Page 54 of I Want You

Victoria turns toward her, raising an eyebrow.

“I agree.”

Naomi Reeves is a few meters away, talking to a guest. Harper approaches her with the confidence that comes from years of managing creative projects.

“Naomi?”

The young woman turns, confused, until her eyes fall on Harper’s press pass. Surprise instantly changes her expression.

“Oh my God. Yes.”

“Harper Brooks, Fashion Editor at Velvet & Silk. And this is Victoria Vance, our Art Director.”

“I know who you are,” the young woman stammers, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I mean… I’ve been following your work since college.”

“That can be dangerous, actually,” Victoria jokes, offering her a hand and then nodding. “Your series is superb, Naomi.”

The young woman sighs. Shortly afterward, she tells them that she started photographing her mother after hearing her complain about how magazines made women “invisible” once they turned fifty. What was supposed to be six photos ended up becoming a project of forty portraits—no makeup, no lighting tricks.

“I didn’t want to make a statement about aging with dignity,” she explains with a smile. “I just wanted to photograph women who are part of our everyday lives. No heroics.”

Harper looks at Victoria, and the two understand each other instantly.

“Have you done any work in publishing?” Harper asks her.

“Not much. Just a few local independent magazines.”

“Would you be interested in making the leap to an international publication?”

Naomi’s face lights up.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to.”

Victoria pulls out one of her elegant business cards and hands it to her.

“Call me tomorrow at noon. We’d like to see your full portfolio.”

Naomi almost jumps for joy, and they walk away, leaving the photographer on cloud nine. Harper feels that rush of adrenaline that only comes when she discovers a gem before the competition does. For the next hour, they move like fish in water throughout the venue.

“We’re going to need a massive spreadsheet to organize all this,” Harper says, pulling out her phone to save a contact.

Victoria looks her up and down as they walk toward the next room.

“That’s the least sexy thing I’ve heard you say all night, Harper.”

Harper almost trips over the corner of a rug.

“Excuse me?” She turns sharply toward her, feeling her ears burn.

Victoria keeps walking, staring straight ahead, impassive, but with the corner of her mouth trembling from the effort to hold back a smile.

“I said that talking about spreadsheets at a gala is pretty boring. That’s all.”

“You didn’t say ‘boring.’ You said ‘the least sexy.’”

Then Harper presses her lips together to keep from bursting out laughing, catching up to her in a couple of strides.

“You’d better behave yourself,” Harper adds. “There are about fifty editors from competing publications watching us.”