finn staring at me, expression slack with horror. “Deirdre…”

Having prepared myself for this moment, I smile tightly. “Too bad for Mr. Starving Artist, he didn’t think to ask about deformities.”

Finn frowns. “That’s not—”

“Open for discussion,” I finish sharply.

He studies me another few moments, then nods. “You’re right, I apologize. Ready? Just a forewarning—when I’m in the zone I tend to bark orders. Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t. Fire away.”

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