Page 36 of Strut

“Yes,” she nodded at my obvious surprise. “People are starting to take notice.”

“Um, thank you.” Wow. I changed the subject. “I’ve heard good things about your agency. Are some of these models yours?”

“Larkin, the smaller of the two guys, is signed with us,” Mel answered.

He must’ve been the one I didn’t know, with pretty eyes and a sweet boy-next-door look.

“He’s only seventeen and I like to keep an eye on him,” Mel continued. “He’s a little too fresh for my comfort.”

I thought of Tim who could’ve done with the same concern. I looked back to Mel. “That’s good of you. Not many agencies give a shit.”

“I know.” She sighed heavily. “People say we’re crazy but I’m a mother at heart. I can’t just throw them to the wolves.”

My heart squeezed just a little. “Thanks. It’s nice to know there are some agencies out there that actually care. It’s kind of rare.” My face burned with the heat of Hunter’s stare.

“I’d like to say you were wrong, but we both know that would be a lie.” She turned to Hunter. “You’ve kept this one close to your chest.”

“It’s new.” Hunter squeezed my hand. “Well, the dating part is. Alec and I worked together back in Auckland, so we’re not exactly strangers.”

“Dating?” Mel’s eyes widened in obvious shock. “Well, well, well. Hunter Donovan, dating? I’m not sure the fashion world is ready for that.” She eyed me with renewed interest. “Mmm. Well, for what it’s worth, I approve.”

Hunter snorted. “I’m so relieved.”

I caught her eye and narrowed my gaze. “So, no more blind dates, okay?”

She laughed. “I promise. Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you’re quick, Hunter, you might have just enough time to retrieve that tongue you lost somewhere down the back of the poor boy’s throat.” She was gone in a rush of blond bangs and amusement, and if Hunter didn’t retrieve his tongue, he certainly gave it his best shot.

Then, to my surprise, Hunter kept hold of my hand and walked me back into the loft to introduce me to everyone. After that, he went back to work, talking me through everything he did, even getting me to help his temporary assistant who continually took the piss out of him and grinned at me like I’d given her the best present ever.

It was fascinating to be on the other side of the camera. To watch Hunter push and push to create whatever vision he held in his mind’s eye. To see digitals thatIthought were great, being binned as unsatisfactory as he adjusted an angle here, a little more light there, a twist of the hips, a hand moved from shoulder to cheek, a lean in, a lift of the chin, a turn of the eye... and then suddenly, there it was. A shot a million times better than all the others that went before.

Not that he always got exactly what he wanted. Not that everything went to plan. But Hunter never once lost his cool, and just watching him work took my breath away.

And as he worked, I mentally catalogued every one of his manipulations—how they changed the feel or altered the light or improved the balance of the shot. It was all stuff I could use in my own work, and I was already discarding poses from my repertoire as I listened to Hunter’s explanations and adding others. The hour flew past, and it was just like my first shoots back at Flare—fun, energetic, creative, and the very reason I loved what I did.

When the morning was done, Hunter flagged away the catered lunch and led me to a deli down the road from the studio where we sat at a sidewalk table striped with weak sunshine, a fresh breeze licking at our faces. It was nothing that a turned-up collar and tightly wound scarf didn’t fix, and Hunter slogged his way through a mountainous Reuben while I picked at a harvest Cobb salad with grilled chicken and tried to ignore his concerned gaze.

“It’s only until this Berlini thing is over,” I answered the unspoken question in his eyes, stabbing at another wedge of tomato.

“I never said a word.” Hunter spoke around a mouthful of corned beef. “I just remember you loving your food back in Auckland. Didn’t seem to stop you then and you looked great.”

His words gave me pause and I stared at the tomato hanging off my fork. “You know, you’re right. Give me some of those.” I reached across and stole a few of his potato chips.

He laughed and pushed the small basket my way. “Help yourself, babe.”

My hand stuttered halfway to my mouth and I looked up from the basket with both eyebrows raised. “Babe?”

He flushed a little but said nothing.

I fell back in my chair, stuffed the chips into my mouth and crunched on them as I continued. “You know, for a guy who got twitchy at just the mention of dating and who hasn’t had a relationship in ten years, you seem to be taking thisthingbetween us in your stride. Like telling Mel you were dating me, and then kissing me in front of your colleagues. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved every bit of it, but it’s kind of weird.”

“Thisthingbetween us?” He wiped his mouth before throwing his napkin in a ball on his plate. “You mean thethingwhere we’reboyfriends?”

I blinked, almost choking on a shard of chip, then pursed my lips together and scowled. “See, that right there,” I jabbed a finger at him. “Boyfriend? I’m surprised you haven’t got a necklace of garlic around your neck at the mere thought. We’ve hadonedate. EvenIhaven’t uttered the dreaded word.”

“Well, maybe you should?” The fucker was laughing at me. “And didn’t we agree that the whole one date thing wasn’t correct? Friday and Saturday do kind of count, at least to me they do. I can’t help if you’re a little slow on the uptake. Here, have another chip.” He pushed the basket closer and I helped myself because... why not? “Which means we’re currently on date number four.”

“Four?” I stared at him.

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