Page 193 of Wicked Angel
We both did, for a short time.
She wore ripped jeans and a flowery peasant blouse, casual, pretty. Her caramel hair in waves to her shoulders. A dusting of freckles across her small nose. Pale green eyes.
She looked much like that girl I’d married. But she didn’t lookatmeanything like she did then.
Now, I was just that guy she gave her heart to, once, who then turned around and smashed it into the dirt, like it was something that had no value at all. I mean, from her side of it, that must’ve been how it seemed.
“We won’t really have time for coffee,” I told her. “I came here to apologize to you.”
If she was surprised by that, she didn’t show it. She stared at me, like she was weighing whether or not I was serious.
I was.
Then her eyes drifted over to Connor. “Con, could you please wait outside?”
“I’m comfy right here.”
I glanced at him. He stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I’d like you to wait outside,” she said, not any more forcefully, but I could see that the man was wrapped around her finger. Or at the very least, incredibly loyal to Dylan.
“Alright. I’ll be outside.” He gave me another warning smile with casual murder in his eyes and walked out the door.
Amber turned to her assistant. “Could you give us a minute? Maybe go grab me a tea from the café?”
“Sure, Amber.” He set her camera down on a table, glanced at me and headed out.
“Well, I’ve cleared the room for you,” she said, eying me warily. “Say whatever you need to say.”
“You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.” I looked around a bit. “You have a studio now.”
“That surprises you?”
“You said you hated studio work. You liked working out in the world, photographing people in their natural environment.”
“You were listening,” she said, almost suspiciously.
I met her eyes. “Of course I was.”
She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a co-op. Shared space with other photographers. I’m only here when I need to be. When I have a specific need or desire to photograph something with totally controlled lighting conditions. Or a celebrity client who requires privacy.” She glanced at me. “I had a shoot with John Colton Bissette today. He’s doing an interview for a high-profile magazine. I have some connections there, so they put us together.”
She didn’t say which magazine, maybe to soften the blow, but I’d already heard. Dylan had mentioned the photo shoot over the phone. Normally, that might’ve bothered me; JC doing an in depth tell-all with a major industry magazine so soon after our breakup. I might’ve been pissed that whatever he said might reflect badly on me. I’d probably be rushing to try to get in front of it, get an interview out first. Make sure my story was told in my own words, not his.
But right now, the only story that mattered was the truth. Specifically, the truth between me and the people I cared about.
Including ones I should’ve cared more about in the past.
I tried to consider what this photo shoot meant for her, instead of focusing on any lingering animosity towards JC, when I said, “That’s cool. I look forward to seeing the photos.”
Amber looked at me likeWho are you?“I thought you all just broke up.”
“We did.”
Understanding seemed to dawn on her face. Maybe she was thinking aboutourbreakup, how I’d walked away from it so unscathed. I was sure it probably looked that way to her.
“Band breakups are not fun,” I explained. “But it was necessary. We weren’t a forever type of band. We were figuring it out.”
“And what did you figure out?” she asked, not with interest but more like she was going through the motions of this conversation. Probably wondering what the hell I really wanted.
