Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

He swallowed when he came to the last file in the WavePro folder.

The photos in the second folder were something more. Something special. The very first was a predawn shot of him waxing up his board, staring out at the waves. The light made him look a little bit old, a little bit weary. Like he’d reached the end of his journey.

He remembered that moment. There had been negative stuff in his head, but he’d still held out and paddled through the waves. Avalon had managed to capture it. His throat locked at the idea of anyone else, anyone at WavePro seeing that moment.

Even more so with the next series of pictures, the ones that had been taken when he was back out of the water again. He’d been exhausted. Weary lines circled his mouth, and his jaw looked hollowed out. But he’d been stoked about a particular change-back turn and he hadn’t been able to stop grinning. He looked like a fool . . . and he looked happy. Staring straight at the lens. Staring straight at Avalon.

She’d also captured them , from her viewpoint. The pictures of him sitting on his balcony, a cup of coffee curled in his hands. Even the steam showed up in the shot. His shoulders were relaxed, and the tilt of his pelvis said his spine was nearly melted into the deck chair.

And also the way he’d looked at her. Half-awed, half-fascinated. A little bit wary, too.

Had he loved her even then?

He folded his arms, staring at the monitor. Something both uncomfortable and reassuring settled in his chest.

Yes, he probably had. There was something about Avalon that simply fit within him. The rest of it could all be worked out later.

She wasn’t going to show anyone the second set of pictures. That was obvious from the label. Keeping them under wraps would be foolish. She’d finally found that extra spark that she craved, that she needed to break through the pack. But she’d hide it all because she thought that was what he wanted. What he needed. That was Avalon, the curious blend of creativity and self-sacrifice.

Part of him twisted uncomfortably at the idea of exposing their most private moments. But if that was what it took, he’d do it gladly This gesture would make Avalon’s career, but most important of all it would get her back in his arms. She needed to know he was behind her, no matter what.

But he had a feeling he’d better hurry up.

The meeting was one of the most uncomfortable things she’d ever sat in on. She didn’t want to be there. The pictures were what she had, and they’d have to be enough. There were no words in the world that could talk WavePro into taking photos that were subpar.

She tapped a pen across her knee. She’d rather be doing it on the black-marble tabletop, but she’d gotten a nasty look from the head of public relations around twenty minutes ago for the very same thing.

A quick glance up from under her lashes said the picture on the projector was from Tanner’s second week of preparation. He’d followed up a two-hour surfing session with a five-mile run. Like a freaking boss.

She felt weak for being so stuck on him, even when he wasn’t there. The warm, heady feeling she got all through her stomach . . . there was nothing to be done about that. She guessed she should enjoy the ride while it lasted.

It took monumental effort to get her head back in the conference room where she belonged. She’d done her part already. But Mr. Palmer had asked for her input. The change from his piss-poor attitude about her at the first meeting had been too good to turn down. Beth, the attorney, had sat in as well, and their chat in the hallway had been nice. If Avalon’s mood had been even a fraction better, she’d have invited the other woman out for a girls’ night out with Sage. Only problem was that Avalon didn’t feel like she’d be in the mood for drinks anytime soon.

Finally, things seemed to be drawing to a close. They’d settled on a handful of shots for full-page ads, including a double-page spread, and the rest would be sent on to SURFING for selection. Surely something would make the cut for this year’s special edition on the world champion.

At least Tanner would have given her that much.

She took her time stacking up photos and gathering up her backpack. If she took her time, maybe no one would look to her for small talk. The moment was . . . less. Less exciting, less impressive, less big than she’d dreamt of all through her career. They’d accepted the photos, but no one was thrilled with her.

When the double doors of the conference room swung open, the last person she thought to see was Tanner. He still wore the slacks and green button-down he’d had on earlier. “How’s it going?”

She licked her dry lips. She couldn’t believe he was going to do this to her. There had never been anything in their relationship that had hinted at him being petty. She forced her mouth into a smile, but she thought she heard her muscles practically creak. “Fine. It’s going fine. Tanner, what are you doing here?”

His blue eyes flashed, and she absolutely knew he was remembering how much she’d hated that he called her portfolio fine .

Tanner pinned Mr. Wakowski with an intense gaze. “Did she show you the rest?”

Mr. Wakowski shook his head, confusion darkening his eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s at least a hundred shots. Me on my deck with a cup of coffee? Or one where I’m just standing in waist-deep water?” Tanner’s gaze burned into her from across the table.

Her stomach dropped to wiggle and flop around her toes. The thick, hard thump of her heartbeat washed in her ears. She realized she was slowly shaking her head. Could he possibly have misunderstood her that badly? To think she’d expose the heart of them for profit?

Mr. Palmer’s head swiveled, as did the head of everyone else in the room. Including the advertising director, who was already halfway out the door. “Those don’t sound at all familiar.”

“They weren’t . . .” She shut her mouth. Swallowed. “They weren’t my best work.”

“Bullshit,” Tanner said. He fished around inside his pocket and held out the jump drive. An assistant took it. “They’re art.”

“Oh.” Her heart fluttered again, this time in a way that made her head spin. She dropped into her seat when her knees wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

The photos went up on the big screen and even under those less than perfect display options, they did look amazing. Emotional and realistic and everything she’d ever wanted to capture.

But they were also so raw it scraped her nerves. Such was the life of an artist, but if they’d rubbed her raw, she’d known they’d do the same to Tanner, who loved his privacy. She hadn’t wanted to put either of them through this.

There was an entire roomful of people staring at her heart. And Tanner was one of them. The tips of her fingers tingled and short washes of anxiety went up and down her spine in rapid succession.

It only felt like half a second, but almost forty-five minutes passed before she could even unlock her throat.

Mr. Wakowski flattened his hands over his leather-bound notepad and sternly looked at Avalon over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m disappointed you didn’t show these to us initially.”

She shifted. It hadn’t seemed right to share them. She’d taken the photos and she could barely stand to look at them sometimes. But across the table, Tanner smiled at her. His fingers stretched across the black marble, as if he’d reached for her.

Maybe the distance wasn’t so great after all.

She swallowed down her fear. Though she addressed her words to Mr. Wakowski, she meant them for Tanner as well. “Do you like them?”