Lies Page 4

  “You’re not kidding,” Mark agreed. “Henley’s arrest ripped through town like a tornado. Drugs and the cartel, who would have guessed? It’s crazy to think the big city problems are lurking on our doorsteps. And wouldn’t you know it, my best friend got caught up in the middle of this shitstorm?”

  “Yep.” Ryan nodded. “Shitstorm sums it up,” he said, then steered the subject in a new direction. “Hey, I’ve decided to take some time off and figure out what I want to do next. Professionally,” he clarified.

  “Uh-huh?” Ryan had touched on it before, so he wasn’t surprised Mark just sat back and waited.

  “I’ll be forever grateful to the fashion industry rocketing my career.” Thinking about his high school photography classes and the passion that had sizzled in his belly, he brushed his fingers through his thick waves in a detached motion. Back then, he’d set his sights on joining the ranks of the top dogs in his field and imagined what it would feel like. Persistence, tireless work, and a lucky shot had gotten him there, and without boasting, he could say it felt pretty damn great.

  “Truthfully,” Ryan admitted, “the glitz and glamour of this business can be as artificial as the puffed-up lips and boob enhancements of some of the flawless darlings I photograph.” Not that he meant his words to be dismissive or insensitive to the business of selling beauty and youth, but even to Ryan’s ears, they rang jaded.

  “A lot of guys would call that a dream job.” Mark’s eyebrow hitched as he picked up his mug and leveled his gaze on Ryan.

  “Hey, I’m not disagreeing, it’s just....” Ryan waved a hand in the air. “It’s time for something else.”

  Mark’s nod acknowledged without agreeing.

  “So, let me be sure I follow you correctly. You’ve been working your butt off to go after your dream and are one of the most in-demand photographers in the fashion industry, and you want to... what? Just quit the biz?”

  “Getting out of the fashion biz?” Uncrossing his ankles, Ryan shrugged nonchalantly. “Yes. Quit photography? Hell, no.” He sipped some coffee, and when he set the paper cup on the small table between them, the excitement was back in his voice. “I get it—the runway hype, travels, photoshoots with attractive models in exotic locations—it’s stimulating and fun. I won’t lie; I suffered no hardship doing my job.”

  “I never got that impression,” Mark said, giving him a crooked smile. “As I recall, you embraced each assignment with vigor and passion.”

  That he had. By the subtle nuance in Mark’s tone, Ryan figured his friend not only referred to his dedication to work—there had been the occasional fling with a model. Not that he’d ever thought about anything other than his objective for the outcome of the shoot, but sometimes, it just happened. From time to time, an intimate connection developed during a photoshoot, which swelled into sexual tension by the end of the session. Though the flings were hot and steamy, he made sure they were always short-lived.

  “Yes, brother,” he said, nodding as if deep in thought. Scraping a palm over his cheek, he inhaled a sharp breath. “Like I said, it’s been a great ride. Besides, I still have commitments, but—”

  “But you’re getting bored, need a new challenge,” Mark injected. “I hate to admit, but because I know you like a brother, I get the picture.” Mark lifted the mug to his lips and downed the last of his coffee. “Any idea what you want to tackle next?”

  Ryan shifted in his seat and thought about his online business. “Downloads for my online workshops are pretty consistent,” he mused. “The advanced modules will be ready to post in the next couple weeks, just in time for Christmas, when cameras and lenses are on every hobby photographer’s wish list.” He smiled big and wide. “Downloads will spike. The black and white’s I’ve experimented with? They’re getting hits, too.”

  That part of his business moved along seamlessly, and it thrilled him. Only it wasn’t enough to fill the growing chasm inside. His work on the book for Barkville—a fundraiser he’d started—was coming along. A few more sessions with pets and their owners, and he’d hand the project over to Barkville Rescue’s director. He’d finance the project, but Haley would handle the details.

  “I’ve been putting out feelers, checking around.” Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned into the buttery softness of the chair. “During my last trip to New York, I met with a buddy for a couple of drinks. Sounds like a few new positions will open in the network he’s working for. Told him I might be interested and to keep me in the loop. If anything comes of it, I may look into it. Like I said, it’s nothing solid, and I’m not in a hurry.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make up your mind.” Mark picked what looked like dog hair from his charcoal trousers. “But I have to ask...”

  “Okay.” Ryan pulled in his legs, straightened his tall frame, and reached for his paper cup. “What’s up?”

  “Emily. You’ve been spending a chunk of time together, but you’re guarding it like a secret, man. You can tell me it’s none of my business, but I’ll ask, anyway. Are you having a change of heart and mind on being footloose and commitment-free?” Mark raised his eyebrows, the question reflecting in his eyes.

  Ryan drew a breath, then blew out his cheeks.

  “You’re right, it’s none of your business,” he smirked. He teased, of course. Mark had been his bud since their junior year of high school. After Dad retired from the Army and settled in Oak Creek, it felt awkward as hell being a newbie in school. Where his classmates had known each other since preschool, he’d felt displaced and friendless at first. Then during a science project, he and Mark clicked and soon became tight—fishing at the local hole, camping, and sneaking peeks at mags with hot chicks Mark had snagged from somewhere. He’d never admit to their contests over who produced the noisiest bodily functions. Yep, that’s how they navigated the clumsy years of growing up to be men. Mark was the only friend who knew of the scarred landscape of his childhood, so he had expected Mark’s inquisition the moment he entered the agency.

  Ryan slouched in his chair, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

  “Funny you asked,” he skipped the intrusion. “You know my thoughts on romantic relationships—keep it on the down-low, no commitment, no headache.” Mark, looking a bit confused, scratched his neck. “I’m no saint,” he shook his head. “But, man, you must hold a top spot in collecting broken hearts.”

  A backhanded compliment, as if breaking hearts was a competitive sport. Ryan had picked up the barb in Mark’s tone and was sure his friend thought he’d break off his amorous entanglement with Emily. He continued as if speaking to himself. Maybe, if he strung out his thoughts, they’d make more sense and drive home what a big deal the relationship with Emily was to him.

  “My life’s been perfectly fine without getting wrapped up in this sort of thing.” He glanced at Mark and shrugged. “As you so kindly pointed out, I’m pretty damn screwed up.” Dragging a hand through his hair, the slightly sandbagged look on his face spread into a smirk.

  “Uh-huh. Do I hear a but in there?” Mark probed.

  As the unspoken question knocked against his ribs, Ryan’s piercing gaze softened.

  “I’m one-thousand percent, feet-to-the-fire crazy about Emily, but I’ll be honest, this relationship thing still scares the ever-loving shit out of me.” Blowing out his cheeks, he pushed to his feet and shot Mark an uncertain grin. “It’s still so unexpected and new; we’ll see where it goes.”

  “Hold it… say that again?” Mark chuckled and stood. “Dude, she must be an amazing woman if she tore your relationship perspective to shreds and threw it off a cliff. I can’t wait to meet her.” Mark’s fist connected with Ryan’s bicep in the lighthearted way guys expressed their comradery, but behind the punch, Ryan felt the positive vibes. His friend was in his corner, as Ryan knew he would be, yet...

  What the hell did he know about relationships and how to make them work? He’d watched his friend Shawn dip his toes into the marriage waters, but h
e was a single man once again before the first anniversary rolled around. Why, he wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter, anyway. And his parents’ marriage? Well, it had been a glasshouse of lies and deceit that shattered under the growing weight of his mother’s misery. He rooted for his friend, J.D., who recently proposed to his girlfriend. Ryan wished them luck in setting an example. Only Mark knew a few of the shocking details that convinced Ryan to keep a romantic relationship at arm’s length.

  Ryan looked at his friend, the uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. “What if I fuck this up, Mark?”

  “Hey, man.” In light of being a bachelor in no hurry to look for love himself, he seemed stunned. “What if you don’t?” There was a wisdom in Mark’s answer as he tilted his head, and his gaze questioned Ryan.

  The sudden downturn of mood swooshed from the room with Ryan’s grin. He gave Mark a thumbs up just as his phone rang. Ryan grabbed his paper cup from the coffee table, saw it was empty, and tossed it in the trash can behind Mark’s desk.

  “Hey, I’ll let you get to it.”

  “Thursday at Pat’s?” Mark quizzed as he lifted his phone from the table.

  “Can’t,” Ryan shook his head. “Maybe next time. Take care.”

  Outside Mark’s office, Ryan crossed the street, angling the key fob from his pocket. As he slid into the driver’s seat, his thoughts snagged back to Mark’s question of his professional future. Quitting photography—he may as well drain the blood from his veins. Ever since he’d taken his first photography lessons in high school, he’d been hooked on visual art, and that wouldn’t change. Early in his career, he’d honed his craft daily, taking thousands of pictures, attending workshops, entering contests, and posting his work online.

  A particular seminar forever etched into his brain made him smile. A three-day workshop in Vegas where he’d met his friend, Rose. They were a couple of novices, pumped to start their careers, and they’d hit it off from the first hello. The fire in their bellies, challenging team assignments, and critiquing each other’s work had forged their friendship on day one. Between discussing lessons, techniques, and fancy equipment they couldn’t afford, they spent hours envisioning their future.

  At the end of the workshop, they’d celebrated and splurged at the strip with a couple of drinks and throwing a few dollars on gambling. When Ryan won at the craps table, the payout was moderate but still plenty enough to sweep Rose into a hug. He remembered lifting her off the floor and smacking his lips to hers, but when they pulled apart, both realized it would forever remain a kiss between friends—the smooch had lacked the passion to turn into more. He’d imagined it felt a little like kissing a sister. Eww. At the memory, Ryan’s face folded into a grimace. The stupid moment could have killed their friendship, but it hadn’t. Instead, over the years, their bond grew tighter, and Rose became the only female Ryan counted as a close friend.

  Since those humble beginnings, the world had expanded her horizon, throwing open her door, and Ryan had climbed to the top of his profession. He’d gained a glimpse into lifestyles and cultures foreign but exciting to him, and it had been everything he’d imagined. Rose had found her niche in wildlife photography and often spent weeks and months in some of the most remote corners of the globe. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year but stayed in touch. During their last phone chat, she’d mentioned hiring an assistant and had jokingly offered him the position.

  “Uh-huh, sure. Just as soon as I’m bored out of my effing mind, count me in.” He’d chuckled, but he admired Rose’s level of serenity which gave her the ability to follow her dream. Unlike him, Rose had the temperament and the patience for wildlife photography. He wished he had that satisfaction in his craft she was experiencing.

  Driven by an unnamed force, he wasn’t sure if any amount of success would ever satisfy the hunger. It wasn’t so much about the size of his bank account or being recognized in fashion mags, or so he told himself. Lessons his absent mother taught him as a kid had carved deep into his soul. Showing love and affection and leading a healthy family life hadn’t been on the curriculum, and despite Ryan being on top of his profession, he sometimes questioned if he would ever be good enough.

  As Mark said, he’d worked his ass off to get where he was, but since there was no real satisfaction anymore, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was… what would come next? For now, he still had plenty of work to catch up on, but there was something new in his life to contemplate—Emily. What was he going to do with her?

  He’d rearranged his vacation plans of doing zip, zero, and zilch to help an injured woman, and the fortress he’d constructed around his heart had received a hard knock. Who knew he just wouldn’t be able to get enough of the spirited woman? Which was a little surprising since Emily was unlike any of the women who’d shared his bed until now. Not just because of her looks that made him think of Scandinavian beauties or eyes that reminded him of a bouquet of cornflowers. It was her next-door-girl personality, mingled with a stubborn streak he couldn’t get enough of.

  Since he’d shared his interest in a studio job with Mark, then thought of the early days with his friend Rose, it got him thinking. If the New York job panned out, he’d have to move to the city. Holy crap, the thought jarred him. How would Emily take it? More importantly, what would happen to their brand-new relationship then?

  Ryan had no clue, and figuring he’d cross that bridge when he got there, a cold voice slithered into his head, a hateful voice from the past—his mother’s voice. Condescending and belittling, she yielded her words like little—or big—daggers. He could picture the she-devil on his shoulder with immaculately coiffed hair, her lipstick matching the cherry red long fingernail pointing at him. What’s the matter, boy? Bonehead’s digging the girl-next-door type. Think you’re good enough for her?

  Ryan’s chest tightened as the venom leaked into his brain. He loved Emily with such intensity, he deemed impossible only a month ago. The mere thought of setting her free slashed the air from his lungs, but would she grow tired of him if he couldn’t give her what she needed? Fighting the urge to smack the palm of his hand to the center of the wheel, his grip tightened around the leather.

  Twenty-two years since his mother disappeared from his life, leaving without a trace when he was twelve years old. She’d never sent a single birthday or Christmas card. Which was okay because he’d have burned it without so much as opening it.

  “SHUT UP,” he pushed through clenched teeth. Screw the troublesome thoughts. He loved Emily, and the condemning voice inside his head wouldn’t change that.

  Chapter 4

  The instant Ryan parked in Emily’s driveway, she opened the front door, and Bentley, graceful as a woolly mammoth, propelled himself forward. Dropping to his haunches, he pinned Ryan between the car door and his lolling tongue. The drool bucket made Ryan smile, and the last shreds of the haunting thoughts vanished from his mind.

  “Happy to see me?” he laughed, holding the bakery bag in one hand and reaching into his pocket with his free hand. “Think there’s something for you?” When he pulled out a dog biscuit, he could have sworn the dog just rolled his eyes. As sure as night followed day, the bribe worked every time.

  “Morning, gorgeous,” he called to Emily, taking two porch steps at a time. Even from a distance, he noticed the fatigue and gray shadows circling her eyes and knew her night had been rough.

  “Morning—” A great big yawn stretched across her face and drowned against his chest as he pulled her into him. “What’s in there?” Emily turned her head sideways to eye the bag dangling in his grasp. She wiggled her nose at the yeasty fragrance pouring from it. “Smells like... bagels?”

  “Only half a dozen of the very best in town.” Releasing Emily from his embrace, he sauntered ahead of her into the kitchen and dropped the bag on the table, only to draw her into his arms again. “Are you all right, babe?”

  “I’m fine.” Grimacing, Emily rubbed her fingertips over her eyes and gave him a tired smile tha
t negated the upbeat tone of her earlier text message.

  “Dreams?” He measured her with a piercing blue gaze but didn’t have to ask because he saw the fatigue shadowing her face. His arms circled her shoulders as he eased her into a tight embrace. “You should have called.” A statement that required no answer.

  “Really, Ry, I’m just a little tired. This melon-head,”—she nodded to Bentley, who stretched out in his corner spot—”shoved his thick skull into me a few times, but when his paw whacked me across my chest, I was wide awake.”

  Ryan knew her bodyguard, as she’d called the unflappable dog, had clumsily yanked her out of a dreadful dream.

  “Hey, a bagel and another strong cup of coffee will fix that.” She splayed her hands against his chest, giving him a coy smile. She made light of it, put on a brave face, and he couldn’t find fault with that, but damn, if it didn’t sit sideways with him. He’d offered to stay, to be right there to ease her mind when the shadows crept in, and she’d refused. His jaw tightened.

  “Why are you so damn hard-headed, Emmy?”

  A smile trembled over her lips as she tipped her head back. “I’m not, Ryan. I don’t want to be, but I have to do this my way. You can understand that, right?”

  “I’m trying.” He searched her face, fighting off the ridiculous notion she’d chosen her dog over him.

  “The night terrors are easing up.”

  “So you say, but why am I not convinced?”

  “Ryan, I’m handling it. You have to trust me on this.” Suddenly, her face split into a mischievous grin. “You know, when Bentley dragged me from the fright-mare, I suddenly pictured Joe’s massive belly clad in a pink tutu.” Emily laughed. “It helped.”

  A stumped look crossed Ryan’s face as he pictured it, then laughed out loud. His arms dropped to his sides, and the whisper of tension dissipated from his face.