she always wore. “I’ve missed you this week. Were you in Cannes?”
“Yes. Had some meetings.” He’d had a really good time at the film festival, and it had given him a chance to plan his campaign to win Bree Kincannon, who stood rather patiently beside him.
“Marissa, this is Bree. Bree, Marissa.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you.” The blonde smiled, revealing frighteningly white teeth. “Are you Gavin’s sister?”
Gavin exploded into a laugh. “My sister? I don’t even have a sister.”
“Oh.” Marissa tipped her silly head to the side, so her silky hair cascaded artfully over her shoulder. “I just thought …” She looked mischievously at Bree.
“That Bree and I look so alike we must be twins?” Gavin wrapped his arm around Bree. She was stiff as a board.
Catty Marissa was no doubt trying to imply that Bree couldn’t possibly be his date. After all, she wasn’t built like a twig and dressed in Prada.
“Bree’s my date.”
“Oh.” Marissa’s grimace widened. “How charming.” She widened her eyes rudely. “Must dash. I see Jake. He said he’d bring me something nice back from Cannes.”
Gavin turned to Bree. “Don’t mind her. She’s just insane.”
Bree’s sweet smile reappeared, giving him a warm feeling in his chest. He liked her smile.
“And you know, we do kind of look alike.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve both got dark hair and gray eyes. Or wait, are yours green?” On closer inspection, the irises hiding behind her metal-framed glasses looked like pale jade. “I couldn’t see you properly the other night. It was so dark at the gala.” They were close enough for him to enjoy her scent—subtle and fresh, like the rest of her.
“They’re probably more gray than green.” Bree shrugged. “Doesn’t make much difference to me. I just use them for looking out of.”
“And taking pictures. I looked up your Black Book photos. Those were some amazing portraits.”
“Interesting faces.” She smiled shyly, her lips rosy and inviting. “Made my job easy.”
“Who were they?” Her crisp black-and-white image of the older couple, standing outside on a city street, their bold, cheerful countenances sunlit and their happy union obvious, rather haunted him since he’d seen it. Something about the photo made it hard to forget.
“I don’t even know. Isn’t that embarrassing? I’ll be exposed as a fraud.” She bit her lip. “They were just standing there outside the library, waiting for someone, I think. I asked if I could take their picture.”
“I’d never guess you hadn’t known them for decades.”
“That’s what everyone says.” She shrugged. “It’s a little weird, I guess.”
“It’s art.” He grinned. She was starting to relax. Good. “Hey, Elle. Come meet Bree.” He beckoned to Brock Maddox’s assistant. The slim brunette pushed past two art directors to join them. “Bree’s a photographer.”
“Are you really?”
“Award winning,” pronounced Gavin. “Can I leave Bree in your capable hands for a moment, Elle? I need to chat with Brock.”
“Sure. First we’ll get her a drink. Follow me to the bar.” Elle led Bree off into the thickening crowd.
Gavin scanned the room for Brock. He’d had a great meeting in Cannes with a hot new Czech director who might be willing to shoot a campaign for the right price. Gavin wasn’t sure Brock would go for Tomas Kozinski’s “right price,” but it was worth a try. He had a unique, hand-held style that made even the scenery come alive.
“Hey, Gavin, how’s it going? Still getting cozy with the Rialto yacht people?” Logan Emerson materialized in front of him, wine glass raised.
Irritation prickled Gavin’s neck. “Trying to.”
“That account would be a really big score. I can already see those Rialtos sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge at halftime on Super Bowl night.”
“That might be a tad predictable.”
“I guess that’s why I’m an account exec and not a copywriter.” Logan chuckled and slapped him on the back.
Gavin inhaled. Something about this guy really bothered him, and it wasn’t just his bad jokes. Logan Emerson had only been at the company a few weeks, but already he seemed to be underfoot all day long: in every meeting; loitering by the espresso machine; he even wandered into the damned men’s room whenever Gavin entered. Sometimes, like now, he’d be all smiles and jollities, but most of the time he just stood there. Watching.
Maybe he was trying to soak up the Maddox modus operandi so he could beat the other account executives at their own game. Which wasn’t such a bad thing. At least then Gavin wouldn’t feel too bad about leaving Brock in the lurch when he quit to start his own company.
Hopefully soon.
He cast his eyes around the room and was relieved and pleased to see Bree, wine glass in hand, chatting with Elle.
So far, so good.
“Actually my undergrad major was English.” Bree took a sip from her delicate glass. Elle had snagged some white wine, then ushered her into a relatively quiet corner of the sleek bar, where they could talk. Bree felt a bit intimidated by her at first. Elle was so polished and put together in a tailored suit that showed off her slim figure. Her brown hair was sleek as sable and her blue eyes shone with intelligence and good humor.
After a few minutes, though, she started to relax, answering questions that Elle seemed to have asked with genuine interest. “At the time I thought I might even pursue a PhD in English, but I took some time off to travel and changed my mind. Flaky, I guess.”
Elle smiled. “Not flaky, thoughtful. A lot of people rush ahead with some big plan they’ve had in their mind for years, and end up painted into a corner doing something that isn’t their passion. I have to admit, I’ve always been mad about photography. I took a lot of classes in high school and college, but I guess I’ve never been daring enough to try to publish or exhibit my pictures. What got you started in photography?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it was a total accident. My dad gave me a camera for my birthday four years ago. I actually think a client gave it to him as a gift, as he doesn’t know anything about them, but it was a top of the line Nikon, with a set of extra lenses. The kind of thing even a professional photographer would salivate over. I started fooling around with it—taking pictures of old oak trees in the park, and interesting buildings around Russian Hill and the Marina District.”
Elle nodded, her blue eyes alight with interest. Bree felt a warm connection to her, even though they’d just met.
“One day I was taking a picture of St. Francis of Assisi on Vallejo Street.”
“Oh, yes. The one with all the doorways.”
“You
