Page 44 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
She huffs, clearly debating whether to let me help or to stubbornly insist she is fine. After a moment, she sighs and relents, holding the bag out toward me.
“Fine,” she mutters, “but just the bag.”
I take it from her, and it is heavier than I expected. “There. Problem solved.”
“Congratulations,” she says flatly. “Want a trophy?”
“Is the sass a new thing, or did I just forget how sharp your tongue is?” I shoot back.
She rolls her eyes and starts walking.
“What the hell do you have in here? Bricks?”
She rolls her eyes. “Camera equipment. And some extra stuff.”
“Extra stuff?” I echo, raising an eyebrow.
“Props,” she says simply as if that explains everything.
I smirk, unable to resist. “Just admit it…, you’re carrying enough snacks to stock a small convenience store.”
She huffs, narrowing her eyes at me. “For your information, it is not snacks. It is essentials.”
“Right?” I say, tilting my head.
She straightens, turning to glare at me with a huff of annoyance. "It’s notthatmuch."
“So, you do admit they're snacks, lots of snacks in here,” I say, chuckling.
She rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath as she adjusts her tripod. But I catch the faint blush creeping up her neck.
We walk in silence for a few moments, the night air cool against my skin. The clearing she is heading toward comes into view, a small patch of grass framed by tall trees and lit faintly by the glow of the moon.
“You do realize this is one of the most inconvenient spots,” I say, setting the bag down when we reach her destination.
She shrugs, adjusting the tripod in her hands. “The best shots don’t come from convenience.”
I watch as she sets up her tripod, her movements quick and practiced. There’s a quiet determination to her, a focus that is both frustrating and fascinating to watch.
“You’ve always had a thing for photography,” I say, leaning against a nearby tree. “But honestly? I thought you would end up being a dancer. You were good at it.”
She freezes for a moment, her hands stilling on the tripod. Then she straightens, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah, well…, some dreams are worth giving up.”
She smiles faintly, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I enjoy this,” she continues, gesturing to the camera. “Capturing emotions. Bringing them to life. It is…, fulfilling.”
After a moment, I clear my throat, shifting the bag in my hands. “You didn’t take it with you.”
She blinks, “What?”
“The camera I got you,” I clarify. “You didn’t take it when you left.”
She freezes this time, her fingers hovering over the lens. For a long second, she does not move. Then, slowly, she shrugs.
“I didn’t need to,” she says lightly, but there is something too casual in her tone.
I narrow my eyes, my gaze locked on her. “You did not take most of the things I bought for you. Why?”
“What would’ve been the point?” She says finally, her voice is quiet but firm.
