Chapter 1

It had been days since Ethan's phone had rung and, for a moment, the sound was so alien that he'd forgotten what it meant. When adding his own personal touches to the studio he'd loved the idea of getting a retro phone, a big, heavy plastic base and authentic ring tone, but it was alarming when he tried to concentrate.

By the way his shoulders ached and the sun was slanting into his window, he realized he'd been at it all night. As engrossed as he'd been in his photo retouching, working pixel by pixel to get the shading exactly right, he'd completely phased out the rest of the world.

Wearily, he reached for the phone, "Ethan Ford Agency."

"Stringer, is that you?" asked a familiar, distinctly female voice.

The nickname should have been a tip off to the caller's identity. Ethan hadn't been called "Stringer" since college. After that, nearly everyone he worked with was a stringer--a photographer who took pictures of newsworthy events and then tried to sell them to the wire services. He'd spent nearly all of the last six years in the hot spots of Europe and the Middle East doing just that. It hadn't left him much time to keep up with old acquaintances.

Deciding he wasn't going to be able to guess the caller's identity, Ethan said, "I've gone by that nickname in the past. Who is this?"

"Renee... Renee White," said the voice. "It's been a long time, Ethan."

It certainly had. For the first two years of college, Renee and Ethan had been half of a nearly-inseparable quartet, the other half of which had been Ethan's girlfriend-since-grade-school Katie and his best friend Artie, who had also been Renee's boyfriend.

"Stringer, are you there?" she asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah, yeah." he said, half in a daze, "Renee, I haven't seen you since before graduation. What have you been up to?"

"Taking the world by storm," she said. Ethan had a feeling it was a line she'd used before. "I understand you're back in the States and looking to do more of the fashion thing."

Ethan looked at the picture he was retouching, blown up hugely on his screen. The model was generally pretty, but had flaws that would keep her from advancing very far. Still, she'd been willing to work for free. The subtlety of adjusting her pictures to make him look like a better photographer without it being obvious that he was touching them up was mind-numbing.

"'Looking' being the operative word here," Ethan admitted. "I just got started. Are you still modeling?"

"No," said Renee. "I'm on the management side of the business now. Maybe I can help you out. I've got a few contacts in the business."

That gave Ethan pause. As good as the friendship had been the first two years, it had ended just about as badly as such a thing could. Besides that, Renee had always been far more practical than altruistic, "That would be great, Renee." he said cautiously, "Would there be some favor I could do you in return?"

"Funny you should ask," she said. "I was hoping you could shoot my wedding."

"No," he said flatly. He hadn't meant to be so abrupt, but he was tired.

"I would pay you, of course," said Renee as if Ethan hadn't spoken. "Or, more specifically, my fiance would pay you."

"I don't do weddings, Renee."

"You've been out of the country a few years, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Ethan said. "about six--since graduation."

"Tell people that Renee White wants you to shoot her wedding," she said. "Be as contemptuous as I can hear that you want to be now. Call me at work on Monday with your answer."

Ethan wanted to hang up. Renee's presumptuousness had always been one of her most irritating characteristics. Instead, he said, "What's the number?"

"You won't have any trouble finding it, Stringer. I'll talk to you Monday." The click on the other end of the line indicated that the conversation was over.

Rather than take Renee's advice, Ethan started out by doing a web search on her name. Finding nearly two hundred thousand hits gave him a hint as to what sort of reaction he would get if he told people he'd been asked to shoot her wedding.

"Well, fuck me." he said quietly.

Most of his time back in the States had been spent looking for a full-time job in photojournalism or even a promising lead on the stringer angle. He'd come to realize that he was a cold commodity. When a fellow ex-stringer mentioned he was looking to take a year off and sublet his fashion studio, Ethan had agreed to give it a try.

Ethan had no illusions that he would be working the Paris premiers any time soon. The hundreds of news photos he'd framed on the walls of the office and thousands more he hadn't meant even less in this business than they had in photojournalism. His friend, Jordan, had sent a few clients Ethan's way--models he didn't think were worth his own time who were working on limited budgets. So far, he'd been right every time. Most of them were pretty enough, but...

They weren't Renee White. Renee had always been beautiful, poised, and, although Ethan hated to admit it now, incredibly smart. Although he never would have admitted it, he'd also had an intense crush on Renee once. Scanning a few of the web pages he'd searched out at random, Ethan saw that the world seemed to have come to recognize her beauty and poise. Her intelligence wasn't mentioned much, but it seemed that she'd done some very smart things with her time.

Renee hadn't quite been the biggest of the big, but she'd shared a runway with them. What made her such a big name was explained by the first link that came up on his search: The Renee White Agency.

Most models continued to model until their phones stopped ringing then tried to become singers or actresses. Once they weren't pretty or fresh enough to stand in front of the camera or talented enough to sing or act, they went into management. Renee had done so when her name was red hot, using her leverage and contacts to raid a number of top agencies. She'd engendered a lot of bad blood in the process, but gathered too much talent around herself for anyone to try to stop her.

In the two years since founding her agency, she'd become the topic of conversation in the fashion world. She modeled only as a favor to specific clients, presumably with huge favors in return. That she'd found out what Ethan was doing in the industry before he'd found out what she was doing was a matter of dumb luck. What little research he'd had time for had been focused on the end of the business he could actually expect to work in. He certainly would have stumbled across her name eventually. There didn't seem to be an issue of Variety that didn't mention it at least once.

Looking over a list of Renee's clients, Ethan soon came to realize just how out of touch with pop culture he'd become. His initial impression was that she'd picked up a few big names and a lot of untried talent. Further searching revealed that he had it backwards. The names he thought were big were mostly just past their prime. The ones he'd never heard of were the names on everybody's lips but his.

That it only confirmed his growing suspicion didn't make Ethan's stomach drop any less when he came across a Forbes article that listed "The 20 Most Powerful People in Show Business" and she was listed as number eighteen.

"Fuck me," he said again.

No matter how much he looked, Ethan couldn't figure out for the life of him who Renee was marrying. There was no mention of an engagement and she'd been "spotted" with so many different men that it was hard to tell who she had been dating and who was just an acquaintance. All requests to elaborate on her personal life were had been consistently met with "no comment."

Ethan still wanted to refuse. That Saturday night, he met Jordan at the other photographer's regular watering hole.

It wasn't the sort of place Ethan would have used that particular phrase to describe. Ethan had acquired a number of favorites over the years. They were where he went to get away from the kind of people who packed into Pantheon every night, seemingly oblivious to whether it was a weekend or not.

For that matter, any place that he'd chosen, if it had music at all, would not have required him to discuss his business near the top of his lungs.

"I've finally sunk to the bottom of the pack," he said loudly, pushing in as close as he could to Jordan.

Jordan was accompanied by a svelte, blonde thing. He didn't bother to introduce her, "You're taking portraits of jam-smeared babies at K Mart?"

"Almost," said Ethan. "I'm about to agree to shoot a wedding."

"No shit?" asked Jordan. "I thought you had at least a year before you would have to do that sort of thing."

"I'm being pressured into it," admitted Ethan, "by a high-profile client."

Jordan raised an eyebrow, "You have a high-profile client?"

"Maybe," Ethan said. "I may still turn her down."

Jordan nodded, "Society weddings can be holy hell. But, they pay well and I know you're worried about solvency issues. Who is it?"

Ethan glanced at Jordan's companion. She'd been fastidiously ignoring the conversation until now. Suddenly, her ears were perking up at the hopes of some juicy gossip.

"I'd rather not say," said Ethan. "She hasn't even announced the engagement yet."

The girl scowled for a second before carefully reapplying the bored look like it was blush. Jordan nodded, "Just remember, man. Everybody's got to pay their dues in this business."

Ethan frowned, "But, weddings? Christ, that's like asking Van Halen to play a... well, a wedding."

Jordan laughed unkindly, "You're not Van Halen, man. You're not even Motley Crue."

Ethan was indignant, "I have a Pulitzer."

"Good point," said Jordan, idly stirring his drink. "Maybe you can sell that when you run out of money."

Ethan called Renee's office and was put through as soon as he mentioned his name.

"Ethan," she said. "So good of you to call. Can you come in today at one? We have a lot to go over."

"I haven't said yes yet, Renee."

"No," she said. Ethan could almost hear her frowning over the phone as she elongated the syllable. "you haven't. If you're holding out, hoping I'm going to raise my offer, don't bother."

"You haven't made an offer yet," Ethan pointed out. "And, it's really not a question of how much. I wouldn't even consider becoming a wedding photographer for money, no matter how much."

Renee laughed a little too gaily, "There's no problem there. When this is done, I promise you. No one will think of you as a wedding photographer. If this isn't about the money, why are you considering it?"

"You're Renee White."

Renee laughed again. She seemed genuinely amused, "That's more like it. Come to my office today at one. We'll draw up a formal contract."

"I want more than vague promises that you'll help my career, Renee."

"You'll get them, Stringer." She sounded tired, "Come and see what I have to offer. You won't be disappointed."

Ethan nodded into the phone, "All right. I'll be there. One question, though. Who's the groom?"

"I'd rather not say on an open line," said Renee. "But, it's someone you know. I'll see you at one."

Ethan expected to be underdressed for the RWA offices, but he didn't realize just how out-of-place his khakis and olive-green dress shirt would look until he got there.

Everyone in the office looked like they were dressed, made up and coiffed for a fashion shoot. When Renee's personal secretary told him to have a seat, Ethan asked, "Does this building have a basement?"

The secretary raised one of his perfectly-tweezed eyebrows, "I don't know. Why?"

"I'm just wondering where you keep all of the plain-looking people."

The secretary gave a fake smile, "We ask them to have a seat, sir."

"You know," said Ethan. "Smiling can give you wrinkles."

He was sitting in the waiting area more than five but less than ten minutes when the secretary said, "Renee will see you now."

In the office, Renee came out from behind her desk to give Ethan a surprisingly warm hug. Momentarily stunned into paralysis, Ethan finally managed to hug her back. She'd been beautiful when they were in college, elegant even in unguarded moments. He'd assumed she could only have faded since then. He was wrong. She and Ethan were roughly the same age and he'd just celebrated his thirty-first birthday. Renee was beautiful now in a way that a nineteen year-old could never be. This was a woman in the prime of her power. She'd lost most of her girlishness, but none of her shape. She wore a man's white business suit against her tan skin with no blouse, its straight, mannish lines contrasting and enhancing her curves in a way that a more "flattering" cut would never do. Her hair had gone from an almost-white platinum to an ash-blonde that was either her natural color or an incredibly subtle dye job.

In Ethan's arms, she was all softness and curves. Her hug was warm and genuine. It reminded him of the first time he'd hugged her, before she'd changed so radically. Still, he didn't delude himself into hoping that she'd changed back.

"It's good to see you, Stringer," she said. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Reluctantly, Ethan let her go, "You're looking really good, Renee. It's good to see you."

"You're feeling rather fit yourself, Stringer." She gave him a half-smile. "I guess that Middle Eastern food must be good for you."

Ethan shrugged, "It's less about food and more about dodging and sweating bullets." He sat down, "Nobody calls me Stringer anymore."

Renee laughed and sat behind her desk, "Ethan, then." Leaning forward enough to speak sotto voce, she whispered, "Plenty of people still call me 'that cunt, ' so you should feel free to continue."

There was a playfulness in the words, but it was the sort of playfulness that made little boys throw rocks at frogs. Ethan winced to hear it. In spite of himself, he'd had a moment of hope that the old Renee really was back.

He cleared his throat, "I guess we should get down to business."

"Soon enough," said Renee. "Can I offer you something to drink? We're pretty well stocked here."

"Coffee?"

"Any particular kind?"

"Cappuccino?"

Renee nodded and pressed a button on her phone, "Estephan, would you bring a cappuccino and a water in, please?"

She turned to Ethan, "I'm waiting for one more person to get here."

"Your fiance?"

Renee shook her head almost violently, "Oh, heavens no. With any luck, you won't have to see him again until the wedding day."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, "You don't want any posed shots of the happy couple before the big day?"

Renee looked Ethan right in the eyes, "I told him I don't want him to see me in my wedding dress until I walk down the aisle."

"So," asked Ethan, enunciating clearly and emphasizing the verb, "who is your fiance?"

Renee sighed and looked away for a moment, "I'd rather wait until we've discussed other business..."

"Renee..." said Ethan, a note of warning in his voice.

"Ethan," she gave him a heart-softening smile. In Ethan's mind, she shouldn't have been capable of that sort of smile after what she'd done, "Please trust me to do this in its own order. I need to explain everything before you react."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, "How bad could it be?"

Renee looked away again. It was enough of a pause that Ethan knew if she answered how bad it could be, he would be able to guess who the groom was. He wracked his brain. They didn't have a phenomenal number of common acquaintances. And, it wasn't like he would care who Renee married. So, who could she mean?

Then, he knew. There was only one name it could be.

Still, he didn't believe it, "Wayne Vandevoort?"

Renee looked up at him again and nodded, "You promised to let me explain."

Ethan started to rise, "There's no explanation that can make me shoot Wayne Vandevoort's wedding photos."

Renee came out from behind her desk, trying to gently push Ethan back into his chair, "Please."

Ethan continued to rise. He towered two full heads over Renee, "I need to go."

As he turned to go, the office door opened. Ethan had been out of touch with pop culture for the last few years, but he didn't need much to recognize the young woman who strode in unannounced. The flawless cafe-au-lait skin, faintly upturned eyes, and full lips had been on posters all over the world. Stringer had sold a few dozen photos of an Arab plenipotentiary who had been so impolitic as to offer a half million dollars to touch her breasts. While covering a war in the Congo, Ethan had even found a copy of one of her CDs in the possession of a man who didn't even have the electricity to play it. In some parts of the world, it was presumed that Ethan must know her just because they both lived in America.

As soon as the door had opened, Renee released Ethan's wrist and replaced her pose of supplication with one of calm dignity, "Sondra, good of you to make it." She took the younger woman by both hands, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek.