if you could shoot the new stuff, that would be great. Her portrait’s the priority though, and I’m hoping to do some cross-promotion for you both. I want something that screams ‘mysterious and sexy,’ all right? Nothing weird.”
“I know how to shoot a portrait.”
“Oh, I know you do, I just don’t want—”
“I’ll shoot her the way I want to, Lydia.”
Sam smirked at the undercurrent of annoyance in Reed’s voice.
“I just don’t want to have to explain the irony of publicity photos featuring the painter’s ear or something.”
Sam pursed her lips, waiting for the fight their friend had started, whether she knew it or not.
Reed sat back in his chair. “Are you questioning my ability or talent?”
“No, I just—”
“Training?”
“Reed—”
“I’m sorry, has a client been unsatisfied with my work in any way?”
“Yes, but you usually just tell them to throw the proofs away and hire someone else. Which, of course, they never do.”
“Because I know what I’m doing better than they do, which is why I will shoot Vanessa exactly the way I want to, Lydia. And you’ll like it, or you won’t ask me to do another freebie portrait for you—ever. Got it?” His voice was dripping with irritation, and his blue eyes glared at the agent.
Lydia glared back. “Fine. Just remember, I do all this shit for you guys. And none of you have to worry one bit about marketing, or little things like—oh, I don’t know? Selling the stuff you produce? So don’t pull the artistic temperament bullshit with me, Reed.”
Sam frowned as she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen. She stretched her arms up, hoping the sharp pain on her right side was caused by the angle at which she was sitting. Unfortunately, as she stretched, the pain grew worse, and she swayed a little, dizzy even as she sat on her stool.
Reed’s eyes cut to her immediately, forgetting the argument with Lydia. “Sam? Are you okay?”
The painter stood up slowly. “Just a cramp, I think.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked over toward Lydia on the couch. Her friend eyed her, noticing how pale she was and the slight tremor in her hands.
“Sam, honey, did you forget to eat today?” Lydia asked cautiously. She had to force her to eat sometimes; Sam would forget after days of working on a canvas. Yet despite the lack of sleep and poor diet, Sam was almost never ill.
Reed stood, forgetting his work on the table and striding toward her. Sam saw the frightened look in his eye an instant before she passed out.
Hours later, she lay silently in a hospital bed after emergency surgery, painfully recalling the panicked ride in the ambulance and the confusion in the emergency room. She curled into herself on the narrow bed, taking shelter in the dark room and the feel of Reed’s hand as it cradled her own. He was sleeping in the chair next to her, pulled up close to her bed.
“Are either of you a relative?” the doctor asked.
“I’m her boyfr—”
“I’m her sister,” Lydia broke in, ignoring the doctor’s incredulity over the obvious lack of resemblance. “What’s going on?”
Sam lay next to them, trying to focus on anything but the pain as she felt the drugs they injected slowly start creeping through her system. She clenched her eyes in agony.
The doctor cleared his throat, but his words began to cut out as Sam slipped more deeply under the influence. “—your sister… symptoms of an ectopic pregnancy—”
“Hard to know how far along…”
“—too late to use medication to clear—”
“Sir?” She finally heard clearly. “Sir, are you the father?”
“The father?” Reed repeated in a crushed voice. Sam lay there, anguished from the pain she heard, wishing she could hold him and protect him, but unable to move as the anesthetic cloud covered more and more of her mind.
She didn’t remember anything after that.
Sam looked at him lying hunched over in the dark hospital room with his
“I know how to shoot a portrait.”
“Oh, I know you do, I just don’t want—”
“I’ll shoot her the way I want to, Lydia.”
Sam smirked at the undercurrent of annoyance in Reed’s voice.
“I just don’t want to have to explain the irony of publicity photos featuring the painter’s ear or something.”
Sam pursed her lips, waiting for the fight their friend had started, whether she knew it or not.
Reed sat back in his chair. “Are you questioning my ability or talent?”
“No, I just—”
“Training?”
“Reed—”
“I’m sorry, has a client been unsatisfied with my work in any way?”
“Yes, but you usually just tell them to throw the proofs away and hire someone else. Which, of course, they never do.”
“Because I know what I’m doing better than they do, which is why I will shoot Vanessa exactly the way I want to, Lydia. And you’ll like it, or you won’t ask me to do another freebie portrait for you—ever. Got it?” His voice was dripping with irritation, and his blue eyes glared at the agent.
Lydia glared back. “Fine. Just remember, I do all this shit for you guys. And none of you have to worry one bit about marketing, or little things like—oh, I don’t know? Selling the stuff you produce? So don’t pull the artistic temperament bullshit with me, Reed.”
Sam frowned as she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen. She stretched her arms up, hoping the sharp pain on her right side was caused by the angle at which she was sitting. Unfortunately, as she stretched, the pain grew worse, and she swayed a little, dizzy even as she sat on her stool.
Reed’s eyes cut to her immediately, forgetting the argument with Lydia. “Sam? Are you okay?”
The painter stood up slowly. “Just a cramp, I think.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked over toward Lydia on the couch. Her friend eyed her, noticing how pale she was and the slight tremor in her hands.
“Sam, honey, did you forget to eat today?” Lydia asked cautiously. She had to force her to eat sometimes; Sam would forget after days of working on a canvas. Yet despite the lack of sleep and poor diet, Sam was almost never ill.
Reed stood, forgetting his work on the table and striding toward her. Sam saw the frightened look in his eye an instant before she passed out.
Hours later, she lay silently in a hospital bed after emergency surgery, painfully recalling the panicked ride in the ambulance and the confusion in the emergency room. She curled into herself on the narrow bed, taking shelter in the dark room and the feel of Reed’s hand as it cradled her own. He was sleeping in the chair next to her, pulled up close to her bed.
“Are either of you a relative?” the doctor asked.
“I’m her boyfr—”
“I’m her sister,” Lydia broke in, ignoring the doctor’s incredulity over the obvious lack of resemblance. “What’s going on?”
Sam lay next to them, trying to focus on anything but the pain as she felt the drugs they injected slowly start creeping through her system. She clenched her eyes in agony.
The doctor cleared his throat, but his words began to cut out as Sam slipped more deeply under the influence. “—your sister… symptoms of an ectopic pregnancy—”
“Hard to know how far along…”
“—too late to use medication to clear—”
“Sir?” She finally heard clearly. “Sir, are you the father?”
“The father?” Reed repeated in a crushed voice. Sam lay there, anguished from the pain she heard, wishing she could hold him and protect him, but unable to move as the anesthetic cloud covered more and more of her mind.
She didn’t remember anything after that.
Sam looked at him lying hunched over in the dark hospital room with his
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