Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) (8 page)

She had tilted her chin back even farther, doing the best she could to mimic a woman warrior in victory, when she heard the first click. A second followed, then a series of clicks, like a volley of artillery shells going off.

A camera?

Adrenaline sent her heart pumping. She opened her eyes to stare directly at the man holding a large camera in front of his face. A young man, not the sixty-year-old she’d seen the other night
. Obviously
this wasn’t Gregor Johansson. Who the heck was it, then? Emotions clashed and rocketed through her—anger, betrayal, shame—as the camera continued clacking. She pulled her arms around her body, desperately covering her breasts and belly and yelled, “Stop!”

The man immediately stopped and lowered the camera.

Heat flashed over her and the sound of the insects disappeared, drowned out by the rhythmic
thump
of her heavily beating heart.

Mac.

What was
he
doing here? And why was he photographing her?
Naked
?

T
rudy gaped
at the man she’d hoped to never see again. Ever. In her entire life of living. Her breathing came out in choppy puffs. “What the heck are
you
doing here? Where is Gregor Johansson? And get rid of that
camera
. Now!”

Mac stared back at her, his shocked expression mirroring hers. “Holy hell. You mean you don’t know?”

Suddenly she became aware that she was very naked. And he was staring. She widened her hands, trying unsuccessfully to cover her hoo-ha and belly and breasts simultaneously. She looked around, desperate for the robe, but Mac stood directly in front of it. What the heck was going on? “Could you turn around?” she asked. “I’m still rather naked here.”

“Yeah, sure, sorry,” Mac said, his voice gentle as he ducked his head. He reached behind him and grabbed the robe she’d left on the table, then held it out to her without looking.

On shaky legs, she stepped forward and took the robe, then put it on.

“You covered now?” he asked.

Grudgingly, she said, “Yes. You can look.”

He raised his head and their gazes connected. Something sparked between them, like it had the first night they’d met, when he’d been up on the balcony and she’d had just eliminated a squished grape from her cleavage. She cut her gaze away, unwilling to keep the connection as that had definitely
not
served her well the last time.

“Now can you explain why you stalked me to my place of employment? And why you’re taking pictures? This is most definitely not the actions of a perfect gentleman, if I may be so bold as to point out.”

“I can’t believe you really didn’t know.” Mac’s voice was quiet.

“Know what?”

“That the contract is with
me
, not my father.”

His
father
? Oh, god. The pieces swirling around in her mind fell into place. “Your father’s Gregor Johansson,” she said bluntly. “Please tell me I’m having a nightmare.”

Mac swept a hand over his face, then swore quietly before looking her straight in the face. “Uh, yeah. His legal name is Macgregor, actually, but…yeah. He’s my dad. Doe’s, too. But you probably figured that part out.”

She stared at him blankly, the ability to think rationally seemingly gone straight out of her head. “You’re saying that I signed a contract with
you
? But how?”

He shrugged. “My father and I are both artists, and we both have the same name. Only publically he goes by Gregor Johansson and I go by Mac Johns. I’m the one who hired you.”

Her mind whirled, thoughts tumbling around like vodka and ice in a martini shaker. None of this made any sense. Gregor Johansson was a sixty-year-old sculptor, not the thirty-something photographer currently staring at her. The artist Gregor Johansson of Meadowview had been looking for a nude model. That’s who she’d been hired to work for. Right?
Right
?

“I’m so sorry,” he said solemnly. “I thought you knew. I mean, I knew you weren’t aware of the connection when we met, but I really believed you knew who I was before you signed the contract.”

“This cannot be happening.” All emotions emptied from her body, rendering her core limp. She’d signed a contract not with a world-famous sculptor, but with the man she’d had horrid sex with a few days before. What a colossal mistake. Maybe she could blame her agent for not knowing who the contract was with, but Lisa worked primarily with fashion models, not artists models. Lisa didn’t know the art world the way she knew the fashion world. It was only because of Trudy’s long-standing position in Lisa’s agency that the woman had kept representing her when she switched from high fashion to art and catalogue modeling.

She only had herself to blame.

“But the contract was for an artist’s model,” she said, still struggling for comprehension. “Why are you taking photographs?”

Two lines formed between his brows. “I’m an art photographer. I use cameras and film as my medium.”

“Photographs aren’t art. They’re pictures,” she snapped out before realizing what she’d said.

When Mac’s expression morphed from chagrin to pain to anger, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

The sound of bees and other insects hung in the air before a muscle pulsed in his jaw and he said slowly, “Yeah, I hear that a lot.” He looked off in the distance, the light in his bright eyes fading, then turned back to her and waved the camera in the air as he spoke. “I guess we should get you back to the dressing room and talk after.”

She stepped forward, and as he backed up a bit, a volley of clicks went off. She recoiled.

“My fault,” he said quickly, shoving the camera behind his back. “My finger slipped.”

She frowned. “I’ve heard
that
from you before. Not sure I believed you then, and pretty sure I don’t believe you now.”

A line around the side of his mouth tightened. “That really was an accident. You’ve got me a bit…discombobulated here. And I can’t apologize enough, Trudy, for not realizing you thought you’d contracted with my father, not me.”

“How was I supposed to know there are two of you?” she threw over her shoulder as she marched, barefoot, along the path that moments ago had inspired her but now made her stomach feel like she’d swallowed lead. Mac kept following her.

“But I did explain it all in the letter,” he said.

She kept walking. “What letter?”

“I sent a letter along with the contract, explaining how the job was with me and not my father. And how even though the other night had been a bit of a bomb, I’d hoped you’d want to work with me. How I thought this was a great opportunity for both of us.”

“There was
no
letter. Just the contract and really poorly written instructions on how to get here,” she said numbly.

“I promise, Trudy, I really thought you’d read the letter. I wouldn’t have led you on.”

With shaking hands she pulled open the door to the cottage and stumbled inside. She leaned against the closed door and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“Um…Trudy?” Mac’s voice sounded muffled from the other side of the door. “I know this must be difficult, but—”

“I can’t do this now, Mac.” She pushed her hair back off her brow. After heaving in a few breaths, she pushed herself off the door and gathered her clothes. She didn’t even bother with her undies and bra, and instead, with shaking hands, she shoved her legs into her pants but had a difficult time getting her fingers to work on the buttons on her blouse. Forget it. She could button later.

She swung the door open and Mac nearly tumbled into the room. She frowned and said, “We need to make one thing clear: I never would have signed a contract to pose nude for a photographer, artistic or otherwise.”

“But you’d planned to pose nude for Gregor. So I’m a little confused.”

“I’d pose nude for a world-famous sculptor. Not for a photographer who might put the photos on the Internet, for all I know.” Yeah, sure, the words were harsh, but her past had created creases around her soul.

A fire lit in Mac’s eyes. “I’d
never
do that without a model’s permission,” he said measuredly, as if working hard to keep his temper in check. “I’m an art photographer, and a damned good one. And while I may not have the international reputation of my father, I do quite well in the art world. At least, I did at one time.” He shoved his hand through his thick black hair, tension lining his face. His full lips, so sensual, were pressed into a hard line.

For a moment, Trudy softened.

“Can you at least tell me this? Is all of this about the crappy sex we had the other night?” he asked.

Whatever compassion that had been momentarily building inside Trudy vanished with that comment. She nearly exploded. “I humiliated myself the other night and you have to rub my nose in it? Wasn’t once enough for you?”

“What do you mean, you humiliated yourself?
I’m
the one who—”

“
Stop
, Mac. Just please stop.” She’d had enough. She sucked in a deep breath. “My agent put a specific clause in the contract. No photographs will be leaked. You’d better honor that or you’ll be hearing from your attorney.”

“I
always
honor the contract,” Mac said, but she’d already bent down, grabbed her heels, and took off through the vegetation toward her car, holding her blouse together in the front with her other hand.

She’d spouted the brave words and with defiance in her voice, but tears formed far before she reached her car. Before she’d even backed up and spun out, kicking up gravel, the tears had spilled down her face. Now what was she going to do? That had been her only job. Her desperately needed job. Even more than that, she’d walked away from a client—and despite the fact that she’d signed the contract with Mac thinking he was Gregor Johansson the sculptor, the contract was legally binding and he
was
her boss.

She could only hope he’d adhere to the clause in the contract that said he wouldn’t disseminate any images of her without her consent.

Because judging from the number of clicks she heard before she shut down the shoot, he had quite an number of pictures of her to choose from.

All of which could trigger a new wave of Tubster Trudy comments. Great. Just great. She’d barely survived the humiliation the first time. She wasn’t sure she could take it again.

* * *

M
ac stood at the gate
, hands on his hips, his Mamiya camera dangling around his neck. Trudy tore out of his driveway, hitting the gas hard and spinning out the wheels of her car. The tires kicked up gravel, sending a spray of sharp pebbles against his shin.

He winced but didn’t move. He deserved the pain.

Doe’s goat Nanny wandered up to him and rubbed her head against his leg. Absently, he scratched between her horns, still staring at the plumes of dust arcing from Trudy’s car as she drove farther from the estate, down the windy gravel road.

The front door squealed open behind him.

From the front porch, Doe spoke. “What happened?”

“She thought the job was with Dad.”

“But you promised, Mac. You said you’d let her know.”

He wiped a hand over his face. “I did. I wrote a letter to her and included it with the contract.”

“A letter? Why on earth would you write a letter?”

He shrugged. “I thought it would be cool, giving her a handwritten explanation instead of an email. Make it more personal. The letter said everything—how the contract was with me and not Dad, how excited I was when I realized she had applied to win the contract, and how sorry I was I hadn’t given her unicorn glitter—”

“—unicorn what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. I swear, Doe, it was all in the letter. That courier is going to get fired. Whose second cousin once removed did we hire this time?”

“Um…Mac?” Doe’s voice was tight and high in the back of her throat.

He turned to her, startled to see tears forming in her eyes. He stepped toward her, arms outstretched to give her a hug. “Hey, why are you crying? You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo.”

Doe backed away, an expression of anguish on her face. “But I did,” she choked out. Tears were coming now, and he could tell she was struggling to speak. “I think I know why she didn’t get the letter. And it’s all my fault.”

He tilted his head and looked at her. “What happened?”

“Nanny.”

He frowned. “The goat.”

She nodded and swallowed before speaking, her words tumbling out of her mouth. “You gave me the contract and told me to put it in a manila envelope and give it to the courier when he got here and then you took off. I was going to, really I was, but I set the papers down in your study and then Aaron woke up and when the courier came, I went to get the papers and saw they were scattered everywhere. Nanny had gotten into the house and gone all Destructo-Goat on your office.”

He sighed. Damned goat. This wasn’t the first time she’d mucked up things. “It’s okay, Doe.”

“I collected all the papers—and I swear, Mac, all pages of the contract were there. I checked. I didn’t know you’d written a letter, too. I thought I had everything when I packaged it up. Your funky instructions were even there. I just didn’t know there was a letter. Nanny must have kicked it under the bookshelf or something.” Doe stopped talking and looked down at her feet, then started choking on sobs.