down his tripods and folding light bars. He acted surprised to find Casey still there when he returned for the case of cameras he’d already packed.
“I thought you’d left. But I guess we didn’t set a time on Monday for you to come in. Is ten o’clock too early?”
“Ten is fine.” Casey waited, but Wyatt didn’t seem inclined to say anything more and turned to go. “I hate to sound crass,” she called, “but my understanding was that I’d be paid for helping out with your shoot today.”
“That’s right!” Wyatt dropped one case with a thump and awkwardly patted his clothing. At last he dragged a crumpled envelope out of his back pocket. “Greg gave me a check before I left his office the other day. Greg Moore. He’s my accountant,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, we’ve been best friends since college.” He broke off, looking uneasy, as if he’d shared too much personal information.
“I meant to let you know that in the future Greg will mail your paychecks. So if you move from your current address—not that you will, but if you do—he’s the one who needs that information.” Wyatt made a halfhearted attempt to smooth the wrinkles from the envelope before handing it to Casey.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced down, then back up, into his eyes.
“You know,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “it just crossed my mind that instead of driving from Round Rock to Austin every day to see about work, in the beginning, anyway, perhaps you’d rather I called you if I’ve booked any sittings.”
“So, I’m hired, but I wait until you get in touch to say there’s a job for me to do?”
“For the time being I think that makes sense, don’t you?” He gathered his cases again.
“I’m not sure. How much will I earn?”
“Greg suggested a seventy-thirty split of the fees charged for your jobs. Once we get up to speed and you take on more sittings, we can renegotiate. Is that suitable?” Appearing antsy as he waited for her agreement, Wyatt backed toward the door.
Casey caught up quickly. “I don’t know if that will work for me. I need a job that can provide me with steady income from the get-go. This check you gave me today may keep my phone and electricity from being cut off,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but it won’t pay the mortgage that’s due at the end of next week.”
Wyatt stopped halfway out the gym door. “That’s a joke, right?” He frowned in confusion. “Mike heard you tell one of the students that you’re married. What about your husband, Mrs. Sinclair? Is he out of work?”
Casey winced as she stared into Wyatt’s dark, suddenly wary eyes. The whole miserable truth about her situation was on the tip of her tongue—every sordid detail about how Dane took off with his frat buddies, leaving her pregnant and dead broke. But she felt a rock wall go up between her and Wyatt Keene, and the words died in her throat before she could speak.
“It is Mrs. Sinclair,” she managed to mumble. “Please, just call me Casey. And if you don’t mind, I’d rather we kept our private lives private.”
She tried to ignore the surprise on Wyatt’s face, and told herself she hadn’t lied—exactly. She was technically Mrs. Sinclair. Her divorce wouldn’t be final for a few weeks. And if Keene seemed to want her married, so be it. For all she knew, he had a jealous wife at home who demanded that kind of assurance.
She needed this job more than she’d ever needed anything. There’d be time to make a full confession after they’d worked together for a while. After Wyatt saw how competent a photographer she was.
Maybe she didn’t seem quite as competent now, with her sweaty hands slipping nervously along her camera and purse straps. Casey chewed the inside of her lip and held her breath. She knew she’d been abrupt, even a little rude, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d changed his mind about hiring her.
He didn’t do that. In fact, he seemed relieved when he said, “A professional relationship suits me just fine. Tell you what, since money is an issue and I can’t afford to lose you over something so simple, I have a plan. Your suggestion of notifying my old customers makes a lot of sense. Go ahead and come into the studio on Monday at ten. I’ll have a complete list of former clients ready. I’ll pay you to put together and send out the type of postcard you mentioned. Do you have a computer?”
“It’s not state of the art, but yes.”
“Well, if your equipment can handle it, I guess you can do a postcard at home. It’ll save you the gas. I’ll have Greg cut a check for supplies. That’s the best I can do until orders start rolling in.”
“I’ll take it,” Casey said, grateful she wouldn’t have to give up the job before she’d started. Still, the lump in her throat got bigger instead of going away. She hated lying to her new boss—even by ommission. It niggled her into blurting, “I’d never expect to be paid for doing nothing. I promise I’ll give you fair work for fair pay.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Wyatt said stiffly as he held the door open wider and motioned for her to pass. After it slammed behind them, he issued terse directions on how to reach Keene Studio.
Casey took in the information, still gripping the envelope with the check. She walked quickly to her car without saying goodbye. She worried that if she didn’t get away, she might be sick on his shiny black boots and ruin everything they’d just agreed to.
WYATT STARED AFTER CASEY’S departing figure, and tried not to be concerned about what he was getting into as he loaded his gear into the back of his Subaru Forester. The woman seemed to be a bit odd. But certainly cute, as Mike had pointed out. Which had nothing to do with why he was hiring her. Wyatt couldn’t find one thing wrong with how she’d interacted with the kids, or with the glimpse he’d gotten of her pictures. And yet doubts about working with her swirled through his head.
CASEY HAD BARELY CLEARED the parking lot and turned the corner when her nausea made her pull over. She was thankful the clinic nurse had suggested carrying bags with her for the next few weeks in case morning sickness extended into all-day sickness.
Lord, she hoped it wouldn’t. If she could manage to survive on a partial wage until Wyatt’s business escalated, she might be able to get through the morning sickness without having to face too many clients, she thought as she waited for her nausea to fade, and for the shakes to recede.
Casey knew it wasn’t wise to remain parked so close to the school. Her new boss might pass and stop to see what she was doing. She needed a service station with a bathroom. No way could she drive all the way back to Round Rock with this taste in her mouth.
Determined not to worry about what she’d do if this morning sickness kept up, she pulled away from the curb and stopped at the first gas station to appear.
After sponging her face and rinsing her mouth, she actually began to feel human again. Casey found three broken crackers in a plastic bag at the bottom of her purse. She ate the pieces slowly, then couldn’t resist, and ripped open the envelope with the check. A hundred dollars. She squeezed her eyes shut with relief. Something to add to Wyatt Keene’s plus column—he was generous.
Driving home, Casey allowed her mind to drift back over the day. As well as generosity, Wyatt had everything going for him in the looks department. If he’d been off work because of illness, she couldn’t tell. He was
