Drawn That Way Read online

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, seeming almost ill at ease. She was betting he wasn’t half as uncomfortable as she was. “They are. But, seeing as how you’re the only new employee since the last time I sent around the survey, and this is the only time this particular complaint has come up, it was an easy conclusion to come to.”

  “I see.”

  He briefly met her eyes before looking away. “I also recognized your handwriting. It’s very…distinctive. Besides, you’re the only one here who uses British spelling.”

  Her stomach knotted, and she wished he’d just get to the point already. She told herself to take a deep breath, but instead, she blurted, “Am I fired?”

  “What? Why?” He looked at her, holding her gaze this time, surprise clear in his expression.

  She shrugged and shifted uneasily in her chair. “For using less than complimentary language to describe the company’s product?”

  His lips quirked, and the barest hint of a smile touched his face. Distractedly, she wondered what he looked like when he actually smiled. Or laughed. Did he laugh? She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him do that.

  “No. I’m not going to fire you.” She relaxed slightly, until he added, “I actually want to hire you for an additional, temporary position.”

  “What…kind of position?”

  He gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “May I sit?”

  She wanted to say that it was his company and he could sit wherever he damn well wanted, but instead, she nodded tightly. She wished she could just loosen up, but between the closed door meeting about her survey answers and the gossip from Clover about his sex life, Tris was more than a little on edge. If he noticed her tension, he didn’t give any sign of it.

  He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck again, as if he were deep in thought, and she couldn’t help but notice how long his fingers were.

  “While your language may not have been complimentary,” he finally said, “it also wasn’t wrong.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say, so she kept quiet.

  “Video games, and Brecken Games, in particular, have catered to a certain demographic. Nearly from its inception, we’ve been using the same types of models for all of the characters. There’s been a lot of talk of representation and diversity from gamers—female gamers, in particular. And, honestly, hearing it from you hammers the point home a bit further.”

  “That’s great.” Relief spread through her, though there was still some part of her that was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  He glanced at her survey then back to her. “Since you’re obviously very passionate about this topic, I’d like to make you an offer.”

  It felt as if that giant shoe was right above her head, but she didn’t dare look up. “Oh?”

  “You’d be well paid, I promise.”

  She dreaded asking, but she forced the words out, anyway. “Well paid for what, exactly?”

  “I want you to model for me.”

  Tris snorted. Loudly. “Right.”

  Rory’s brow furrowed, and he studied her.

  “What do you really need from me?”

  She swore his eyes darkened and his pupils expanded as he stared at her, but it had to be a trick of the light.

  “I really want you to model for me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “I’m not model material.”

  “Are you built like a typical female game character? No. But I thought that was what we were trying to change.”

  She hated to admit it, but his use of the word “we” warmed her. She liked the feeling of being part of something bigger, but she couldn’t possibly do this. “I don’t know anything about modeling. And, I’m probably the least photogenic person on the planet.”

  “You just need the right person wielding the camera. I’m very good at what I do.”

  All traces of his earlier nervousness were gone. It was as if he’d gotten into some kind of comfort zone. It was impossible not to hear Clover in her head talking about his supposed kinks. The need she’d smothered earlier flared back to life.

  “You don’t want me for this,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What about Clover? Or Annie? Or hell, professional models?”

  “No. I think if this is going to work, we need real women representing other real women.”

  She frowned.

  “I really want you for this project, Tristan.”

  Her name in that gravelly voice sent flutters through her stomach.

  “I’d like your input both as a model and in character development.”

  “I don’t know that much about gaming,” she blurted, clinging to that angle, hoping it would work.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, and the disapproving professor fantasy was playing loudly in her brain. “I saw you go head to head with Annie at the last office party. But I’m not interested in your abilities, just your opinions.”

  She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this question, but she opened her mouth, anyway. “What would I have to do?” Before he could answer, she added, “I haven’t agreed to anything, yet.”

  There was that small lip quirk, again. “Of course.”

  “I just want to know what it entails.”

  “I’d take some pictures of you—some holding weapons, some without. I’d work up a few quick sketches, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’d also need some action shots.”

  She tilted her head to the side, waiting for more of an explanation.

  “I set the camera up to record, and you and I interact with the foam weapons in my office.”

  “We’re going to sword fight?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. But she was more than willing to bet that the noises Clover had heard had nothing to do with kink and everything to do with geekery.

  “I’ve got axes and morning stars, too.”

  “Of course, you do.”

  A crooked smile lifted his lips, but before she could really register it, it was gone.

  “Pay would be the same as any of the models I hire through the agencies.”

  “Seriously? A thousand dollars an hour?”

  He nodded.

  “Speaking as your accountant, I have to ask, are you mad?”

  “That’s the going rate. Besides, most of those women don’t game. You’re bringing something extra to the table.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re bringing being gorgeous to the table.”

  His eyes flew to hers, intense with some emotion she couldn’t read.

  She looked away. She hadn’t intended for that to slip out. “They at least know their way around a photo shoot,” she added.

  “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  That firm tone of voice was back. So was the fluttering in her middle. She was stupid for even considering this. But, even if it only took an hour, that would be a thousand bucks she could put toward her student loans.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to ask, but…when do you want to do this?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I know it’s Friday, but do you have plans tonight?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless you consider reading a book and probably cleaning up cat puke plans.”

  “Why don’t we break for supper and meet back here at seven?”

  She was clearly losing her bloody mind to even think about agreeing to this, yet she heard herself say, “Okay.”

  “Oh, be sure to bring leggings and a tank top back with you.”

  She blinked at him for several long seconds. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have asked. Do you have leggings and a tank top? If not, I can pick some up for you.”

  “Are you saying that not only am I’m going to be posing for pictures, I’m going to be doing it in the least flattering clothing possible?” She leaned forward. “You’re punishing me, right? This is some kind of retribution for complaining about
your characters.”

  His eyes widened as he shook his head, staring at her. “I just need you in snug fitting clothes so I can draw you and accurately track your body movements on film. All the models wear this sort of thing. Or bathing suits. But I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with that, so I didn’t suggest it.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t be comfortable in that.”

  “Do you need me to pick up some clothes for you?”

  Unable to keep still, she fiddled with the jar of pens on her desk. “No one else is going to see these pictures, right? The last thing I need is for them to be floating around the office.”

  “I would never let that happen.” He laid his hand over the top of hers, stilling her nervous movement. “I want to work with you, but I don’t want to make you upset.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at his hand covering hers, noticing the surprising strength and warmth emanating from him. When she finally raised her eyes to his, she saw nothing but concern there. Well, concern and that other unidentifiable intensity he had.

  For what seemed like months, they didn’t breathe a word, and she couldn’t have looked away from him if she’d wanted to. But he finally lifted his hand from hers and sat back in his chair, clearly waiting for something from her.

  She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “I’m not upset. Just a little out of my comfort zone. It’ll be fine.”

  “Look, why don’t you think about it? I’ll be here working, anyway. If you show up at seven, great. If not, it’s perfectly fine. I don’t want you to feel like you need to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

  She opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure what to say, so she closed it again.

  He stood and walked to the door, turning just inside the doorway. “Don’t worry. Whether or not you decide to help with this project, it won’t affect your day job. You’re the best accountant I’ve ever had, and I’m not about to jeopardize that.”

  Chapter Four

  Rory sat at his drafting table, his personal sketchbook open rather than his work one. Granted, sometimes the drawings crossed, but this particular one wouldn’t ever be seen by anyone but him.

  Leaning closer to the paper, he shaded Tristan’s eyes. They were the most unusual shade of gray-green. Pale, almost beach-glass-colored centers ringed by a green so dark it reminded him of the pine forest surrounding his house. He’d love to see them filled with passion rather than the worry they’d held earlier. The same worry and vulnerability blossoming beneath his fingertips.

  He sat back and studied the piece before moving to the downward tilt of her mouth, filling in her full lower lip. As the drawing came to life, it became even more apparent to him how uncomfortable she’d been with his request. Her expression was burned into his brain, but sometimes, he only saw a situation clearly after the fact. It was one of the reasons he preferred hook ups. There was little to misinterpret when everyone knew it was a one-off. It was hard enough navigating work relationships and the friendships he had, let alone anything that resembled a romance. The few he’d had had been disastrous. Even if he wanted something more than a one-night stand, he wouldn’t do it. He poured all of his time and energy into the company. That wouldn’t be fair to a potential partner. He supposed that could change if he found the right one, but he couldn’t imagine that ever happening. Not any time soon, anyway, and definitely not while they were in the midst of an expansion.

  Sighing, he glanced at the clock. Six fifty-five. He was beginning to doubt that she’d show up. Maybe it would be best if she didn’t. She wouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t be tormented with temptation he could never act on.

  Head down, he quickly worked up a new sketch of Tristan—the expression on her face as she and Clover had discussed his sex life. He tried to capture the curiosity and disbelief, but what was most apparent was her hunger.

  “I’m sorry, I’m late I…” Her words drifted to a halt as she stood next to him, her gaze intent on his hands. He glanced at the clock. Seven thirteen. Somehow, he hadn’t realized that much time had passed, nor had he heard her come in.

  He fought the urge to close the book, as if by depicting her, he’d exposed far too much of himself. But she’d already seen it. Whether or not she’d recognize it for what it was, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it was pointless to try to hide anything.

  “Those are…really good. You’re really good.”

  Her praise warmed him on a level he didn’t want to examine too closely. “Thank you.”

  “If you can draw me that well, are you sure we need to take pictures?”

  “These are drawings from expressions I’ve already seen. That’s a little different than what’s required for the project.”

  She nodded, still staring at the renderings. “When did I look that…sad?”

  “Earlier when we were discussing what modeling for me would entail.”

  She tilted her head. “Sad isn’t quite it, though.”

  “I’d call it more vulnerable than sad,” he murmured, and her gaze flew to his, briefly, before she glanced away.

  She pointed at the other sketch. “And this one?”

  “Earlier today—when you and Clover were talking in the break room.”

  “Oh. Oh.” A flush crept up her neck and filled her cheeks. “Okay, so anyway,” she said, seemingly in a hurry to fill up the quiet in the room. “I’m sorry, I’m late. It took me a while to find my leggings, and I actually did have to clean up cat puke. I lead an exciting life. So, are we going to do this thing or what?”

  He watched her for a moment. Her hands fluttered nervously at her sides as her eyes darted over his drawings. “We can, as long as you’re sure you’re okay with it,” he finally said.

  She nodded, but he had a feeling that had less to do with her comfort level and more to do with getting it over with. Shrugging off her jacket, she laid it and her purse on the couch near the door.

  He closed his sketchbook, glancing at her as she kicked off her shoes. She wore the leggings he’d asked for under a skirt. Christ, he was acting like an undersexed teenage boy, waiting to see her strip down. Busying himself by getting his camera equipment out, he turned his back on her, giving her some privacy. The last thing she needed was to see him leering at her when she looked up.

  Keep it professional, Brecken. Keep it in your pants.

  Slinging his camera around his neck, he set up his tripod over by the padded sparring mat. Holding his camera was a lot like wearing armor. Or, at least, like he imagined armor would feel. Just having that barrier between him and his subject made it easier to call the shots. Easier to be in control of the situation. Granted, there were times where being in control of the situation evolved into being in control of an encounter, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight. He would keep things with Tristan utterly professional. No matter how much his dick begged him otherwise.

  “Okay. This is as good as it gets.”

  He turned toward Tristan and immediately tried to will away his renewed arousal. No, she wasn’t built like the women who normally modeled for him, and that was more than okay with him. Her long, dark hair had been pulled back in a ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. She was solidly built. The purple tank top stretched enticingly across her full chest and covered her stomach, which she seemed desperately trying to hold in. The black leggings fit her snugly, accentuating the flare of her hips and swell of her ass. An ass he wanted his hands on. No matter what she wore to work in the future, he had a feeling that he’d always be seeing her like this.

  “Where do you want me?”

  Underneath me. Tied up. Bent over my desk. On your knees. Riding my face. “Over there. By the blank wall. I’ll take some test shots, and then, you can grab a weapon.”

  She stood stiffly against the wall, looking for all the world as though she was going to vomit on his carpet.

  “Tristan, relax.”

  She frowned. “Easy for you to say. You’re not standing he
re feeling like you’re half-naked.”

  He lowered his camera. “Would it help if I were?”

  “If you were what?”

  “Half-naked?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. No. That’s probably a terrible idea.”

  He fought a smile at the near horrified expression on her face. “Probably?”

  “No. It is a bad idea.”

  “Okay. I just want you to feel comfortable.”

  “That ship sailed, burned, and sank off the coast of my flat,” she muttered.

  A choked laugh escaped him, and she looked at him in surprise.

  “Did you just laugh?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve been here six months, and I’ve never heard you laugh. I wasn’t even sure you knew how to smile.”

  A self-conscious flush started to creep up his neck, but he tried to ignore it in favor of seeing her looking more relaxed, more sure of herself.

  “Why don’t you grab the battle axe?”

  She pulled it out of the box of realistic looking foam weapons. “Now what?”

  He shrugged. “Swing it at me. Swing it as though you’re fighting off an attacker.”

  She did as he’d asked, and he captured the images. He called out directions, and she complied, posing as required, losing her self-consciousness as the evening went on. After they’d run through the gamut of in-game weapons, he offered her a bottle of water from the mini fridge next to his desk while he changed the memory card in his camera and set it up to record on the tripod.

  He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and took a swallow, trying to ignore the way her nipples beaded against the flimsy fabric of her tank top.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  He picked up a sword and tested its balance. “Are you up to sparing?”

  “Oh yeah. I have a feeling this is going to be way more fun than Zumba.”

  He motioned her toward the bright blue mat on the far side of the room and checked the view screen to make sure the entire area was visible. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

  “Have you done this before?” he asked, advancing toward her.

  “Fencing club at Saint Agnes’ School for Girls,” she said, slicing through the air with the blade she’d chosen. “It’s been a while, but I think I can manage.”