Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 67 8 9
Picture Perfect Images
Chapter 1
A handsome young man stood shirtless in a studio, surrounded by bright lights, posing in a provocatively sexy manner. He was looking down under his lashes at the photographer standing nearby, pouting his lips a little.
This same photographer lowered his camera and said dryly: “Brad, if this is your idea of sexy then God help the women you sleep with. I’ve seen sexier statues. And ones with more life in them, too. Also, when you purse your lips like that you resemble a trout. You can’t just get by on your looks, even though I know that’s what you’ve been doing up until now. Today we have to actually TRY to be sexy, even though I know that’s going to be very hard for you.”
The model glared at him, anger sparking in his eyes. But he didn’t break his pose. The photographer shook his head. “Pathetic. Really tragic. You DO realize that if your mouth stays that way for any length of time, you’re going to get wrinkles around it? That wouldn’t be good for your career, now would it?”
An angry lifting of the top lip was the only reply from the model, whose eyes were now blazing with suppressed fury. “Do this,” the photographer told him. “Put your left hand on your right shoulder, and turn your head a bit. Remember how much you hate me right now,” he added coolly, “And the fact that we’re not leaving until you get this right…which could be many years from now.”
The model did as he was directed, maintaining his death glare at the photographer. His mouth was slightly open rather than pouting, and he looked like a man in a black fury - or a man who was thinking about fucking something as hard and savagely as he possibly could. The photographer made a satisfied sound and lifted his camera, taking dozens of shots from several different angles. “Move those lights so that we get some more shadows over there,” he said aloud, waving at the lighting crew impatiently. They scurried to do as he told them, and he took some more photos of the seething model.
“Well, that’s not bad,” he commented after he was done. “For you, it’s practically brilliant. Take five, why don’t you. On second thought, take ten. I need some coffee before I have to try again to make a silk purse out a sow’s ear.”
The model stormed off, but didn’t say anything to the photographer. He sauntered over to the small table where there was a carafe of coffee and some cups, and poured himself a brimming cup of the somewhat bitter brew. Throwing himself down in a chair next to a small table, he put his feet up on an empty chair next to him and sipped in a leisurely fashion at his coffee.
None of the crew approached him, and he was alone with his thoughts until a man came walking into the studio from the side door. He was carrying a briefcase and wearing a suit, and he frowned at the photographer as he walked over to the table. “I see you’re making friends and influencing people as usual, Sebastian,” he noted dryly.
The photographer snorted. “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to do a job. And nobody does a job better than I do, Eli. Even you have to admit that.”
The man in the suit sighed. “Yes, I have to admit that,” he remarked as he sat down in the empty chair on the other side of the table. “You manage to get the most out of your subjects. But it doesn’t bother you that they all end up hating your guts?”
“Nope,” the photographer replied, setting his feet on the floor. “I’m not here to cozy up to those underfed, petulant, empty-headed living mannequins. I’m here to make them look as good as possible in pictures, and that’s what I do.”
“Very true,” the man called Eli conceded, opening his briefcase. “Which is why they all come begging on their knees to work with you, even though they hate you. Speaking of which - a supermodel wants you to do her photo shoot for Elle magazine. She’s willing to pay you more than twice the going rate to do it, too,” he went on as he slid a sheaf of papers across the table.
Sebastian picked up the sheaf and looked it over. “Oh, her,” he remarked in disgust. “Do I get a ’bitch’ bonus, too? We could consider it a handling charge,” he said sardonically.
Eli sighed but shrugged. “It’s your choice whether to take the job or not,” he pointed out. “If you really hate her that much, say ‘no’.”
The photographer eyed him narrowly. “And that doesn’t bother you? Whenever I take a job, you get a commission too as my agent.”
Eli lifted a dark brow. “You’ll do whatever the hell you want, anyway, Sebastian,” he replied calmly. “Arguing with you would accomplish nothing except to give me a headache. Of course I’d like the commission, but I can live without it. There are plenty of other jobs.”
Sebastian snorted, sipping his coffee. “You’re too reasonable, Eli; you know that?” he said with a faint scowl. “Always a paragon of equanimity. What do I have to do to get a rise out of you?”
“You’ll never know that,” Eli said evenly. “Anyway, I’ll be by to pick up the negatives to deliver to the publishers the day after tomorrow.”
“Going so soon?” Sebastian asked as he rose to his feet.
“That’s right. I have a lunch date with Dave,” Eli told him as he closed the briefcase.
The photographer laughed shortly. “Still seeing Howdy Doody, eh? What you need, Eli, is a bad boy to shake you up. Not some goody-two-shoes, saccharin-filled, too-good-to-be-true guy like David Hale.”
“That’s your opinion,” Eli said, picking up his briefcase. “And one which I don’t happen to share. So-called ‘bad boys’ ALWAYS break your heart. How many hearts have YOU broken this year alone, Sebastian? Isn’t it in the double digits by now?”
The photographer shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I haven’t broken any hearts, because they all know going in that it’s all about the sex. That when I’m done I’m gone. I pull no punches, and if they get ideas in their heads…well, that’s their delusion. And one that’s not my problem.”
“You’re a real sweetheart, aren’t you?” Eli said, shaking his head.
“No, but I never said I was,” Sebastian pointed out. “Enjoy your lunch with Captain America.”
“I will. Enjoy torturing your subjects,” Eli replied as he headed for the door.
“You can be sure that I will,” Sebastian drawled, making his agent give him a sardonic look over his shoulder before he disappeared out the door. “It’s the only real entertainment that I have these days,” the photographer added to himself under his breath. He pushed himself to his feet, calling loudly: “Your ten minutes is up, Brad! Let’s go! And let’s hope that you’ve learned how to be sexy in that time…although there’d be more chance of a dog learning to talk!”
Eli Drake entered the little restaurant and stood looking around. He spotted his boyfriend of almost two months, David Hale, seated at a table nearby. He lifted his hand and moved toward the table, and David greeted him with a smile. “Hey, Eli, I was just about to order! You’ve got good timing.”
He slid into a chair and returned the smile. “Great, I’m starved,” he said as he picked up his menu.
“So how’s your favorite anti-social client?” David asked him.
He grimaced. “About as bad as ever. He was tormenting a male model for a jeans ad this time.”
David shook his head. “How do you manage to work with him, Eli?”
“It helps that he’s very lucrative,” Eli replied, scanning his menu. “Despite his bad attitude and the fact that he treats them like dirt, everybody in the fashion industry wants him to take pictures of them. He brings out the best in them - at least on film, anyway.”
“Yes, I’ve seen some of his photos,” David agreed. “He really is a brilliant photographer, isn’t he?”
“One of the best I’ve ever come across. He’s like the Ansell Adams of the fashion world. I’m happy to represent him, in spite of his surliness. He does my pocketbook good.”
David laughed as the waiter approached their table. “Good point. What do you want to eat?”
“I think I’ll have the shrimp scaloppini,” Eli handed his menu to the waiter, a David gave him their orders.
Sebastian stood in his dark room, carefully developing the photos he’d taken earlier. He swished one of them around in the developing fluid, watching the shirtless model appear on the photographic paper. He pulled the photo out and hung it up to dry, looking with satisfaction at the line of drying photos hung above the pans of chemicals that he’d used to develop them. He thought that Eli would be pleased with these.
He left the dark room, entering his storage room instead. File cabinets lined the walls, filled with folders full of copies of developed photos as well as the negatives. All of his work was here in this room, neatly filed away. He walked over to the one labeled ‘misc’, pulling it open. He swiftly picked through the folders inside until he came to the one labeled only with a large E, pulling it out.
Sebastian stood looking down at the folder for a moment, before he opened it slowly. Inside were hundreds of photos of the same subject, all of them taken of him while he was unawares. Here he stood watching something, his profile grave and intent. Here he sat in a chair going over some documents, frowning a bit over what he was seeing. He had photos of the same man drinking coffee, talking to people, smiling as he spoke on his cell phone…every single one of the photos in the file were of Eli Drake, his agent.
The photographer leafed through them as he had many times before, taking Eli in. He knew how useless and stupid it was of him to obsess over these photos, when he had no chance with the real thing. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. All he had of Eli were these pictures, and with the way his luck was going that’s all he’d ever have…
He sighed, closing the folder and replacing it in the filing cabinet. He’d known Eli Drake for over two years, but it was only lately that he’d realized that the feelings he had for his agent transcended just a professional relationship, or even a friendship. He’d decided to tell Eli how he felt, and he’d even stopped sleeping around casually because he knew that Eli would never stand for that. He’d been prepared to make the big leap, to take a chance…and just a he’d psyched himself up for it, Eli had met David Hale.
He’d practically been glowing when he’d casually mentioned his new boyfriend to Sebastian, and the photographer’s heart had sunk. Why would Eli want some grouchy, promiscuous photographer when he could have the angelic David? He had no hope, and knowing the way the universe hated him the two men would move in together, get married in a state where it was legal, and adopt a couple of brats. They’d be together their whole lives, and would die almost simultaneously in the same hospital at the ripe old age of ninety.
Sebastian scowled, walking out of his storage room headed for the liquor cabinet in his living room. He needed a good, stiff drink, and he needed it NOW! Even thinking about Eli and David together put him in a surly black mood. He intended to get falling down drunk, and maybe if he did he’d forget why his life sucked righteously for awhile…
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Picture Perfect Images
Chapter 1
A handsome young man stood shirtless in a studio, surrounded by bright lights, posing in a provocatively sexy manner. He was looking down under his lashes at the photographer standing nearby, pouting his lips a little.
This same photographer lowered his camera and said dryly: “Brad, if this is your idea of sexy then God help the women you sleep with. I’ve seen sexier statues. And ones with more life in them, too. Also, when you purse your lips like that you resemble a trout. You can’t just get by on your looks, even though I know that’s what you’ve been doing up until now. Today we have to actually TRY to be sexy, even though I know that’s going to be very hard for you.”
The model glared at him, anger sparking in his eyes. But he didn’t break his pose. The photographer shook his head. “Pathetic. Really tragic. You DO realize that if your mouth stays that way for any length of time, you’re going to get wrinkles around it? That wouldn’t be good for your career, now would it?”
An angry lifting of the top lip was the only reply from the model, whose eyes were now blazing with suppressed fury. “Do this,” the photographer told him. “Put your left hand on your right shoulder, and turn your head a bit. Remember how much you hate me right now,” he added coolly, “And the fact that we’re not leaving until you get this right…which could be many years from now.”
The model did as he was directed, maintaining his death glare at the photographer. His mouth was slightly open rather than pouting, and he looked like a man in a black fury - or a man who was thinking about fucking something as hard and savagely as he possibly could. The photographer made a satisfied sound and lifted his camera, taking dozens of shots from several different angles. “Move those lights so that we get some more shadows over there,” he said aloud, waving at the lighting crew impatiently. They scurried to do as he told them, and he took some more photos of the seething model.
“Well, that’s not bad,” he commented after he was done. “For you, it’s practically brilliant. Take five, why don’t you. On second thought, take ten. I need some coffee before I have to try again to make a silk purse out a sow’s ear.”
The model stormed off, but didn’t say anything to the photographer. He sauntered over to the small table where there was a carafe of coffee and some cups, and poured himself a brimming cup of the somewhat bitter brew. Throwing himself down in a chair next to a small table, he put his feet up on an empty chair next to him and sipped in a leisurely fashion at his coffee.
None of the crew approached him, and he was alone with his thoughts until a man came walking into the studio from the side door. He was carrying a briefcase and wearing a suit, and he frowned at the photographer as he walked over to the table. “I see you’re making friends and influencing people as usual, Sebastian,” he noted dryly.
The photographer snorted. “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to do a job. And nobody does a job better than I do, Eli. Even you have to admit that.”
The man in the suit sighed. “Yes, I have to admit that,” he remarked as he sat down in the empty chair on the other side of the table. “You manage to get the most out of your subjects. But it doesn’t bother you that they all end up hating your guts?”
“Nope,” the photographer replied, setting his feet on the floor. “I’m not here to cozy up to those underfed, petulant, empty-headed living mannequins. I’m here to make them look as good as possible in pictures, and that’s what I do.”
“Very true,” the man called Eli conceded, opening his briefcase. “Which is why they all come begging on their knees to work with you, even though they hate you. Speaking of which - a supermodel wants you to do her photo shoot for Elle magazine. She’s willing to pay you more than twice the going rate to do it, too,” he went on as he slid a sheaf of papers across the table.
Sebastian picked up the sheaf and looked it over. “Oh, her,” he remarked in disgust. “Do I get a ’bitch’ bonus, too? We could consider it a handling charge,” he said sardonically.
Eli sighed but shrugged. “It’s your choice whether to take the job or not,” he pointed out. “If you really hate her that much, say ‘no’.”
The photographer eyed him narrowly. “And that doesn’t bother you? Whenever I take a job, you get a commission too as my agent.”
Eli lifted a dark brow. “You’ll do whatever the hell you want, anyway, Sebastian,” he replied calmly. “Arguing with you would accomplish nothing except to give me a headache. Of course I’d like the commission, but I can live without it. There are plenty of other jobs.”
Sebastian snorted, sipping his coffee. “You’re too reasonable, Eli; you know that?” he said with a faint scowl. “Always a paragon of equanimity. What do I have to do to get a rise out of you?”
“You’ll never know that,” Eli said evenly. “Anyway, I’ll be by to pick up the negatives to deliver to the publishers the day after tomorrow.”
“Going so soon?” Sebastian asked as he rose to his feet.
“That’s right. I have a lunch date with Dave,” Eli told him as he closed the briefcase.
The photographer laughed shortly. “Still seeing Howdy Doody, eh? What you need, Eli, is a bad boy to shake you up. Not some goody-two-shoes, saccharin-filled, too-good-to-be-true guy like David Hale.”
“That’s your opinion,” Eli said, picking up his briefcase. “And one which I don’t happen to share. So-called ‘bad boys’ ALWAYS break your heart. How many hearts have YOU broken this year alone, Sebastian? Isn’t it in the double digits by now?”
The photographer shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I haven’t broken any hearts, because they all know going in that it’s all about the sex. That when I’m done I’m gone. I pull no punches, and if they get ideas in their heads…well, that’s their delusion. And one that’s not my problem.”
“You’re a real sweetheart, aren’t you?” Eli said, shaking his head.
“No, but I never said I was,” Sebastian pointed out. “Enjoy your lunch with Captain America.”
“I will. Enjoy torturing your subjects,” Eli replied as he headed for the door.
“You can be sure that I will,” Sebastian drawled, making his agent give him a sardonic look over his shoulder before he disappeared out the door. “It’s the only real entertainment that I have these days,” the photographer added to himself under his breath. He pushed himself to his feet, calling loudly: “Your ten minutes is up, Brad! Let’s go! And let’s hope that you’ve learned how to be sexy in that time…although there’d be more chance of a dog learning to talk!”
Eli Drake entered the little restaurant and stood looking around. He spotted his boyfriend of almost two months, David Hale, seated at a table nearby. He lifted his hand and moved toward the table, and David greeted him with a smile. “Hey, Eli, I was just about to order! You’ve got good timing.”
He slid into a chair and returned the smile. “Great, I’m starved,” he said as he picked up his menu.
“So how’s your favorite anti-social client?” David asked him.
He grimaced. “About as bad as ever. He was tormenting a male model for a jeans ad this time.”
David shook his head. “How do you manage to work with him, Eli?”
“It helps that he’s very lucrative,” Eli replied, scanning his menu. “Despite his bad attitude and the fact that he treats them like dirt, everybody in the fashion industry wants him to take pictures of them. He brings out the best in them - at least on film, anyway.”
“Yes, I’ve seen some of his photos,” David agreed. “He really is a brilliant photographer, isn’t he?”
“One of the best I’ve ever come across. He’s like the Ansell Adams of the fashion world. I’m happy to represent him, in spite of his surliness. He does my pocketbook good.”
David laughed as the waiter approached their table. “Good point. What do you want to eat?”
“I think I’ll have the shrimp scaloppini,” Eli handed his menu to the waiter, a David gave him their orders.
Sebastian stood in his dark room, carefully developing the photos he’d taken earlier. He swished one of them around in the developing fluid, watching the shirtless model appear on the photographic paper. He pulled the photo out and hung it up to dry, looking with satisfaction at the line of drying photos hung above the pans of chemicals that he’d used to develop them. He thought that Eli would be pleased with these.
He left the dark room, entering his storage room instead. File cabinets lined the walls, filled with folders full of copies of developed photos as well as the negatives. All of his work was here in this room, neatly filed away. He walked over to the one labeled ‘misc’, pulling it open. He swiftly picked through the folders inside until he came to the one labeled only with a large E, pulling it out.
Sebastian stood looking down at the folder for a moment, before he opened it slowly. Inside were hundreds of photos of the same subject, all of them taken of him while he was unawares. Here he stood watching something, his profile grave and intent. Here he sat in a chair going over some documents, frowning a bit over what he was seeing. He had photos of the same man drinking coffee, talking to people, smiling as he spoke on his cell phone…every single one of the photos in the file were of Eli Drake, his agent.
The photographer leafed through them as he had many times before, taking Eli in. He knew how useless and stupid it was of him to obsess over these photos, when he had no chance with the real thing. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. All he had of Eli were these pictures, and with the way his luck was going that’s all he’d ever have…
He sighed, closing the folder and replacing it in the filing cabinet. He’d known Eli Drake for over two years, but it was only lately that he’d realized that the feelings he had for his agent transcended just a professional relationship, or even a friendship. He’d decided to tell Eli how he felt, and he’d even stopped sleeping around casually because he knew that Eli would never stand for that. He’d been prepared to make the big leap, to take a chance…and just a he’d psyched himself up for it, Eli had met David Hale.
He’d practically been glowing when he’d casually mentioned his new boyfriend to Sebastian, and the photographer’s heart had sunk. Why would Eli want some grouchy, promiscuous photographer when he could have the angelic David? He had no hope, and knowing the way the universe hated him the two men would move in together, get married in a state where it was legal, and adopt a couple of brats. They’d be together their whole lives, and would die almost simultaneously in the same hospital at the ripe old age of ninety.
Sebastian scowled, walking out of his storage room headed for the liquor cabinet in his living room. He needed a good, stiff drink, and he needed it NOW! Even thinking about Eli and David together put him in a surly black mood. He intended to get falling down drunk, and maybe if he did he’d forget why his life sucked righteously for awhile…
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