Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

Sudden nerves spiked her heartbeat up into her mouth with a heavy pulse. She’d racked her brain, but the only reason she could come up with for such a meeting was an opportunity. The fact that they’d asked for this meeting meant Mr. Crankyface could suck it.

She and Mr. Wakowski made small talk as they made their way into a standard-issue conference room. At least the version of Tanner in this room barely poked out of a heavy barrel, the entire right side of the image layered over with WavePro advertising.

Avalon knotted her hands beneath the pale oak conference table and did her best to modulate her voice so it didn’t shake. She hated being nervous, but hated looking nervous even more.

The tall man had been introduced as Walt Palmer. He leaned forward with his elbows on the edge of the table. “Miss Knox, to be frank, you’ve never worked at the level we’re asking for.”

She lifted her brows. “To be frank, you’re the ones who asked me here. Someone here must think I’m good enough.”

Mr. Wakowski chuckled. “That’d be me. I’ve been seeing your shots frequently in smaller publications and online. There’s an appealing element. I’m not entirely sure if the promise can be fulfilled, but we want something different.”

“We wanted Scott, but it fell through.”

The young woman, Ms. Harmon, seemed to be the in-house attorney. She lifted a single finger. “To be fair, it fell through because he bombed out in Tahiti and has since checked into rehab. We’re lucky to have escaped that commitment, considering his lack of reliability.”

Palmer’s mouth pinched. “He might be unreliable, but he’s good.”

That certainly took care of the nerves. Avalon leaned back in her seat, hooking one thumb in the open end of her camera bag. She never went anywhere without the thing. The canvas and Velcro had become her friend and confidant in a lot of ways, along with the equipment within. She looked Mr. Wakowski straight in the eye. “If your assistant is done insulting me, perhaps you can get on to the offer.”

“We want you to work with Tanner Wright for the entirety of his time in San Sebastian. His homecoming.” Mr. Wakowski tapped his index fingers together as he stared intently at her. “Honestly, yes, we had another photographer planned. It fell through. So we’ve decided to offer you the opportunity.”

Opportunity was definitely the word. “Commercial or feature?”

Ms. Harmon laid her hand flat on a folder that likely held the contracts and pushed it forward a few inches. “Both, hopefully.”

“If Tanner wins this competition, he’ll sew up the World Championship,” said Mr. Wakowski. “Back in his hometown for the first time. The publicity is inherently positive.”

Nervousness sank deeper into Avalon’s bones, but this time a thrill of excitement ran alongside it. “Me. You want me to photograph Tanner Wright for the next four weeks.”

“We do.”

“He and I are friends, but not follow-around-constantly-level friends.”

“We have a publicity clause in our contract with Tanner,” Mr. Wakowski said calmly. “We’ll invoke it if necessary.”

The tall man’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Between the level of access WavePro gets and your personal connection, we expect plenty of good shots.”

Oh crap, she wasn’t sure if she could even do it. Their meeting this morning had been slightly volatile. Not to mention there were other worries. How she’d be perceived. She’d worked ridiculously hard trying to find her place in what was so very much a man’s field. Was she willing to take a leg up because of her connections?

Hell yes, she was. She’d known plenty of men who’d gotten their break because they grew up surfing with the right people. She’d worry about the perception later.

This was big enough to make her career.

She stuck her hand across the table. “You’ve got yourselves a photographer.”

Mr. Wakowski broke into a wide grin. He stood and took her hand, giving it a sturdy shake. “You’re not going to regret this, Avalon.”

Everything went rapidly after that, particularly the discussion of terms. Afterward, Palmer fled the room as if he were in danger of catching something nasty. Avalon held her hand out. “May I have the contracts, Ms. Harmon?”

“Please, call me Beth.”

“Beth. I hope you don’t mind me having the paperwork checked by my attorney.”

Beth had sweet brown eyes that danced when she laughed. “Oh, I promise I’m not offended. I might think less of you if you didn’t, for that matter. But everything’s on the up-and-up. If you ask me, it’s those surfer boys you need to watch out for.”

The Wrights’ place had been Avalon’s second home for close to a decade even before she’d officially moved in. Most of the value in the tall, narrow beach house was in the location. For two kids and lots of random drop-ins all the time, the place was a little small.

But whenever Avalon kicked off her flip-flops at the front door and cool Spanish tiles hit the bottoms of her feet, she knew she could relax and let down her shields in a way she couldn’t anywhere else. She put her camera bag on the couch, but not before pulling out her Canon. She loved the beat-up beast of a camera. “I’m home,” she called. Her voice echoed through the narrow living room, then out the opened French doors on the far end of the kitchen.

Sage stuck her head out over the stairway railing above Avalon’s head. “Get up here.”

“Nice to see you too,” she teased even as she skipped up the stairs. “Sure, my meeting went awesome. You’re so nice to ask.”

When she got up to the landing, where three rooms spidered out, there was no one there. Just the plain yellow walls adorned only by cobalt blue glasswork that Eileen had done herself during the “off hours” she had when she wasn’t working at the family-owned surf shop, Wright Break.

As a role model, Eileen Wright was really something to live up to.

Sage’s door squeaked open on the left, and the blonde reached out to grab Avalon. Next thing Avalon knew, Sage had dragged her over to the window.

“Look. Just look,” Sage said in a near squeal, her delicate features jumping with excitement. It was hard sometimes to believe that Tanner and Sage came from the same stock. Where he was blunt-nosed and hard-jawed, his sister was all sweetness and beauty and looked like Eileen. The way Tanner took after Hank had made it all the more awful to watch their split.

Avalon obediently looked out the window. Though a canopy of green star jasmine half concealed them, she could see Eileen on the back patio in her favorite spot. She was curled into her padded papasan chair, a holdover from faded hippie days. The only difference was the person sprawled across a lounge chair next to her.

Tanner.

A crumpled mess of emotions turned over in Avalon’s chest. Part wonder, to see him in the Wright family home again. Part excitement, to realize she’d been handed an a-freaking-mazing opportunity, all because she knew him.

And, yeah, part turn-on too, because Tanner was one fine specimen of man. He wore the same cargo shorts and slim, hugging T-shirt that he’d had on this morning at the beach. His legs were spread in a negligent sprawl and the way he had his arms crossed over his chest only made the T-shirt draw more snug over his shoulders. His hair looked spikier than this morning, as if he’d found some time to dip in the water before coming over.

Of course. Tanner always took the long way home, it seemed like.

Avalon flat-out didn’t get it. If she’d ever been born part of a solid family like this one, there would be nothing in the world that would make her walk away. “How long’s he been here?”