Hidden Pearl Read Free

personal life.” The Spartan table in front of him would be a perfect counterpoint to his lean frame. “I see the artist as visible through the work and will use my photos to prove that point.”
    "Sorry, but I don't like having my picture taken as you doubtless know by the fact that there aren’t many if any out there."
    “I could understand that for someone less photogenic than you but...” With his bronzed skin, chiseled features, full lower lip, wide mouth, all those lines and angles, he was a dream come true for a camera. So far as she could tell, he didn't have a bad angle. She wondered if she could talk him into loosening his hair.
    "Adding to that I don't like publicity."
    "Is there a reason for that? Like something you want to hide?”
    He snorted with disgust. “Reporters,” he said. “They’re always the same.”
    “It’s our job to tell the truth, to tell stories to inform the public. I though am more photojournalist than reporter as such.
    “Tell someone else’s story, honey.” S.T. wasn't about to tell her how vulnerable being pushed out into the limelight always made him feel. He knew his Native American background would be on display even if not mentioned. No photo essay piece would ignore his dual heritages. He had consented to an interview once, hated the printed article, and vowed to not repeat the mistake. If had decided if his work couldn’t stand on its own without a need for publicity agents, too bad. So far he had been proven right.
    “The little I have read about you seems to be positive.”
    He bent back over his blueprints. "You’ve had your five minutes," he said through his teeth. "It's my face, my business, and I don't want it plastered across any magazine. Making her mad was probably his best shot at getting her out of his office without bodily picking her up and carrying her. "I don't think much of your tabloid rag anyway."
    She laughed, the sound full and hearty. "A lot of people don't. I happen to disagree with you. I think we've come a long ways and are doing serious pieces that help people live their lives with more choices, more understanding for the options out there, but you're entitled to your opinion. What if I take the photographs and the risk by letting you kill the whole piece if you don't like the slant it takes?"
    "No."
    "No?" she repeated, feeling a surge of irritation.
    "At least you have good hearing," he retorted, his gaze steady. She was beautiful with those big blue eyes, thick lashes and full, now pouting mouth. If he'd met her another way, if she'd been anybody but who she was, he might have considered doing something about that, but as it was, a photographer was the next to last thing he wanted following him around, complicating his life even further than his mother's phone call had already done.
    She sat down. You will hardly know I am here.”
    "Shall I call the cops to get you evicted?”
    She considered that a moment. "You have a reputation as a man who pulled himself up from the bootstraps, went to college on scholarships based on ability, not need or ethnicity, graduated with honors, began your own business, and with talent and hard work built it into a small empire. That means you probably respect people who are working hard for what they believe," she said." I don't think you'd call the cops on somebody just trying to do their job."
    She added, "There's another angle you might consider. Strictly speaking, I'd say you were a celebrity, at least on a certain level. That means you are wrong.  I wouldn't have to get your permission to take or print photographs of you." She lifted her chin challengingly. "You might prefer to control my options to do so, rather than having me follow you with a telephoto places you'd just as soon I didn't go."
    "Paparazzi?”
    “Could be.” She knew she wouldn’t really go that far. He didn’t though.
    “I could throw you out bodily," he said, obviously considering the idea with a certain glint of pleasure in his