Page 50 of Strut

“Was Tim fucking him?” he asked carefully.

I shot Hunter a look but said nothing.

“Damn. I’m sorry, Alec. But what the hell was your friend thinking?”

I sighed and tucked my phone against my chest. “Tim isn’t making it, Hunter. He’s not getting booked enough and his debt is spiralling. Miles gave Tim his card at Carol’s show last weekend, and they’ve seen each other a few times. That’s all I know.”

Hunter went quiet and I was grateful he didn’t voice what I suspected was going through his mind, just like it had through mine. “I hate that this industry can chew people up and spit them out without a second glance.Youngpeople. It dangles bright lights and success right in front of their eyes and then throws them into the thick of it to see if they sink or swim.”

I ran a finger along his prickly jaw. “But not you, sweetheart. You don’t do that to people.”

His eyes went soft. “No. Not me.”

I ran my finger down Hunter’s throat and started small circles on his chest. “Tim’s had a shit life. If he doesn’t make it here, there’s not much for him to go back to. His family ditched him when he came out at sixteen. He spent two years surfing couches and making coffee. Then a friend dragged him to an open call in Melbourne and Cage signed him straight away. He arrived in New York not long after me. He’d just turned nineteen and I kind of took him under my wing.”

Hunter kissed my forehead. “He’s a lucky kid.”

I pulled a face. “He’s not a kid. I’ve tried to talk with him about cutting his losses and going back, but he shuts me down every time. I’ve tried to get him to take acting lessons but... ugh. He’s great on a runway but he lacks conviction in front of a camera, and you know how that goes down.”

Hunter winced. “Yeah, it even crossed my mind when I watched him walk for Carol. He’s got a great look, but as you say, he lacks... swagger is what I’d call it. Something you have in abundance.”

I lifted my phone and sent Tim a text.Saw the column. Call me.

He didn’t reply, so I tried ringing, but the call went straight to voicemail.Shit.I slid my phone to the bedside table and sighed.

“Give him time,” Hunter soothed. “He’ll be feeling a bit prickly and maybe even embarrassed. He’ll call when he’s ready.”

I rolled to face Hunter and took his hand. “How well do you know Darcy Fenchurch?”

Hunter went quiet for a few seconds. “Okaaay. That kind of came out of left field. Can I ask why?”

I shrugged. “Just interested. He was pretty... intense yesterday.” It was as good a word as any.

“Oh, that.” Hunter visibly relaxed. “Yeah, he’s always been that way. Even for a photog, he’s a real detail person. Drove me mad when we did a Chanel shoot together last year. Mind you, I don’t play well in the sandpit either, so I can’t talk, but he took so fucking long to get his models where he wanted them, they almost dropped from exhaustion. He insisted on every angle, every light combination, every possible version of their clothing. He pickedeverythingapart.”

Maybe that was all it was?

“He held my part of the shoot up by three hours, and most of the models were over it by then. I was pretty fucking angry at the time, but what can you do?” He studied me for a second and frowned. “Did something happen yesterday?”

And there it was. The perfect opportunity. But what the fuck did I say? That I thought Darcy was a slimy bastard? That the famous photog might’ve copped a feel? Newsflash. He was hardly the only one out there with those credentials. I wasn’t even surewhathad happened, if anything.

The number of times I’d had my butt slapped or got a comment on the size of my dick, or been pulled in for a half-naked hug from someone I barely knew, or inappropriately asked out for a drink. Hell, I’d even done a swimsuit shoot once with three other models where the whole thing had been watched by some friends of the photographer, a couple of particularly creepy guys none of us knew, who then asked us to party with them that night—aka fuck them.

I shook my head. “No. I just wondered.”

The lines on Hunter’s face smoothed. “Well, he’s good at what he does, a lot better than me—”

What?“No, he’s not. You’re just as good, Hunter. Better in some ways. Sure, he has a way of grabbing emotion, but your angles are way more eye-catching and unique. He took some amazing shots yesterday, but the ones you’ve taken of me are just as good, if not better.”

Hunter stared at me for a second, then leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. “Thank you for saying that. Kind of easy to take great shots when you have a gorgeous subject.”

Heat fanned over my throat and Hunter smiled. “I fucking love the fact that people must tell you every day how stunning you are, and yet you still blush whenIsay it.”

I swallowed hard. “Because none of whattheysay matters, not really. Butyouropinion matters. You matter.”

He blinked. “And so do you.”

The bedroom fell quiet, and I cleared my throat. “So, you like him then? Perfectionist tendencies notwithstanding?”

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