Page 7 of The Billionaire's Ride

“He quit.” I set my helmet and bag down near my feet.

She holds her hand to her mouth with a slight chuckle. “Isn’t that like the fourth assistant this year?”

“Something like that. I can’t keep track. These wankers don’t know anything about paying their dues.”

“And you do?” She folds her arms, giving me a square look.

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

It’s not the first time someone’s assumed I’ve hadeverythinghanded to me. In fact, it’s not at all uncommon. Even though I go by Drew Blake, every Londoner knows I’m a Bonnaire—from one of the most prominent families in England. Hell, the Queen knighted my father.

Yeah, I grew up privileged, with more than enough money in my trust fund to never need to take another job. There’s even more waiting for me upon my marriage, which I’ll never get because the idea of sleeping with one woman for the rest of my life feels just short of castration.

Don’t get me wrong, being a Bonnaire has its perks. It definitely helped me land an apprenticeship with Ferguson Burke, one of the world’s most acclaimed modern photographers. Being Sir Dean Bonnaire’s son may have gotten me in the door but once I was in, Burke didn’t give a shit who I was. With the way he treated me, I might as well have been some poor kid from Hackney.

Burke’s a true artist. Apprenticing with him was like learning from Leonardo Da Vinci. And he taught me everything he knew because I kept my head down, did what he wanted, and didn’t ask questions. Of course, he’s told me it was a waste since I went into fashion photography. But in my opinion, it’s the only style that’s the best use of my talents. All of my talents . . .

Now, I’m the most in-demand photographer in London, earning the respect of my peers and industry professionals. Too bad it’s still not enough to earn my father’s respect—and it never will be. He gave up on me a long time ago.

“Our model should be out of the dressing room anytime now. So you can get set up,” Francesca says.

“Good, I have time to use the toilet. Where is it?”

She nods down the hall. “On the right.”

I leave the studio and find myself faced with two doors on the right. I push the door all the way open. A set of garment racks stands in the middle. Lacy lingerie dangles from the satin hangers. This definitely isn’t the bathroom.

“Garret, I told you I’d be out in a minute!” a woman yells. She scrambles to cover herself with a black silk robe, but the curve of her bare hip peeks out of the side. Her ankle wobbles in her ebony stilettos, and she clutches the robe as she loses the fight with gravity. “Whoa!” she yowls and falls to the floor.

I lunge for her. “Are you all right?”

Her sexy, lipsticked mouth hangs open. She glances up at me, her wide green eyes meeting mine for the first time. I freeze, too stunned for manners—like helping a fallen damsel to her feet.

It’s Kate.

She gasps. “You!”

“You?” I cock my head.

“What are you doing here?” Kate struggles to her feet, wrapping the silk tighter around her body. I almost don’t recognize her dark wavy hair, spiraling over her shoulders and bold eye makeup. Mascara is so sexy. Or is it eye shadow? I don’t know what it’s called, but I like it.

“I’m the photographer.”

Kate flares her delicate nostrils, clenching the fabric in her fist against her chest. “You’re Drew Blake?”

“That’s right. And you said you weren’t a model.”

“I’m not a model,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m a designer.”

“I don’t know how they do things in America, but I’ve never seen a designer get naked before a photo shoot.” Not that I’m complaining.

“Nina Savoy wanted me to model my own designs for this shoot.”

I let out a laugh. How did I not put this together? “Oh, my God. You’re Kate Golden?” I smack my palm against my forehead.

“Why are you laughing?” By the look on her face, she’s not at all amused.

“Come on. It’s pretty damn hilarious, isn’t it? First, I save you from losing your dress at the party, and then I catch you in your knickers anyway.” Not to mention she left me high and dry. They say what goes around comes around. And I wouldn’t mind her coming around me.

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