Chapter 49 Through the lens
Melissa’s POV
I woke up the next morning with a headache and the faint smell of gasoline still clinging to my hair.
Last night felt like a dream. The race. The snow. Jason buying me drinks at some hole-in-the-wall bar where nobody asked questions and the music was too loud for conversation.
I stumbled into bed around three AM and passed out immediately.
Now my phone sat on the nightstand, ominously silent.
I reached for it, expecting to see a lot of missed calls from Gavin. But all I saw was two missed calls and a text. I felt a little disappointed but I pushed it away.
I was about to drop the phone when a notification for today popped up. The photoshoot.
“Shit.” I sat up too fast, my head swimming. “Shit, shit, shit.”
The photoshoot was today. At two PM. And I was supposed to oversee the entire thing…coordinate with the photographer, approve shots, manage the schedule.
I looked at the time. 11:47 AM.
I had just over two hours.
I couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not after ignoring him all night. Not after everything that had happened.
Instead, I typed quickly.
Me: Running late. Will meet you at the photoshoot location. 2 PM.
I didn’t wait for his response.
———-
I showered. Got dressed in black slacks, a blue blouse, my hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Put on makeup with more care than usual, using foundation to cover the dark circles under my eyes.
By the time I left the penthouse, it was 1:45 PM.
I drove separately to the arena using the car Gavin insisted I took, taking the long way, checking my phone obsessively.
Gavin hadn’t responded to my text.
That was somehow worse than if he’d been angry.
The photoshoot was set up in the executive studio on the twelfth floor…a space I’d never been to before. When I stepped off the elevator, I was immediately struck by how different it was from the rest of the building.
Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the room with natural light. White walls. Minimalist furniture. Professional photography equipment set up in the center…lights, reflectors, a backdrop.
The photographer was already there, a middle-aged man named Thomas Webb who I’d spoken with over email. He looked up when I entered.
“Melissa, right?”
“That’s me.” I shook his hand. “Everything set up okay?”
“Perfect. We’re just waiting for Mr. Cross.” He gestured to the equipment. “I was thinking of natural lighting for most of the shots. His publicist mentioned they wanted something less corporate, and more… accessible.”
I nodded, walking around the space, checking angles, making mental notes.
The door opened.
And Gavin walked in.My breath caught because of how perfect he looked.
He wore a charcoal grey suit, perfectly tailored, the jacket open to show a crisp white shirt underneath. No tie. The top button was undone. His dark hair was styled but not overly so…like he’d run his hands through it once and left it.
He looked devastating.
His eyes found mine immediately. It was dark, intense and Unreadable.
“Melissa.” My name was a statement. A question. An accusation.
“Mr. Cross.” I kept my voice professional. “We’re ready to begin whenever you are.”
His jaw tightened slightly. But he just nodded and turned to Thomas. “Where do you want me?”
“By the windows, I think. The lighting there is perfect.”
Gavin moved to the designated spot. Marcus began adjusting equipment, explaining the vision, asking Gavin to shift positions.
I stood off to the side, with a clipboard in my hand, trying to look busy. Trying not to stare.
But God, it was hard.
The way the light hit him. The way he moved…confident, controlled, every gesture deliberate. The way his suit hugged his frame, emphasizing the broad shoulders, the narrow waist.
Marcus started shooting.
“Good. Now turn slightly left. Chin up just a fraction. Perfect. Hold that.”
Click. Click. Click.
I watched through the viewfinder of Thomas' camera as he worked, approving shots, making suggestions about angles and lighting.
But my hands itched.
I fell in love with photography for as long as I could remember, actually. The way you could capture a moment, freeze it in time, tell a story with a single image.
I hadn’t picked up a camera in a while .
Now, watching Thomas work, watching Gavin move through the poses with that quiet intensity, my fingers literally ached to hold one.
“Melissa?” Thomas looked over. “Can you grab that reflector? I need more light on his face.”
I moved automatically, positioning the reflector where he indicated.
From this angle, I could see Gavin more clearly. The strong line of his jaw. The slight tension around his mouth. The way his eyes tracked me even while he held his pose.
Thomas took a few more shots, then paused to review them on his camera’s display. “These are good, but I think we need something with more energy.”
He turned to me. “Actually, Melissa, why don’t you take a few? A fresh perspective might help.”
“I don’t think…”
“You studied photography for a while, right? I saw it on your resume.” He was already holding out his camera. “Just a few shots. See what you get.”
I hesitated, looking at Gavin.
He raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”
That decided it.
I took the camera.
The weight of it in my hands was immediately familiar.
I looked through the viewfinder at Gavin.
And everything else fell away.
“Lose the jacket,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Gavin’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name. But he shrugged off the jacket and draped it over a nearby chair.
Better. The white shirt showed off his frame perfectly.
“Unbutton one more button.”
He did, revealing a hint of collarbone, the hollow of his throat.
I raised the camera and started shooting.
Click.
He looked directly at the lens. At me. His expression was intense, focused, like I was the only thing in the world.
Click.
I moved around him, finding different angles. The light caught the sharp planes of his face, casting shadows that emphasized the strength of his features.
Click. Click.
“Turn toward the window. Look outside.”
He obeyed, and the natural light illuminated his profile. Beautiful. Devastating.
I kept shooting, losing myself in it. In the art of capturing him. In the way each small movement told a different story.
“Back to me. But don’t smile. Just… look.”
His eyes met mine through the lens.
The intensity there made my breath catch. Dark. Hungry. Barely controlled.
Click.
I lowered the camera slightly, my heart pounding.
“That’s perfect,” Thomas said from somewhere behind me. “Those are going to be incredible.”
I’d forgotten he was there.
I’d forgotten everything except Gavin and the camera and the way he was looking at me.
“I think we have what we need,” Marcus continued. “I’ll start editing these tonight. Melissa, can you stay for a few minutes to review?”
“Actually,” Gavin’s voice cut through, “I need to speak with Melissa privately. About another project.”
Thomas nodded, already packing up his equipment. “Of course. I’ll send the proof to your email by tomorrow morning.”
He gathered his things efficiently, and within five minutes, he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And I realized with a jolt of awareness that I was alone with Gavin.
Completely alone.
The camera suddenly felt heavy in my hands.
Gavin hadn’t moved from his position by the window. Hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
“Melissa.” My name was Low and dangerous. “We need to talk.“His mouth curved slowly, eyes never softening.
Hai commesso un errore bellissimo nascondendoti da me.”
You made a very beautiful mistake hiding from me.