Zack (Blue-Collar Billionaires 4)

“Do you need an assistant? No matter who you end up using, you’re going to need someone to rub oil on the fine, naked male specimen in question before the shoot, right?” She beams at me before getting up and bouncing into the kitchen.

“Actually, I just might.” I whisper it to myself but now that the idea has been planted, it makes sense.

Isabelle for all her crazy ideas might just be onto something.

†

Izzie drags out her laptop and convinces me to send a few emails to local talent agencies. She’s way more excited about it than I am but by the time I go to my room to get ready for bed, I’ve started to imagine some of the shots. This is usually how it starts for me, with a vague image before I’m suddenly slammed with ideas for photos.

After washing my face and braiding my hair loosely, I change into my favorite worn T-shirt and a pair of cotton boxer shorts before climbing into bed. I plug my phone into the charger on my nightstand, ignoring the little red flag that tells me I have several missed calls. I’ve pushed off visiting my mom for the past week and it’s time to pay the piper. I’ll have to make time to see her tomorrow.

Moving out of my parents’ house may have bought me some sanity but I haven’t built up a backbone strong enough to break the tie completely. As much as I hate it, there’s a part of me that still wants their approval. It’s a dangerous cycle that keeps me chasing something that will always be just out of reach.

They weren’t thrilled when I dropped out of college but I think my mother could have overlooked that if I’d had another purpose. Charity work that would raise her profile or getting married to any of the eligible bachelors she’s had her eye on since we were all in nursery school together. But dropping out to focus on my art was akin to tragedy in her eyes. You’d think I’d told her I was shooting porn in my spare time.

Although in her eyes what I do is just as bad.

Thinking about my parents definitely isn’t helping me relax so I roll over until I’m facing the photos on the wall next to my bed. Instantly I feel better.

The slim elegance of a woman’s crossed legs. The graceful arch of a back. The passion of a couple’s embrace. Every single one of these images tells a story and I’m honored to be allowed the privilege of documenting that. Even if my parents don’t get it.

I fall asleep with the images in my head.

My dreams are vivid and when I wake, I feel like one big throbbing nerve ending. Maybe Izzie is right and I need to get some action before I self combust. But at least my pent up sexual frustration is good for something because by the time I get over to see Gabe again the next day, I have several pages of ideas jotted down in the little notebook I always carry around.

Sasha answers the door looking much more energetic than the last time I saw her.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here.” She moves back so I can come in. “He’s so cranky it’s unbelievable.”

This isn’t a surprise to me. Years of dealing with Gabe means I’ve seen him sick before. The man is a complete and total baby when he doesn’t feel well. When he had bronchitis one year, I was worried that I was going to do him more harm than the virus.

“He’s always been grumpy when he’s sick.”

Before I even have a chance to put my bag down, she grabs me by the hand and pulls me upstairs. I follow, trying not to trip since she isn’t slowing down to give me time to catch up. When we reach Gabe’s room, she shoves open the door and pulls me through behind her.

“I am going to take a walk. Maybe you can cheer him up. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

Before I can even respond, she walks back out pulling the door closed behind her.

I turn to look at Gabe. “What did you do to her?”

He grunts. “I’m ready to get out of this bed.”

“You look better.” And he does. It’s a relief actually to see him looking more like his old self.

“Better than one foot in the grave. I’m just balancing on the ledge of the grave now.” He moves over slightly so I can sit beside him.

“You’d better be nice to her. She’s the one preparing your food.”

He cracks a smile finally. “For some reason she loves me. So I don’t think she’ll poison me yet.”

The front door closes downstairs and then it’s quiet. I don’t hear anyone else moving around.

“What’s been going on with you?” He shifts slightly, turning so that he can recline against his pillows but look directly at me. I can tell he’s really uncomfortable and have to resist the urge to try to help him. So I rack my brain trying to think of something to talk about. Something that might distract him from how crappy he feels.

“So you know my last show sold out.”

Gabe smiles. “Of course it did. It was awesome.”