CHAPTER SIX
EZRA
I kissed Lauren.
She thanked me for dealing with that asshole at the store with an innocent peck to my cheek, then my dick pushed for more. All evening, I’d battled the raging erection straining against my thigh as Lauren fit in perfectly with my family, and the moment she gave me an opening—outside Griffen and Gramps’s home for fuck’s sake—I stole more than a peck from her very sweet and very kissable lips.
The Caldwell Clan had a field day with that one. Teasing me mercilessly the second I reentered the house.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She's technically an employee—even though she refused to sign a contract and earn a paycheck, relabeling it as a goodwill gesture after our initial coffee to the head meet-cute.
And she's definitely a lodge guest.
Both of those things mean it’d be out of bounds to pursue her further, and I always stay within the bounds of propriety for business and my personal life. They never mix.
“Did you see that Jean emailed the first batch of images?” Kennedy pops through my office doorway the next morning.
“He did?” I click around on my computer and open the attached folder of raw photos. “Come take a look; I've got it open now.”
She rounds my desk to hover over my shoulder as I scroll through the files of Jennifer Q and Lauren, and the more I see, the angrier I get.
“What the fuck?”
“Is that all of them?” The concern in Kennedy's voice matches my frustration. Clearly, we noticed the same problem.
“Yeah, that's the entire folder.”
A folder full of images that almost seem malicious in intent because Lauren is relegated to the background in every single one. The angles and lighting are off, and while her natural beauty prevents the photos from being totally unusable, it doesn't take an expert to see how Jean spent effort bringing out the best in Jennifer while ignoring Lauren.
Grabbing the phone receiver, I press ‘1’ for my assistant. “Could you find Jean Marcelle and bring him to my office, please?”
Kennedy waits until I hang up before asking, “What are you going to do?” She sits in one of the chairs across from my desk and crosses her legs.
“I'm going to find out why he's wasting our time and money and insulting Lauren at the same time. Depending on his answer, I might fire him.”
“Sounds reasonable. Especially since he completely ignored the brief. We specifically wanted Lauren highlighted due to her current celebrity status.”
“Instead, we got the Jean and Jennifer show. I knew we should have hired Kent Moreland.” Kent is a world renowned photographer who moved to Suitor’s Crossing a few years ago. He's worked with us in the past, so I know I can trust his work.
“Sorry…” Kennedy squirms in her seat. “This is my fault. I pushed for Jean, and look what happened.”
“It's not on you. I vetted him as well. You think I'd hire someone without checking their portfolio? His previous work is good.”
“With models like Jennifer Q.”
Surprised by my sister’s insinuation, I start, “Lauren may not be a professional but—”
“That's not what I'm referring to. Do you remember when I was obsessed with watching Project Runway reruns?”
I groan and lean back in my chair. “How could I forget? You made ‘make it work’ your catchphrase for a year.”
She smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, well, most of those designers failed at the challenges where they had to work with real women. They either had no clue what to do with someone over a size zero or outright sneered at fitting plus-sized clients. Maybe Jean is one of those.”
“Are you serious?” Lauren is gorgeous, no matter her size, though as far as I’m concerned her lush curves are a delicious bonus. “He's definitely getting fired.”
“I don't know for sure that’s what’s going on,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes. “It's just a possibility. And I know you like Lauren, but try to keep your cool when he gets here.”
“I don't like Lauren, at least, not in the way you're suggesting.”
“Oh? Did I imagine you kissing her after yesterday's dinner?”
Avoiding eye contact, I stare at the door, waiting for Jean Marcelle’s arrival. “You shouldn’t be spying.”
Her expression of denial gets interrupted when my assistant appears with Jean.
“Take a seat. We were reviewing the email you sent and have some questions.” I wait for the man to settle beside Kennedy then jump straight to the point. “We’re disappointed by the lack of attention to Lauren. We expressed our desire for her to take center stage in this campaign, so why have you ignored our wishes?”
Jean clasps his hands in his lap. Disdain wrinkles his nose. “Respectfully, monsieur , but Miss Lauren doesn’t possess the qualities needed for your campaign. She’s not photogenic and—”
“Excuse me?” I boom, my ire rising to new heights at the blatant disgust in his tone. So much for keeping my cool. “She’s extremely photogenic. A young, beautiful woman. What I’m hearing is that you are not talented enough to recognize the prize you have in front of you. Nor do you possess the skill required for this job. With that said, you’re fired. Effective immediately.”
Jean splutters in disbelief while my sister covers a cough of shocked amusement. I won’t tolerate anyone insulting Lauren. First the douche at the grocery store and now this pompous photographer? Not on my watch.
“You can’t fire me. We have a contract!”
“Which gives me the right to terminate our working relationship if at any time Hearthstone Lodge’s best interests are in jeopardy. A contracted employee who willfully defies strict orders for the final product falls within those boundaries. You may see yourself out.”
A flurry of French explodes from Marcelle as he stomps out of the room. He can curse me all he wants; he’s the one who fucked up and lost a contract with the Pacific Northwest’s premier mountain resort.
“Nicely done.” Kennedy applauds with a knowing smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. “Let’s hope Kent Moreland is free to step in. I’ll call Nora to explain what happened with Jean. I’m sure she didn’t know he’d be so size-ist when that’s against everything she promotes.”
One click of my mouse sends the email inquiry to Kent about taking over the campaign photoshoot, then I stand and straighten my jacket. “I’ll find Lauren. She kept how badly Marcelle was treating her to herself.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” she says, following me out the door.
I grunt in response.
My phone buzzes with a message from security answering my question on Lauren’s whereabouts. I don’t often request the location of guests, but everything about our celebrity resident has me acting in ways I never have before.
Punching people.
Yelling at them.
It’s like she’s snipped at the strands that bind my control, unleashing every fiery emotion I’ve spent years subduing in order to succeed as a cold, logical businessman.
I don’t like it.
It makes for bad business decisions when a man runs on something as fickle as feelings.
I loathe it.
And Lauren’s about to find out how much.