Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

"Can you tilt your head to the left, Mr. Bishop?" I tilt mine as I study him from behind the camera.

He's a beautiful man. I knew that before he even walked into my studio, forty five minutes late. His face is synonymous with the largest hotel chain in the country. He runs the organization from his office on Fifth Avenue.

When I was contacted by the marketing department of Bishop Hotels to do headshots for all the executives I was excited. Not only did it mean more than fifty individual sessions, it meant my savings account would have an actual balance in it.

I took the job without question and I've spent the better part of the past two months, fitting in these headshot sessions whenever one of the Bishop Hotel executives were available. Julian Bishop, the CEO and owner of the company, is the last.

Once this is done, and I've delivered all the proofs, I'll get the remaining half of my fee.

"Is this what you want?" He arches a dark winged brow, flashing me a smile. "You're making me look better than everyone else in the organization, aren't you?"

I wouldn't have to do a thing to accomplish that. He's tall, his thick hair almost black, his irises a shade deeper blue than my own. His face is strong with high cheekbones and features that are striking. He's been dubbed the sexiest man of the year twice by a magazine that caters to women my age.

He's older than me though. I read his bio when I got the job. He's twenty-eight, the very same age as my brother Bobby. That's where their similarities end though. Julian grew up in a world of private schools and luxury, not lifting bags of flour and sweeping floors in a bakery in Brooklyn.

"That's perfect." I press the shutter on my camera, capturing the look in his eyes.

"Has someone talked to you about interior shots, Falon?" He brushes a piece of lint off the thigh of his navy blue suit trousers. "We have a few new properties and we're looking for someone with a fresh eye to take pictures."

"Interior pictures of the new hotels?" I ask for clarification.

"I take it no one has discussed this with you?" He shifts his position on the circular wooden stool I gave him to sit on before he glances down at his silver wrist watch. "We're looking for someone who can travel to Vegas, Atlanta and Miami. It's a big job but you're at the top of the recommendation list."

I need to thank whoever it was that put my name there. I haven't done a lot of corporate work like that, but what I have done was well received by my clients.

There was absolutely no hesitation on the part of the marketing department at Bishop Hotels when I quoted them a fee for the headshots. They wanted me and they were willing to pay my price. A job, as involved as the one he's telling me about, will require more equipment, an extra assistant and I'll have to devote a lot of time to it.

The pay will be ridiculous, and the shots I'll have for my portfolio will be a great investment in future potential work.

"Who should I talk to about it?" I walk towards him. "I'm going to change out the gray canvas for a lighter one. It will only take a minute."

He stands and turns as I pull on the canvas behind him, drawing it across a series of rods I had installed near the ceiling when I signed the lease. My landlord gave me carte blanche to do whatever I wanted with the space since it's too small to rent as an apartment and it's in a part of the city that doesn't cater to those looking for an office.

The room itself is triangular. I've cordoned off a section with a custom built temporary wall for clients who want to change their clothes mid-shoot. I have a small desk in the corner for my computer, a sitting area with two large leather chairs, and an area for make-up and hair. It may be odd shaped and useless to anyone else, but for me it works like a charm.

As long as I repair any holes, and repaint the walls a plain beige color when I vacate, I'm allowed to make it my own, in every way I can. I've slowly been doing that.

"Do you need help? I assumed you had an assistant." He reaches towards the edge of the lighter grey canvas, tugging it into place. "You know that I'm only yours for the next thirty minutes, right?"

I know his time is valuable. His assistant called to remind me of that twice before he got here. I wanted to snap back at her that he wasn't respecting my time by showing up late, but he's the one signing my check. The money is too good for me to be anything but cordial and accommodating.

I could have sped up this process by having Remy here but she's at a shoe store taking images of the inventory that just arrived. It's for a client I've had since I first opened my own studio and when I asked her if Remy could s

tep in for me today, she was fine with it. Being double booked is stressful but we made it work.

"That's plenty of time. My assistant is at another shoot right now." I motion for him to sit back on the stool. "Can you turn your body more towards me and dip your chin?"

He follows my instructions to a tee. "I'll arrange for you to meet with the hotel marketing team so you can do some test shots at our Tribeca location. If I like those, we'll talk about you taking on the job."

I try to hide my smile behind the camera. "That sounds great."

***

Asher's standing in the doorway of my studio as I turn around. I'd propped the door open after Julian left hoping it would help cool the space down. The air conditioning stopped working again. It happens at least twice a week and after a call to the super, it's usually fixed within a couple of hours. Since I only called him three minutes ago, I have, what feels like an eternity, to wait until it cools back down.

"I brought you white roses."

I smile at the sight of the two, wilting roses in his hand. "They're lovely?"