Harper had already imagined several shots with the contestants, though it would be wildly different from the work she’d been doing for the last ten years. For one, this would be the first time she had photographed people in ages. Herwork usually consisted of landscapes. The more desolate, the more extreme, the better. She had also spent some time photographing animals. Never people.
Which was why she had no idea why she’d even applied for the job.
No, that was a lie. Harper knew exactly why she had done it. She just didn’t want to think about it right this moment. Which was why she boxed up that thought in one of those complicated trick boxes that required a million steps to open and concentrated on the terracotta lantern hanging from a pergola beam. So much terracotta. Then, a pair of swallows caught her eye as they swooped low across the infinity pool that stretched out like a sheet of glass and spilled over the cliff’s edge. Harper lifted her camera again and let the quick-moving birds pull at her instincts. She followed them, adjusted the zoom, tilted her lens, and began firing off a rapid burst of shots. Her fingers were dancing. Her mind was blank. It was a perfect motion capture. Except it was completely useless forThe Sapphic Match’spromotional stills.
Harper’s chest felt tight. The same sharp squeeze she remembered when Jack Brian had politely asked her to sit down in that leather chair across from his desk. When he’d just as politely explained that the senior editor she’d called out for his misogynistic comments had denied everything. And while Jack believed her—he made a point of saying so, as if he was begging not to get dragged on Twitter—she should’ve handled it differently. How, Jack? How? Not that it mattered. Harper hadn’t put up a fight. Not even a little one. Not even when they paused all her future field assignments.
Was it fair? No. Did she care? Not as much as her divorce.
Two days before being technically fired, Harry had sat her down at the kitchen table and asked her to tell the truth. The real, deep, bottom-of-the-barrel kind of truth she’d keptfrom him and from everyone else for years. Which she had done. Harper had spilled her guts out on their seashell-printed tablecloth, and then she’d walked away from a marriage that was perfect on paper.
Nearly perfect… he had a dick. And, well, turns out she didn’t want that.
A crew member in all black wheeled a lighting case out onto the deck. Through the villa’s massive glass doors, Harper could see sunlight blooming over travertine floors and more staff moving around the foyer.
She squinted against the glare and tried to pick out a flash of blonde hair. Was her hair still blonde? Or had she changed it? Ten years was a long time.
“Harper Angel,” a voice called behind her.
Harper spun on her heel so quickly that she nearly lost her balance on the edge of a step and went reeling down them. But thankfully, her balance was razor sharp, and the most she did was wobble on the spot.
“Hi,” she said, feeling what she could only describe as a bag of mixed emotions. Relieved that it wasn’t the woman she was searching for. Disappointed that it wasn’t the woman she was searching for.
“I’m such a fan,” this woman said, holding out, not one, but both hands. “I’m Monica Ellis. I’m replacing Vivian this season. I’m sure you’ve heard all the gossip.”
Harper had not. In fact, she knew very little about this dating show except for the premise. Ten women vying for one woman’s attention. Simple. Though Harper didn’t think so. She actually thought it was quite ridiculous. When she didn’t respond quickly enough, Monica brushed the silence off with a swipe of her hand and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not that interesting. Last season’s host fell in love with the bachelorette.In the bushveld, if you can imagine. Though I hear they’re happily married now, so that’s good.”
That was a little more interesting than not.
“Anyway,” Monica laughed. “I just wanted to come over here and tell you that I love your work. Have loved it for years now. Especially your photo series on the sea turtle rescue in Kauai. My son, Hunter, was obsessed with the photos. Now he wants to be a marine biologist when he grows up. Or a wildlife photographer like you. Or both.”
Harper’s cheeks warmed. After all this time, she still hadn’t gotten used to people actually recognizing her work. And now with everything that had happened at the magazine, the feeling wasn’t bashfulness so much as deep embarrassment. Here she was, camera slung over her shoulder, shooting a dating show. How low could she possibly go?
Still, Harper was going to do the right thing and thank Monica. She opened her mouth, but didn’t get a single word out. Because there, over Monica’s shoulder, Harper spotted the one person she both wanted and absolutely did not want to see. Elise Mercier.
Her heart bounced in her chest. Up and down, up and down.
Elise looked exactly like Harper remembered and nothing like she’d prepared herself for. Sunlight hit her blonde hair, turning it nearly white at the edges. Her cheeks, which had always been, and Harper suspected would always be, a little rosy. She was a little fuller around the hips, maybe the chest too, not that Harper was staring at her breasts. Or maybe she had been a second ago. Not now, while Elise was heading straight for her.
Harper wanted to straighten her creamy button-up linen shirt, but that would be too obvious. Especially with how Monica was watching her like a hawk. She let one hand hang by her side,the other held onto her Nikon Z8, her most prized possession, and wondered how she should go about this.
Should she kiss Elise on the cheek? Smell her hair? Tell her she’d missed her? Or should she dive straight into an apology? After all, Harper—the certainly straight but curious younger version of herself—had spent three weeks leading Elise on in the Namibian desert only to abandon her the morning after they’d slept together for a marriage to a man she thought she had to marry.
Not just to quiet her own fears about her sexuality but to appease her family. To protect her career. Or—and this was the option she found herself leaning toward most—should she let it hang there, let the tension breathe, see if Elise remembered the spark that had once upon a time existed between them?
But she didn’t get a chance to make up her mind. Before Harper could say a word, Elise stuck out her hand. “You must be Harper Angel,” she said, her voice tight and her smile icy. “I’m Elise. The executive producer.”
For a split second, Harper felt her stomach leap into her throat. Wait. Did Elisenotremember her? Did the winks across the sun-drenched dunes on that ridiculous honeymooners show, the soft, stolen touches in between setups, the late-night conversations around the fire, and that kiss, her hand between Harper’s thighs, not register? Was Harper’s existence in Elise’s life really so inconsequential? So insignificant that Elise had completely erased her from memory?
“Cypress was a great photographer,” she said, holding Harper’s eyes with a grip so tight she nearly teared up. “I hope you have what it takes to replace him.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
And Harper was left with her heart in her mouth.What the actual fuck!
Chapter Four
Elise couldn’t breathe. At least not in the conventional sense. The air that did somehow manage to go into her lungs didn’t feel like it was reaching anywhere important, barely enough to fuel her brain or keep her organs functioning properly. In fact, her lungs felt tight and fragile, as if someone had swapped them for two collapsed paper bags. A light dizziness flickered behind her eyes.