Page 1 of Stick to the Deal
July
The end of all the gorgeous June weddings is leaving me quite blue. So here’s my pick for the most eligible bachelor and bachelorette of London’s society.
Class, cash, and the chance to be a countess? Reginald Bancroft, 34, current Viscount Ravenscourt and future Earl of Silverbrook, tops our list of men to marry this year—and inside sources hint this may be the year he’s finally taken off the market. So go ahead ladies and shoot your shot. You’ll have to find him, though. When he’s not representing his family at charity functions, he’s been quite mysterious jetting off to who knows where. Boys will be boys, but at his age, it’s time to man up and face matrimony.
For you gentlemen, may I suggest Miss Nicolette Atherton, 29, the sole heir to the late billionaire Edgar Atherton. A bit of a party girl in her teens, this bachelorette has managed to stay out of the spotlight in recent years. She’s hardly ever seen in London, but sightings are constantly reported around the globe. What is this enigmatic beauty up to? Perhaps there is already an equally mysterious man, and you’ve all lost your chance? With all the other eligible bachelorettes vying for attention on the marriage mart, I’m dying to know what makes Miss Atherton tick.
Send me your hottest gossip! Where in the world is Nicolette Atherton?
TTFN
Wendy
Chapter 1
The Naked Truth
Abead of sweat trickles down his neck. It grabs my attention as it slides across perfectly sculpted pecs and washboard abs. Even naked, the heat of the lights can be intense. You’d think he’d be used to it. I lose sight of the droplet as it falls behind the guitar he strategically holds in front of his groin.
“Ok, I think we got it. Go ahead and take a break and I’ll review the images,” I yell. Perspiration beads at my temple, I dry it with a towel and then guzzle from a nearby water bottle.
Turning my back on the giant lights, I check the monitors to make sure I’ve captured the image as I imagined it. I’ve photographed for hundreds of magazines and designers over the past decade, but this project is special. This is for Time magazine!
“Whoa, that’s fabulous.” Kenzo Star, now safely wrapped in a robe, stares at the monitor over my shoulder. With his spiky, jet-black hair, tattoos, and guyliner he looks every inch the rock god he is. Even in fluffy white terrycloth and bare feet. “I have to admit I wasn’t sure about the whole naked with a guitar thing, but your vision is incredible.”
My lips quirk. Yeah, I’m fucking good at what I do. “Well, the article is calledTheNaked Truth.“ I flip through a few more images, hitting keys to mark my favorites for editing later. “Just be glad you got to pose with a guitar. The female novelist with the tiny paperback was a real challenge.”
A sexy chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I thought this was too on the nose or cheesy. You managed to make it look like art.”
“Thank you. Coming from a fellow artist, I appreciate it.” I smile at him over my shoulder.
Kenzo’s eyes rake over me with appreciation. “You are a fascinating lady, Miss Kato-Atherton. Have dinner with me.”
Turning towards him fully, I prop a hip on the table behind me. His eyes darken as they take in the long line of my body. At five-ten, I’m tall for a woman. And mostly leg. Even in a simple black tee and cotton shorts, I know I look good. “Tempting. But no.”
His brow raises in surprise. Probably doesn’t hear ‘no’ often. Especially from women. When his eyes snap to mine I see a challenge flicker, confirming my initial read. “Oh, come on. It’s only dinner. You do eat, don’t you? You’ve seen me naked. I want to find out what makes you tick.”
“I do eat. What I do not do is paparazzi, and you, sir, are practically infested with them.”
He hums agreement. “They are a bit like parasites, aren’t they? Ok, then answer me three questions here in the safety of your studio.”
“Not my studio, but go ahead.”
“Even more interesting. Where is your studio then? You must have one.”
“I go to my subjects, not the other way around. There’s a mini space in my apartment in Florida. If I’m not shooting at an event, I rent spaces like this for the assignment.”
“A bit of a nomad. I hear that. It gets old, though.” Creases appear by his eyes for a moment, then he blinks and the confident man returns. “Question two, where can I see more of your photos?”
“You’ve probably seen my work before and didn’t note the photographer. Non-commissioned photos are on my website or Instagram.” I pull a card out of my camera bag and hand it to him. On the front it simply says ‘Nic Kato-Atherton, Photographer’ in bold script. The back has my contact information and social handles.
“No gallery showings?” His inky brows pinch as he studies the simple card.
“Does that count as question three?” I smile at Kenzo. “No galleries. Too busy with work to curate a show.” The well-rehearsed excuse I use for my friends slips easily. “Go ahead, what’s your last question?”
His lips spread in a full grin, showing straight white teeth. It’s a look that screams sex. There’s no doubt why the ladies throw their panties at him on stage. “How long are you in New York for?”
“Flattered, but not going to happen. Don’t need to catch your parasites. I’m only here until Monday, then flying out.”
