Chapter 29: ALEX CREED MIGHT BE AN ISSUE

MIA

I was editing some photos on the couch when I received an email and it felt too good to be true. I had been looking for opportunities like this and it wasn't easy to come by as a photographer without connections, gallery representation or years of networking which I hadn't done yet.

“Mia, I've been following your recent work and I think we'd make a great team for the Morrison Gallery show in August. They're looking for a collaborative piece exploring urban isolation. Interested? - Alex Creed”

Alex Creed. I'd worked with him once about eight months ago on a commercial shoot where he'd been the lead photographer and I'd been assistant and he'd been so professional and talented which made me envious of him ever since.

And now he wanted to collaborate with me.

"Dante," I said, not looking up from my phone because I was already mentally planning what pieces I'd submit. "Remember Alex Creed? The photographer I said I assisted for that campaign last year?"

"Vaguely." He was making dinner, something that smelled amazing, and his tone was casual but I heard him stop chopping.

"He wants to collaborate on a gallery show at theMorrison Gallery. It's a really big deal, like a career-making big deal." I finally looked up and saw him standing very still with the knife in his hand. "Isn't that amazing?"

"How well do you know him?"

The question wasn't what I expected. "What?"

"How well do you know Alex Creed?" He set the knife down carefully and turned to face me fully. "Have you worked together before beyond that one shoot?"

"No. Just that once. Why?"

"Has he ever crossed a line with you?"

I laughed because the question seemed absurd. "No. He was completely professional. Dante, this is a gallery opportunity. Do you know how rare—"

"How much time would you be spending with him?"

Something in his tone made my smile fade. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes had gone cold which reminded me of the day I had walked in on him on that call, and suddenly the kitchen felt smaller and I felt like I was being interrogated instead of sharing good news.

"I don't know. We'd have to plan the shoot, execute it, and collaborate on final selections. Normal collaboration stuff." I stood up slowly. "Are you okay?"

"I don't like the idea of you alone with him."

"It's work for a gallery show."

"I know what it is." He crossed his arms and I saw his hands were shaking slightly like he was fighting to keep control. "I'm saying I don't like it. You don't know this guy. You worked with him once eight months ago and now he's reaching out wanting to spend time with you?"

"Because he respects my work—"

"Or because he saw an opportunity." His voice had an edge now. "You're talented, beautiful and vulnerable right now with everything that's been happening and men like that can sense it."

"Men like what? Photographers? Colleagues?" I heard my voice rising. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He moved closer and I fought the urge to step back. "Think about it, Mia. He hasn't contacted you in eight months. Why now? Maybe he thinks you're an easy target."

"That's insane."

"Is it? Or are you just naive about how men operate?"

The word “naive” hit me like a slap and I saw him realize that he’d gotten too far as his face softened.

"I'm sorry." He reached for me but I stepped back. "That was—I didn't mean it like that. I'm just protective of you. After everything with the stalker, the thought of you being alone with someone I don't know, someone who could—"

"Could what? Take photos with me? Discuss work? Be a professional colleague?" My hands were shaking. "This is a huge opportunity and you're making it sound like I'm going to have sex with him."

"Because I've seen how men look at you." His voice dropped lower and there was something dangerous in it now that made my stomach twist. "I've watched them watch you and you don't even notice because you're focused on your work, but I noticed and I don't trust any man who suddenly wants to spend time alone with my girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend who has a career that sometimes requires working with other people."

"I know that." He ran his hand through his hair and I saw the effort it was taking him to stay calm. "But the thought of you with him, in some studio somewhere, just the two of you, him directing you, telling you where to stand, how to pose—"

"That's not how collaboration works—"

"I don't care how it works!" The mask slipped completely and his voice turned cold."You're not doing it."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He wasn't backing down, softening or apologizing. "Find another opportunity. One that doesn't involve you spending time alone with men who want something from you."

"He just wants a collaboration—"

"He wants you." He said it with so much certainty that it made me question my own judgment. "And I'm not going to stand here and watch you walk into that blind."

I stared at him and tried to find the man who'd held me when I was scared, who'd made me coffee every morning, who'd been gentle, careful and patient. But the man standing in front of me wasn’t him.

"You don't get to make that decision," I said quietly.

"Don't I?" He moved closer and I did step back this time. "You're living in my apartment, sleeping in my bed, depending on me for safety because your stalker has made everywhere else dangerous. You think you can just ignore what I'm telling you and everything stays the same?"

The threat was implicit but clear and my heart was pounding because this was a side of him I'd suspected existed but never seen directly, this possessive controlling darkness that he'd been hiding under gentleness and concern.

"I'm going to email Alex back," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "And tell him I'm interested. Because this is my career and my decision."

He stared at me for a long moment and I saw something flicker across his face that looked almost like amusement mixed with frustration.

"Fine." He turned back to the stove. "Do what you want. But don't say I didn't warn you when he shows his true colors."

The conversation was over but the tension remained, thick and suffocating. I went back to the couch, opened my laptop and started typing a response to Alex while my hands shook and my stomach churned because I'd just seen something I couldn't unsee and I didn't know what to do.

Alex responded with another email the next day while Dante was in the shower.

“Mia, I'm so sorry but I need to withdraw from the project. Personal reasons have come up that make collaboration impossible right now. I apologize for the inconvenience. Best of luck with your work. - Alex”

What…

I read it five times and felt something break inside my chest because this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for my entire career and it was gone before I'd even had a chance to pursue it and I didn't understand what personal reasons could have come up so suddenly that he needed to withdraw completely.

Unless they weren't personal reasons.

Unless someone had contacted him.

Unless Dante had—

No. I pushed the thought away immediately because that was paranoid and insane because he wouldn't and couldn't do that because he didn't even know Alex's contact information.

But he could find it. The voice in my head was quiet but persistent. He found everything else so why not this?

I was still sitting there staring at the email when Dante came out of the bathroom.

"What's wrong?"

"Alex withdrew from the project." My voice sounded hollow. "Due to personal reasons."

"Oh." He sat beside me and pulled me against his chest. "I'm sorry. I know you were excited about it."

"It doesn't make sense. Yesterday he wanted to collaborate and now suddenly—"

"Sometimes things happen." His hand stroked my hair. "Personal issues, family emergencies, other opportunities. It's not about you."

"It feels like it's about me."

"I know it does but maybe it's for the best." He tilted my face up to look at him. "You don't need him anyway. You're talented enough to get gallery representation on your own merit. You don't need to collaborate with someone who's unreliable."

"He's not unreliable—"

"He withdrew after one day, Mia. That's the definition of unreliable." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "You deserve better than that. Better opportunities and better collaborators. People who won't waste your time."

I wanted to argue but I was too tired and too disappointed and just needed comfort even if part of me suspected it was coming from the same person who'd caused the problem in the first place.

"I just really wanted this," I whispered.

"I know." He kissed my forehead. "But there will be other better shows. And when they come, you'll do them on your own terms without needing someone else to make it happen."

"What if there aren't any other shows? What if this was my one chance?"

"Then we'll make our own chances." His arms tightened around me. "You have me. You don't need anyone else. I'll support your career, promote your work and make sure people see how talented you are. You don't need Alex Creed or anyone like him. You just need me."

His words should have been comforting but instead they felt like a cage closing and I realized with clarity that this was what he wanted and what he'd been working toward all along. Making me dependent on him not just for safety but for my career, my success, my entire future until there was no part of my life he didn't control.

"Just you," I repeated softly.

"Just me." He held me tighter. "I'll take care of everything. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

But I didn't pull away because he was right about one thing: I didn't have anyone else anymore.

Just him.