ChapterOne
“Freaking A!”
Mallory dropped the hammer and jerked her thumb to her mouth, sucking softly to deaden the throbbing pain. She slammed her free hand on the incomplete bookshelf that had caused her injury, wishing for the fifty-second time that she had hired someone to do the handiwork in her refurbished studio. At this rate, she wouldn’t have any fingers left to actually take the pictures she was supposed to, let alone the ones she hoped to in the future.
“You know,” drawled a surprisingly Western-twanged voice from nearby, “your inability to swear is really adorable.”
Mal twisted her head to glare at the dark-complexioned, ponytailed young man leaning back in his chair, grinning at her. “Shut up, Dan,” she said around her thumb.
His grin spread further, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. “My grandfather would call you Terror with a Hammer.”
Mal rolled her eyes and removed her thumb, shaking it. “Clever. What’d he call you, Brain of a Peacock?”
Dan chuckled and folded his hands behind his head, still leaning back. “Peacocks are the finest birds on the planet. I could go for that.”
For a graduate assistant, Dan was fairly insolent, seeing as his graduation and future were conditional upon her reports. But considering she was not exactly demanding as far as mentoring was concerned, that was probably her fault.
She grumbled under her breath and returned to the impossible bookshelf at hand. Dr. Durango swore up and down that the two students he’d given her were the best in his class and would be promising photographers themselves in the future, and she believed him. But working with them, or anyone, was not quite in Mal’s nature yet. At the moment, Taryn was working secondary camera shots and the front desk, while Dan handled editing and lighting. It wasn’t ideal for them—or for Mal, as she preferred to have her hands on everything—but it was the best she could come up with.
Apparently, internships and assistantships for photography students were hard to come by. She’d never thought her old professor would actually consider her fit for mentoring, let alone guest lectures, but she was finally hitting her stride with that.
And the boost to her salary was pleasant enough.
“Don’t you have some work to do?” she muttered, knowing Dan was still leaning back in his chair and watching her. “Or are you going to start talking about the ancestors now?”
Dan snorted and shook his head, his long hair whipping around a bit in his ponytail. “You really need to get your ethnicities straight. I’ve told you before. It’s not Mulan, it’s Pocahontas.”
She looked up at him with a raised brow. “You’re a Disney princess?”
He opened his mouth to retort something that probably would have been brilliant, but they were both distracted by the appearance of Taryn, looking like the trendy fashionista she was, if a bit sloppy. She gaped at Mal with wide eyes, her Trident gum threatening to fall out of her mouth.
“What?” Mal asked when it was clear her assistant was beyond words.
Taryn’s blue eyes blinked once. “You never told me Jenna Hudson was your cousin.”
Dan’s chair crashed backward, and Mal exhaled in a slow, measured breath. She’d gone her whole life without anyone making that connection. And she’d enjoyed every minute of it.
“She is,” Mal finally said. “So?”
“So?” Dan echoed in disbelief, picking himself up, finding his discarded baseball cap, and plopping it backward on his head. “So, it’s Jenna Hudson.”
“Who is in the front of the studio,” Taryn said, folding her arms, “and asking to speak with you.”
“Shasta,” Mal muttered, making Taryn and Dan grin at each other.
She put the hammer on the floor and got to her feet, wiping at the bit of sawdust that had settled on her black denim pants. She glanced down at the emerald green V-neck she wore and remembered the mustard stain from lunch. There wasn’t much she could do about that now. Then she remembered the old button-ups she kept for little-kid shoots. The parents loved the dressed-like-dad look, so she kept a few on hand. She never thought she’d wear them herself. Still, there was no way she was going to face her Saks Fifth Avenue cousin looking like she did now.
She grabbed an off-white pinstripe and tossed it on, rolling the sleeves to her elbows. Then she twisted her hair back into a messy, hopefully artistic bun and fastened it with the hair tie that lived on her wrist. It would have to do, but for the first time ever, she wished she kept a mirror back here.
Her assistants still stared at her, Taryn’s arms folded across her chest and Dan’s hands on his hips, both looking expectant.
“What?” she asked, wiping under her eyes in case her mascara had smudged.
Taryn pushed a strand of her currently Ariel-red hair behind her ears. “Your famous Southern socialite cousin comes to visit you in Denver, and you expect us to pretend it’s cool?”
Dan shifted and looked at her. “It is cool,” he pointed out.
Taryn twisted her lips. “Truth. But we need the story.”