Page 27 of A Crazy Kind of Love
I didn’t know why I’d packed nothing but nuts and carrots and things that go crunch in the night. I put the bag away. I’d be okay for a little while, and it was time to get to work.
Eden stepped up on the stage to a burst of applause. She took some time getting the mic situated and dragged a stool forward to lean against. Watching her, I was struck again by how different she looked from her brother. Micah was tall and fair but not pale, whereas Eden was small and nearly alabaster. And while Micah had obviously taken care to style his blond hair, Eden’s wavy black hair had been pinned in a barrette as an apparent afterthought.
They both seemed to have paid almost no attention to clothes, opting for comfort over style. Eden had on a pair of faded blue jeans, worn-out leather ankle boots, and a T-shirt advertising a band that had broken up last year. I wondered if she remembered I’d be shooting pictures. I hoped she’d pay me either way.
Finally, she leaned into the mic. “Hey, everyone. Thanks for coming out in support of this great cause. I hope none of you were hoping to see Adam tonight ’cause he’s halfway to Tokyo. We’re going to have a good time without him.”
I didn’t even realize Adam Copeland singing in a small club like that would have been an option. Part of me was devastated to lose out on an opportunity to get some close shots of him there in the club, performing. But the ethical side of me was relieved not to have to wrestle with that dilemma. I wasn’t there to take tabloid photographs for my own profit. I was being paid a set wage to take professional shots to give to Eden. I didn’t think she could sue me for turning them in to Andy or selling them to an agency, but she’d probably murder me. And I’d never work for her again. Because I’d be dead.
While she began to strum, I trained my lens on her and took several close-ups, several full frame shots and then tried to get her in the context of the stage. I was too close for this, so I got up and moved to the area Micah had indicated. Sure enough, it was a perfect location for taking pictures. And as Micah had promised, Eden didn’t vary her performance so much that I needed to take many. Instead, I sat and listened to her perform, quickly forgetting I was there for a job as I drifted into the music. She had a lot more talent than the girl who’d played before. More talent than I’d realized. Maybe I’d pick up her CD after all.
I’d never paid much attention to Eden’s music. Zion had filled me in on her background on our way over. She’d reputedly used nepotism to break into the music business. Twice actually—through her brother, Micah, and her boyfriend, Adam. She’d met Adam a few years ago through Micah when their bands toured together. A year later, she had a song that played occasionally on the radio. It would probably get more airplay if people respected her as a musician who’d paid her dues. Or if people came out to hear her play live. I liked what she performed tonight better than that song on the radio last year.
Eden strummed a chord one note at a time and said, “Thank you,” to the applause. When she announced she’d be playing one last song, I followed Micah’s advice and moved over to the side of the stage. As she bantered, I climbed partway up the steps so I could get a close shot of Eden from the side with the faces of her audience beyond. I peered through the lens and zoomed in on Zion with his phone in one hand. I lifted my head from my camera to check the rest of the audience. A dozen smartphones were positioned in the air, snapping a picture or capturing video. I reassessed the value of selling any pictures taken during a show.
The lighting from that angle fell differently and shrouded the audience beyond in a pale gray mystery. In that shadow, Zion caught my eye again, and I noticed him turning his phone at an angle away from Eden. I realized at once that he was taking secret selfies with Adrianna and rolled my eyes at his audacity. I casually let my gaze drift to the spot where Micah’d been sitting. I’d been trying so hard not to obviously stare at him that I hadn’t noticed he was gone.
Had he left already? Would he leave after asking me to go out after the show? Had he taken my response as a no? My stomach clenched. His offer might have just been polite. But why would he walk out on Eden’s performance?
With that thought, I felt pressure on my right side. I turned and found Micah standing behind me on the stairs with his hand on my waist. A chill ran down the length of my body, and I leaned into him. He breathed in my hair as he rested his chin on my head. His arm slid around to the front of me and tightened. Without thinking, I twined my fingers in his, and his other hand wrapped around and pulled me in closer. A thrill forced my shoulders into a shrug and my head fell to the side, eyes closed. I felt his cheek brush mine. Or it might have been his lips.
I wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but at that precise moment, Eden said, “If you’d all welcome my brother Micah up—” and she turned to look at the side of the stage, where I stood encircled in his arms.
Micah chuckled and whispered into my ear, “Stay here.” Then he bounded onto the stage.
My heart raced, and small drops of perspiration began to form across my forehead. I caught Zion out in the audience flashing me a huge grin. He shot a thumbs-up at me, but I wanted the floor to swallow me. I couldn’t believe I’d thought Micah had been standing there for me, but he’d evidently put his hand on me to nudge me out of his way so he could perform. He could turn into a flirt on a dime. I made a mental note to watch out for him and not to imagine him as a romantic prospect. It would be insanity to start thinking of him like that.
Though it would be fun to think of him like that.
He put his guitar strap over his shoulder and stood to Eden’s side, strumming his guitar, singing into the mic, harmonizing with his sister. Their voices fit together beautifully. Micah’s fingers flew across the strings, and Eden played something that looked incredibly intricate. Together their guitars sounded like something out of some seventeenth-century baroque period. Utterly gorgeous.
I remembered my camera and focused in on the two of them. I could get them both in profile if I leaned a little bit forward. I put my knee on the stage and shot. Then I stopped and gazed through my camera lens. This was the most openly I’d been able to sit and stare at Micah.
The women in the front row weren’t as shy about it, and those that weren’t training their phone cameras on him were either gawking at him or whispering with their friends and sighing, hands clenched over their hearts. I wouldn’t want to have to compete with all the women in this room. If I wanted a chance with Micah Sinclair, I’d obviously have to get in line.
Finally, they finished their song and took a bow. As they came down the stairs, Micah touched my elbow. I turned with him and headed down, but Eden grabbed my arm. “Come with me real quick. I’ve only got a few minutes.”
The loud applause grew muffled as I ducked down a hallway and into a small side room. I assumed this was where the musicians went to hide before the show. A nice leather sofa overwhelmed one wall, and plates of half-eaten food balanced on a coffee table.
Eden dropped onto the sofa, and I joined her. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t find you before the show. Were you able to get any pictures?”
I pulled out my camera and flipped through the images quickly. “I like these the most.” I showed her the ones from the side of the stage.
“Great.” She scratched something onto a notepad and tore off the paper. “Here’s the email address of my webmaster. Can you send us both whichever pictures turn out the best?” She reached into a backpack and got out her wallet. “What did we agree to?”
I folded up the note, feeling incredibly uncomfortable suddenly. “Could I ask you a favor instead?”
She shrugged. “What sort of favor?”
“Instead of paying me, would you mind if I keep any pictures you don’t use for my own portfolio if I promise not to sell them to the tabloids?”
“What portfolio?”
“I don’t always intend to make money spying on celebrities. The pictures you liked last night, the interesting pictures . . . I can’t keep those unless my boss releases them to me because I was on the job. Tonight is my own time, my own camera.”
She thought for a minute. “Will you put these up in some kind of photo display at some time? Like a gallery?”
I nodded. “I might. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
