Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

“I got in so late last night, I didn’t get a chance to look at the waves.” He smiled down at her, testing. The way he’d like to lick the salt from her skin . . . He let it ease into his gaze. She didn’t flinch. Her smile tucked deeper, the apples of her cheeks rounding. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”

The gentle curve of her chest, even before it swelled into her breasts, was something remarkable. He wanted to trace his tongue over it. “Life’s full of weird little twists.”

“It is.” But he really did have to get going. “I’ll be by the house this afternoon.” Once he worked up the last bit of guts he’d need, but there was no reason to admit that. He’d have to hand over his balls. “Do me a favor?”

Her smile turned flat-out cheeky. The green in her eyes sparked brighter, washing away the gray. She cocked her hip. “Depends. I don’t give away favors lightly.”

The changes were definitely enjoyable. “Don’t tell Mom you saw me.”

“Want to surprise her?”

“Something like that.” More like he still needed a little bit of time to gather himself before he could see her. The second his mom knew he’d landed in town, she’d be blowing up his phone. He wasn’t a big enough asshole to be able to ignore that. After all, he always did everything he could to make up for the fact that he hadn’t been home in years. It was hard enough keeping his dad’s secret from miles away. He’d missed his family and the places he used to feel comfortable in his own skin. The pain of balancing everyone else’s needs and wants and expectations had been the only thing sharp enough to balance the rest.

Eileen’s kitchen had always been magic. As a teenager, sitting down at the counter while she set a glass of fresh-pressed juice and a sandwich in front of him . . . it was like having a switch flipped. Truths spilled out of him as easily as floating on the water on a flat day.

He’d only have to hope that being thirty-one and a full-grown man would provide immunity.

Spilling all the dirty details about Hank Wright’s secret family on the other side of the world wouldn’t help anyone. Hell, the man was dead. Let the truth die with him.

By afternoon, Avalon had almost been able to forget the strange swirl of thoughts Tanner’s reappearance had resurrected. Almost.

Walking into the WavePro offices blew that one out of the water.

Nestled in an anonymous complex barely redeemed by its beach-adjacent location, WavePro looked like any other set of stucco California offices.

The walls were covered with giant prints of surfing shots. Some of them front-lit, full-color, some of them artsy black-and-white portraits.

At least half of them were of Tanner.

His rugged, gorgeous face looked down at her from almost every angle.

Tugging at the cross-body strap of her camera bag, she sat on a cloth-covered couch. Her gaze drifted back to the shot of Tanner on the far wall. She couldn’t help it. Another dead-on color composition. He stared directly into the camera, his bright blue eyes looking into hers. The scar cutting up from his mouth toward his left cheek was a faint line. Mostly it was the wicked tilt of his eyebrow that got to her.

Christ, she had to shake this. She wasn’t a gawky fourteen-year-old drooling after her best friend’s older brother anymore. Jumping Tanner’s bones now could lead to major huge awkwardness come the next family Christmas.

There was no way she was repaying Sage and Eileen back like that. Along with Hank, they’d been her sole support when she’d been a teenager. Gee, thanks for making sure I didn’t end up knocked up at fifteen and working two part-time jobs to make ends meet. For repayment, mind if I bang the prodigal son?

Besides, when he wasn’t wearing that come-hitherish look he’d given her at the end of their chat, she remembered her annoyance all over again. Back to how much she owed the Wright family—when he’d cut tail and run. Never bothered to come home, not until his own dad was dead. The asshole. She didn’t sleep with assholes.

Not even if they had six-packs worthy of national advertising. Not even if they could drop a rail so sick the front of the wave carved itself.

He was still the one who’d left. For years. He might set himself up as some sort of conquering hero, flying Sage and Eileen in for a month in Hawaii here and there. He wasn’t the one who’d been here, who’d held their hands and given them hugs when Hank had died. Who’d taken care of all the stupid paperwork and told Eileen that no, it didn’t really matter whether Hank’s coffin had brass handles or silver.

Bitterness rose up in her chest like zaps from a jellyfish. She shoved it back down again just as quickly.

That solved that tingly girl bits problem, didn’t it? If she ever started thinking about his mouth too much, all she had to do was remind herself of his near-shithead status. Easy peasy.

“Miss Knox.” The voice belonged to an older man standing in the open double doorway. Though silver streaked his hair, he still carried the deep tan of a longtime surfer. The founder of the company, Frank Wakowski.

At his side was a taller man with golden blond hair and an expression that said he’d rather lick paint than meet with Avalon. He sneered down his nose. A fresh-faced brunette wearing a pencil skirt and button-down shirt stood next to him. The man and the brunette seemed like intentional opposites in everything, down to attitude. Even their hair was on the opposite ends of the spectrum.

The hand Avalon held out was probably damp with sweat. “Mr. Wakowski, I’m honored to be here,” she said as they shook. “WavePro is a huge name.”

“We’ve worked hard to get where we are.” His genial features spread in an open smile. “And I’ve heard you’re quite the hard worker too.”

Sudden nerves spiked her heartbeat up into her mouth with a heavy pulse. She’d racked her brain, but the only reason she could come up with for such a meeting was an opportunity. The fact that they’d asked for this meeting meant Mr. Crankyface could suck it.

She and Mr. Wakowski made small talk as they made their way into a standard-issue conference room. At least the version of Tanner in this room barely poked out of a heavy barrel, the entire right side of the image layered over with WavePro advertising.

Avalon knotted her hands beneath the pale oak conference table and did her best to modulate her voice so it didn’t shake. She hated being nervous, but hated looking nervous even more.

The tall man had been introduced as Walt Palmer. He leaned forward with his elbows on the edge of the table. “Miss Knox, to be frank, you’ve never worked at the level we’re asking for.”

She lifted her brows. “To be frank, you’re the ones who asked me here. Someone here must think I’m good enough.”

Mr. Wakowski chuckled. “That’d be me. I’ve been seeing your shots frequently in smaller publications and online. There’s an appealing element. I’m not entirely sure if the promise can be fulfilled, but we want something different.”

“We wanted Scott, but it fell through.”

The young woman, Ms. Harmon, seemed to be the in-house attorney. She lifted a single finger. “To be fair, it fell through because he bombed out in Tahiti and has since checked into rehab. We’re lucky to have escaped that commitment, considering his lack of reliability.”

Palmer’s mouth pinched. “He might be unreliable, but he’s good.”

That certainly took care of the nerves. Avalon leaned back in her seat, hooking one thumb in the open end of her camera bag. She never went anywhere without the thing. The canvas and Velcro had become her friend and confidant in a lot of ways, along with the equipment within. She looked Mr. Wakowski straight in the eye. “If your assistant is done insulting me, perhaps you can get on to the offer.”

“We want you to work with Tanner Wright for the entirety of his time in San Sebastian. His homecoming.” Mr. Wakowski tapped his index fingers together as he stared intently at her. “Honestly, yes, we had another photographer planned. It fell through. So we’ve decided to offer you the opportunity.”

Opportunity was definitely the word. “Commercial or feature?”

Ms. Harmon laid her hand flat on a folder that likely held the contracts and pushed it forward a few inches. “Both, hopefully.”

“If Tanner wins this competition, he’ll sew up the World Championship,” said Mr. Wakowski. “Back in his hometown for the first time. The publicity is inherently positive.”

Nervousness sank deeper into Avalon’s bones, but this time a thrill of excitement ran alongside it. “Me. You want me to photograph Tanner Wright for the next four weeks.”

“We do.”

“He and I are friends, but not follow-around-constantly-level friends.”

“We have a publicity clause in our contract with Tanner,” Mr. Wakowski said calmly. “We’ll invoke it if necessary.”

The tall man’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Between the level of access WavePro gets and your personal connection, we expect plenty of good shots.”

Oh crap, she wasn’t sure if she could even do it. Their meeting this morning had been slightly volatile. Not to mention there were other worries. How she’d be perceived. She’d worked ridiculously hard trying to find her place in what was so very much a man’s field. Was she willing to take a leg up because of her connections?

Hell yes, she was. She’d known plenty of men who’d gotten their break because they grew up surfing with the right people. She’d worry about the perception later.

This was big enough to make her career.