“Did you get any of that?” My friend glared at me.
“Can you send me a recipe?” I asked hopefully.
Elsie took my empty plate back, and I took my equipment outside, the dog waddling after me. Amy had created a cascading flower archway over the French doors, and I took several shots of the happy pup. It went a little slower than my last shoot. I hadn’t realized how much having Chris there had been a help. Normally I prided myself on working alone, but an assistant might not be too bad.
Especially if he looks like Chris.
“Forget about him,” I told myself as I packed up my larger lights and pieces of gear as the partygoers began to arrive. “You’re about to escape this marriage unscathed and with an annulment.”
But a part of me started daydreaming about hanging out with Chris after this was all over.
He’s not going to want to be with you. He’ll want someone like Addison.
I forced myself to focus on my job and roamed around, taking pictures. The party was beautiful. The mom-to-be waddled around, accepting pets and treats. I snapped several adorable photos of guests with her.
Because this was a weeknight party, most people weren’t hitting the alcohol too hard, though there were always exceptions. I noted the men who were already sloppily drunk and tried to keep them out of the photos and away from me.
I set up a ladder in an empty corner of the garden to take some wide-angle shots of the partygoers spilling out into the beautifully manicured French garden. It was like a movie set, all the well-dressed high-society attendees mingling out among the flowers.
“Hey!” a man slurred down from around knee height. He gestured with his drink. “You should take a picture of me.”
I catalogued him—washed-up trust fund kid, most likely peaked in high school and was trying to reclaim the glory days.
He took another swig of his beer. Sometimes it was better to humor his type and then send them on their way. I climbed down the ladder.
“Sure, I’ll take your picture,” I told him, snapping a few haphazard shots.
“Okay, thanks for your help,” I chirped. “I’ve got to get back to photographing.”
Except that the guy didn’t take the hint.
“I wanna see them,” he slurred, grabbing for my camera.
“No,” I said forcefully, jerking away. I did not allow anyone to touch my equipment.
“I’m not going to break it,” he insisted, advancing on me.
I backed into something firm and large.
“My wife said no,” Chris snarled behind me.
I glanced up at him. His eyes were dark and dangerous in the low light.
“I have it under control,” I croaked.
Chris moved me behind him and advanced on the much shorter trust-fund kid.
“Shit, Chris,” Trust-fund kid said, backing away. “I didn’t know…” He swallowed. “That’s a hot-looking wife you got there.”
“I know,” Chris said, baring his teeth. “And I don’t want you anywhere near her.”
The trust-fund kid saluted and stumbled away.
I turned on Chris. “I don’t need you to come to my job and…and…”
“Rescue you?” Chris finished, taking me in his arms.
“We’re getting an annulment,” I reminded him as his hands drifted up to cup my face.
