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He scanned the studio space with a critical eye. "Morning," he greeted me. His tone was brisk and pointed. "Still allergic to clocks I see.” The ghost of a smirk crossed his face, spoiling his attempt at staying strictly business.
Our banter stirred memories from senior year, a time when Ryker's punctuality was a maddening contrast to my habitual tardiness. He was always on time, sometimes infuriatingly so. I’d never admit it to him, but I, in turn, secretly relished making him wait. I took my sweet time just to challenge his insulting notions of 'girly primping.'
“Oh, please. You know you adored my fashionably late entrances. I gave you and your punctual butt a run for your money. Besides, patience is character-building,” I shot back.
Ryker reluctantly chuckled, the sound more gravelly than I remembered. Tiny hairs on my arms rose and I rubbed them, doing my best to ignore his effect on me.
Professional, Meg. Keep it professional.
“Not wrong,” he conceded. Clearing his throat, his expression darkened and the light-heartedness I glimpsed faded. He glanced around the spacious studio, a look of curiosity in his eyes. “How about giving me a little tour before we get down to it?”
Thrown off balance by his interest in my studio, I recovered quickly. "Yes sir, Mr. All-Business," I teased. What could I say, old habits and all that. “First, here, I made you a more fitting holiday coffee than that bitter brew I know is probably in your cup.” A surprised expression crossed his face as I handed him the peppermint mocha latte.
He eyed it with a dubious look, but took an obliging sip as I watched expectantly. Ryker had always been confident and commanding, but he’d also been fun and carefree. That stern, cool veneer of his he sported these days was new.
Call me a rebel, but I wanted to crack it.
Just a little.
When he licked his lips in appreciation, I grinned.
Score one for me.
“C’mon, West. Everything’s all set up."
He nodded approvingly at the orderly layout as I gave him a quick tour. Moving through the bright and airy space together, Ryker lingered over my collection of old cameras. Slowing, he picked one up and cradled a classic Leica in his hands almost reverently, testing the buttery click of the aperture.
"This is a beaut… original 1950s right?" he remarked.
I nodded, somewhat surprised. “Good eye. That was my first real camera actually. A gift from my grandfather."
He smiled. “I remember. You showed it to me once, back in high school.”
Ryker set it back gently. "Nothing beats the craftsmanship and warmth of film, huh. Digital's convenient as hell, don’t get me wrong. But it seems like the art is getting lost."
“Welp, maybe I can convert you back with my darkroom skills," I quipped.
He chuckled. "I'd like to see you try." The low timbre of his laugh sent a disconcerting quiver through my belly.
"So, any initial thoughts on creative direction?" I asked, changing the subject. "I know your assistant’s email said classic and elegant, but I hoped we could inject a bit of warmth too. Maybe use natural light and a beach backdrop for some of the casual photos.”
Ryker considered, his intense gray eyes scanning the room. "Warmth could work... though nothing overly festive. Or tacky." He said the last word with a slight curl of his upper lip.
"Hey, don't knock the Cove’s kitschy holiday charm," I protested. "Maybe a little more surf, Santa, and elves might loosen you up. I mean, do you evenownan ugly sweater?” I eyeballed him with a hefty dose of skepticism.
He snorted. “Hell no. The last one my kids bought me as a joke, ended up in a permanent home in the back of my closet.” The distaste on his face was hilarious. “I’ll leave the ugly sweaters to you."
"Is that a challenge?" I arched a brow. "Because I happen to have some delightfully hideous ones just waiting for their moment––”
“Nope. Not a chance, Daniels.” Ryker continued to try to keep his demeanor cool and collected, but I caught the corner of his mouth creeping upward. Though I hated to admit it, our playful back and forth at least helped ease some of the tension building between us.
Careful, Meg. You’re swimming in dangerous waters right now.
I scowled inwardly. I couldn’t help myself. It felt so natural to slide back into the way we once were, and I so couldn’t afford to go there, dammit. I’d had two failed marriages in my life.
For me, that was two too many.
“Okay, how about we compromise?" I offered, keeping my tone composed to hide my inner turmoil. "Test some shots outdoors with you relaxed and natural, then switch to formal wear here at the studio? Both can be used for promotions, and I’ll be sure to tie them nicely into the gala photos I’ll take onsite during the event.”
