“But—”
“Halston.” He gives me a look. “I don’t want my fucking girlfriend naked on the Internet.”
I sit back, surprised by his obstinacy. “First of all, nobody would know it was me. Second, what do you think we’ve been doing? It’s the same thing.”
“No it isn’t. Every photo we’ve taken has been painstakingly presented to be suggestive, not explicit. They’re erotic, not pornographic. That’s a line I don’t want to cross.”
“You were literally inside me during one of the photos,” I shoot back. “Like, we were having sex when you took it.”
He thins his lips into an angry line, and I feel immediately scolded. “You don’tseethat in the photo.”
“But it’s implied.”
“That’s why it’s sexy. If I posted a picture of us fucking, that’d be porn.”
I look back at the screen.That sucks. The garments are beautiful and tasteful. Black and white lace. Little pink bows. I’d love to own some, see how they’d look in a photo, and I think Finn could use the money. I haven’t told him, but I eavesdropped on some of his conversation with Marissa the morning she was here. I couldn’t resist poking my head out. When I’d heard how cute he was with her, I hadn’t wanted to stop. Then, she’d called him broke, and my heart had dropped. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Finn never acts as though money’s an issue, but he hasn’t had much work in the last year.
I clear my throat. “They’ll pay us,” I say. “A grand.”
He looks at his plate. “Just to post some pictures?”
I nod. “We can make money at this, Finn. I know you’d hoped to get some commissions out of what we’re doing, but that’s only one way to do it. People will pay us to post, and the more followers we get, the more money they’ll offer.”
Finn reaches out and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Then another offer will come along. Something that works for us. This . . .you, out there, I’m not comfortable with it. Maybe I’m a greedy bastard, but I want you all to myself, Hals.”
I should be swooning. Grateful to have someone who cares enough to keep me safe. But I can’t ignore the tug of disappointment. I’d look good in that lingerie, and based on previous, sexier posts, I know it’d get us a lot of attention. “Okay,” I say. “We’ll just ignore it.”
“Yeah.” He nods at the phone. “Anything else good in there?”
“I’ll look while I’m at work. If something else comes up, you’ll consider it?”
“If it makes sense for us. Would I like to get more work, or maybe even sell some of the stuff on my website? Yes. But not at the cost of our art. Or our relationship.”
The sincerity in his green eyes is overwhelming. I almost can’t believe I’m not dreaming. Maybe I am. I don’t know what I did to deserve Finn. I get up and go sit in his lap. “I don’t want to go to work.” I kiss him lightly on the lips but pull back when he goes in for more. “Let me stay here. We’ll take photos all day and figure out how to make lots of money so I never have to go back to that stupid office.”
“Mmm.” He squeezes my hip, chasing me down for a kiss. “I wish you could.”
“I can. I will. Screw my job. This can work, Finn. We just need a business plan. We can do this.”
He smiles and runs his hands up under my tank top, exploring, like it’s his first time touching me, but also navigating my body like a map he’s memorized. “You’re so smart,” he says. “I’ve got lots of business experience, but you’re a natural. I just want to take pictures and for people to pay me to do it.”
“You can get there,” I say. “But you have to start somewhere. Working artists have to make sacrifices. Just little ones.” I peck my way around his mouth. He has the most intoxicating lips—inviting, soft, full, wet.
Agreeable, even. Maybe I can kiss my way to getting ayes.
Because this is my venture too, and I don’t see why we both shouldn’t get what we want.
21
At the sound of a car engine, I walk to the dining room window and pull the drapes aside. Rich waves. He and his parents are bundled head to toe. “They’re here,” I say, turning away.
Dad sets his prized honey-baked ham on the table. Candles on the banquet warm the room with a glow. In a pullover and gray slacks, after a couple spiked eggnogs, Dad looks relaxed. He comes over and takes my shoulders, kissing me on the forehead. “Thank you for today. If they hadn’t come all the way from Chicago, I might’ve canceled on the Halperns just to spend more time alone.”
All day, he’s been easygoing. We’ve come a long way. Ten years ago, around this time, in this room, we had our worst fight to date. I decided last minute not to attend my mom’s funeral, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I smile. “Really?”
He shrugs. “Despite the mess, and a few bad batches, baking with you was fun. The sugar cookies were . . . they tasted just like your mom’s.”
A lump forms in my throat. Dean Martin Christmas music plays in the background. For the second time today, I’m tempted to tell him about Finn. I’m afraid of turning the warmth cold, though. “It was a nice day,” I say as the Halperns knock.
