Camera Shy: Chapter 24

I give the upscale restaurant a once-over, but there’s still no sign of Dad. We reconfirmed. Last week, I even texted him and asked him to update the reservation to accommodate three. So why he’s late, I don’t understand. I’m not particularly upset. I’m enjoying this pretentious restaurant, with my date. I’m not sure if Avery would call this an official date—but she’s wearing her sexy black dress, her makeup is done, and she’s even wearing golden hoops in her ears. I didn’t even realize Avery’s ears were pierced until tonight.

That has to be something. If she’s putting in this much effort to fix up like this to meet my dad, she must want to make a good impression. Because…she cares, right? She has to be feeling the way I’m feeling.

Our waitress, who politely introduced herself as Penny, returns to our table and smiles, and she silently refreshes our water glasses.

“Excuse me, Penny, could we start with an appetizer, please?” I ask and the waitress grimaces.

“I’m so sorry. Restaurant policy is we can’t put in food orders until the entire party has arrived. I can get you another round of drinks and more wasabi nuts, though.”

I glance at the tiny dish of almonds that Avery hasn’t touched. Avery isn’t a picky eater and I’ve learned in the past month that both in the kitchen and in the bedroom, she’s open to trying pretty much anything at least once, but wasabi is off the table. She nearly gagged when the waitress set them on the table.

“Would you like a drink, Queen?” I set my eyes on Avery and after a quick smile, I let my gaze wander down to her ample cleavage. Ah, damn. Holding out might be a little harder for me than I realized. But I don’t know how else to get her in my studio. I know she doesn’t want me to document her body, but it’s not for me. It’s for her. She needs this. I’ve seen it so many times before. It’s why I got into boudoir photography. The pride I get when a woman finds her confidence and finally sees herself as all the things she never thought she was…it’s unrivaled. I like giving that gift.

Penny turns her head and stares right at Avery. Her shoulders relax, and she changes her tone to a casual one. “Excuse me, girl. He calls you Queen?” she asks.

Avery covers her eyes as her smile spreads and her cheeks turn pink. “Every time he sees me. He treats me like one too.”

Penny whips her head around and glances at me. She clutches her chest. “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over a month,” I respond.

Avery raises her brows at me and I shoot her a little wink. She keeps her eyes on me as she grips her water glass and brings it to her lips. “It’s been a really good month,” she says before taking a small sip.

There. There it is. Validation. I knew she wanted more too. I felt it. But how? Should she stay in Vegas? Should I go to California? Long distance isn’t an option. I watched that travesty unfold with my parents. Maybe we’re not ready for this conversation yet. Maybe we’re just ready to own up to what this really is, no matter how it got started.

“You two,” Penny says, pointing back and forth between us on opposite sides of the booth, “are perfect together.” Her eyes land on Avery again. “Hold onto him tight, honey. When a man calls you a queen every day, hold on damn tight.” She clenches one of her fists in the air, showing off her red-manicured nails. “What can I get you to drink?”

Avery taps the long, skinny drink menu to her left. “I can’t decide between the Show Me Love or the Start Me Up. What’s your recommendation?”

“Um, let’s see. Show Me Love has a delicious lychee puree. It’s unique and fresh. You’ll never taste anything like it, but it’s light and a touch sour. Start Me Up is much sweeter and bolder. The passion fruit puree mixes perfectly with the pineapple rum. Both are fantastic choices.”

All right, time to flex a little. I know Avery isn’t after the finer things in life, but if she’s with me, she can have them.

I pull out my wallet and fish out a few hundred-dollar bills. “Bring her both. Johnnie Walker Blue for me.” I fold the bills between my ring and middle finger and hold them out to the waitress. “And please put in an order for the calamari and the brie-stuffed mushrooms.” I try to make sure my smile is kind but assertive. I don’t love acting like a Harvey, but fuck if I’ll let my girl go hungry because my dad can’t get his ass to a restaurant on time.

Penny doesn’t even hesitate. She snatches up the bills. “Our little secret,” she says with a wink and hurries off to the back of the restaurant to put in our drinks and appetizer order.

The minute she’s out of earshot, Avery leans into the cloth-covered table between us. “Okay, Finn Harvey—fess up. Are you already loaded? Is that why you don’t care about making money from your photography business?”

“Who says I don’t care?”

“You didn’t take any of my suggestions. I’m great at what I do. I’ve helped companies near bankruptcy make it into the Fortune 500. Strategic partnerships, brand positioning, SEO, and local newsletter ads would make your business soar, but you ignored all of it. You only care about the stinking shark fin logo.”

“Because it’s pretty damn cool. I’m Finn. It’s a shark fin…” I tap my temple with two fingers. “That should’ve come to me sooner.”

Avery doesn’t return my smile. She blinks at me with a blank expression.

“Okay, okay, you want the truth?”

She nods. “I think I know the truth. You doubt me.”

Reaching across the table, I grab the tips of her fingers, decorated in light green polish, and squeeze tenderly. “Not for a damn second. I’m, uh…overwhelmed…and pretty intimidated. You kept talking about metrics and measuring campaign success…” Releasing her fingers, I bury my face in my hands before blowing out a sharp breath. “I take pictures, I have a studio, I edit, but the business part? I was never cut out to be entrepreneurial. If I start all that stuff you told me to do, I wouldn’t know how to handle it after the summer, when you go back to California.”

She tilts her head to the side, a look of pity washing over her face. “Finn, you could call me whenever, for whatever, and I’d be there for you. I get this kind of thing can be a lot at first.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“When I asked you to help me in exchange for my services, I guess I made the thickheaded assumption that your business was your main source of income. But I make pretty good money, Finn, and never once in my life have I tipped a limo driver or waitress hundreds of dollars to get my way. So be honest…you don’t actually need my help, do you? Your photography business is more of a hobby. You’re already filthy rich.”

The temperature of my blood begins to rise. This is the side of my life I prefer not to highlight. It attracts the wrong characters. But this is Avery…

“Not yet,” I mutter. “Yes, I’ll get part of my inheritance when I’m thirty, but until then, the next year and a half will be a little tight financially—”

“Then why are you wasting your money on showing off?”

My jaw drops open. “I’m not showing off. It’s not really my money.”

I have almost one hundred thousand dollars that I’ve tucked into a separate account. It’s a culmination of money from my dad, which he gifted for birthdays and holidays. The account also contains the huge chunk of change he gave me when I built an in-home photography studio. I try my best not to touch the money. My dad is convinced he can buy relationships. It’s dirty money. Forgive me. Love me. Love the monster. But yeah, sue me, I made a few withdrawals to take Avery out and show her a nice time.

“Look, I’m trying to be—” How do I say this? I don’t like dipping into that account…but I do it for you. To prove a point. You’re worth the white glove, five-star, royalty treatment. The way no one’s ever treated you in your life. “I don’t want you to see me as a guy who is all looks, has a failing business, and can’t treat you to nice things.” I gesture around to the extravagant restaurant.

“That’s funny,” she mutters almost under her breath. Her face falls as her eyes land on her lap.

“What’s funny?”

She flashes me a brief, clipped smile. “I just liked it better when I thought you needed me.”

“Oh, I do—”

A loud bellow of laughter sounds at the entrance of the restaurant, causing me to stop midsentence. Even Avery whips her head around at the commotion. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I watch him charm the young, brunette hostess. Fine, my dad has game. But she’s thirty years his junior, at least.

Twenty seconds. No, less than. Less than fucking twenty seconds, and we haven’t even spoken and I’m already irritated. I raise my hand to beckon him over to our booth at the back of the restaurant, but he doesn’t see me. His eyes are fixed on the young hostess’s chest as he makes an excuse to touch her arm. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but “your table is this way,” really shouldn’t involve so much flirting.

Avery straightens in her seat, her bugged-out stare landing on me. “That’s your dad?”

“Mhm, that’s Junior.”

“Junior?”

“Yes, Gramps is Senior, Dad is Junior, and I’m Griffin Harvey the Third.” I cock my head at the glazed look in her eyes. She seems both alarmed and amused at the same time. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “You guys just look a lot alike…” But the way she says it…

Ugh. I roll my eyes. “Don’t say it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she insists, trying to cover her giggle.

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m not.”

I glare at her. “You are… Fine. Just say it.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Just get it out, Avery,” I grumble.

“You’ll forgive me?” she asks, giving me an adorable, innocent smile.

“Of course.”

She makes a big ordeal of coughing into her fist. “Your dad”—cough, cough—“is hot.” She bursts out laughing. “Okay, I’m kidding. Kind of. It’s just he doesn’t look his age. Actually, how old is he?”

I narrow my eyes at her again. “Why? You want his number?”

“Oh, stop, Finn.”

I’m not proud to say it, but it would not be the first time one of my dates ditched me for my dad.

“He’s fifty-six, a pilot, disgustingly rich, and has the sex drive of a man in his early twenties.”

Avery shakes her head, her long, brunette waves falling over his shoulders. “Oh, geez. Your poor mom.”

That. That right there is why Avery’s the one. She gets it.

I glance over Avery’s shoulder, watching the hostess heading to our table with my dad in tow. He purposely trails a foot behind so he can watch her ass. It’s like watching a lion stalk its prey. Maybe I should warn her, but judging by that stupid giddy smile on her face, she’s happy to walk right into his trap. Use a condom. Getting child support out of him will be a bitch.

“Look,” I say in a hurry, “my dad is a nice enough guy, but if you’re uncomfortable at any point, we can leave—”

“Finn.” Avery reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You asked me to come here for support. So I’m here. Unless your dad slaps a hockey mask on and starts chasing us around with a machete, I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about me.” She raises her brows. “Worry about you,” she says in a hushed tone as my dad approaches.

“You have my number, honey. Call me after your shift and maybe I’ll let you buy me a drink,” Dad says with a wink to the hostess, who scuttles away, blushing. “Champ!” he bellows. He holds out his arms and I scoot out of the booth to embrace my father. “You look good, Son. I’m so happy to see you.” He clasps his forearm around my shoulders and pats my back with gusto. “So happy.”

“Hey, Dad,” I mumble into his shoulder. My dad still has a solid two inches of height on me. I have a bit more muscle, but not by much. Admittedly, he’s in great shape for fifty-six. “Why are you so late?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, bud. I didn’t mean to be rude. Truthfully, I fell asleep in my hotel room. If I wasn’t staying right upstairs, this dinner might’ve turned into a nightcap. By the time I threw on a sports coat and ran out the door, I was already twenty minutes late.”

I nod, but I’m skeptical. I believe he was sleeping. I just doubt he was alone. “Dad, this is Avery Scott.” Ah, fuck it. I’m just going to say it. Let’s see what she does. “My date.”

She wiggles to the edge of the long booth and rises, her dainty hand extended. “Mr. Harvey, it’s a pleasure to meet you. May I just say Finn is your spitting image.”

Dad takes her hand with a huge smile on his tan face. His salt-and-pepper brows lift animatedly. “Hey, honey. Call me Junior, please. It’s so nice to meet you, too. And no, no way. My boy got all the good looks. Such a handsome fellow.”

“Well, with that, I agree.”

Still shaking her hand, Dad pulls her into an uncomfortably tight hug. Avery’s breasts flatten against his abdomen. “We’re huggers in this family, little lady.”

Penny returns to the table as if she was summoned, and I’m suddenly aware our fanfare of a greeting is blocking the thruway for the servers. She’s holding a platter of drinks and appetizers and she needs us to take our seats.

“Sit with me, baby.” I hold out my hand, pulling Avery to my side and ushering her into my side of the booth. I sit down, closing her in protectively. Dad replaces Avery on the opposite side of the booth after unbuttoning his suit jacket and neatly hooking it on the dedicated golden hanger on the outside of our booth. Man, this place is pretentious.

“Show Me Love, Start Me Up,” Penny mumbles as she slides Avery’s colorful cocktails her way, “and a Johnnie Walker Blue, neat, for you, sir.” She places the platter of fried calamari with four different dipping sauces and the piping hot plate of stuffed mushrooms between us. “Careful, the mushrooms are scorching hot.”

After Dad requests a scotch, we assure her we’re all set and need a minute with the menu before she hurries off again.

Dad raises his brows. “Show Me Love and Start Me Up? Are those drink names?”

Avery lets out a light laugh. “They are, indeed. I ordered two. Would you like one while you wait for your drink?”

“Hmmm,” Dad says, “which are you willing to share?”

“Either. I liked the sound of them both and couldn’t choose.”

My jaw clenches as Dad waggles his brows at Avery. “How about we try them both? We can switch halfway.”

I slide my whiskey over to Dad in a huff. “Take mine, Dad. You’re not a cocktail guy.”

“A man can change,” he says through a chuckle.

Or stay exactly the same.

He takes a sip of my drink and sighs with pleasure. “I do like my Johnnie, neat.”

Wedging my arm between the small of Avery’s back and the cushioned back of the booth, I squeeze her hip. “Can I try the light green one?” I ask before planting a kiss on her temple. I like playing house. I like touching her like this. It’s how it should be. She’s mine.

She takes a little sip of her drink in the martini glass first and puckers her lips like it’s sour. “Oof, tangy, but really good. I think you’ll like it.” She slides the glass across the table toward me, careful not to spill a drop on the clean white linen tablecloth.

“Aren’t you two cute? How’d you meet?”

“I’m Finn’s neighbor for the summer. I’m house-sitting. We ran into each other and I offered to help him with his photography business.”

“How so?” Dad asks.

“I’m a brand strategist. I’m helping to develop some growth plans for Finn’s studio.”

“Growth? So, like marketing?”

Avery teeters her head. “There’s a little crossover in services when I work with smaller businesses. With any company with annual revenue in the six figures, I’ll do it all. I’ll help establish a brand image, provide insight into growth tactics, and even help implement marketing strategies. But mainly, when I work with larger companies, I create a vision for the company, and usually the established marketing team of said company executes that vision. For example, Finn said you’re a commercial pilot?”

“I am.”

“Who do you fly for?”

“Royalty Airlines.”

“Ah, see, I’m familiar with that brand and it’s an interesting story—” Avery stops abruptly and looks up to meet my eyes as if to ask if she’s talking too much. I squeeze her hip under the table tenderly.

“What’s interesting, baby?” I’m not sure if I particularly care about the story behind Royalty Airlines. I’m just liking how she’s letting me call her baby all over the place, especially in front of my dad.

“So Royalty Airlines’ logo is purple, as are their seats and uniforms.”

My dad nods along. “Everything is purple. Thank God I look good in it.”

Her light laugh is forced. The way you’d laugh in obligation at your boss’s joke. “Well, a lot of people assume purple means royalty and the color choice is obvious, but that wasn’t the company’s intention—a happy accident maybe. About forty years ago, Royalty Airlines had a blue logo, but what they discovered at the turn of the century was that it was the matriarch of the household that was the one researching options and making the final decision on flights and travel. So, if the flight price points were competitive and a woman had to choose between very similar airline companies with masculine logos and colors, there was a slight advantage to appealing toward a more feminine style.”

“Interesting…” Dad says. The way his brows are furrowed, and Avery has his full attention, I know he means it.

“So Royalty did a complete branding overhaul. And the more feedback they got from their new consumer base, the more they changed about the airline policies. Families boarding with children of age five and under would be seated first versus the other airlines at the time that was only offering early boarding for families with children two and under. They made their snacks more kid-friendly and offered organic juice boxes and were one of the first companies to offer free in-flight Disney movies. The lavatories are a little bigger to accommodate changing tables. The planes are stocked with sanitary cover-ups for breastfeeding. Royalty went a step even further than appealing to women. They became the airline for—”

“Mothers,” Dad finishes for her.

“Exactly. After the rebrand, they went from the fifteenth most lucrative carrier in the United States to the second…because no one can compete with the American Airlines loyalty program.” Avery shrugs. “Glass ceilings, you know?”

“All that because of a little color switch?”

Avery shrugs with a sweet smile on her face. “It’s a little more complex than that, but yes. Pretty much. That’s the power of brand identity.”

I fight the urge to kiss her right now, in front of this entire restaurant. I like every shade of Avery, but this might be my favorite. She’s so intelligent and confident when she talks business and it’s so refreshing to see a woman so powerful in what I lack.

“So how did you become a brand strategist?” Dad asks, looking as impressed as I am. “Is that a degree?”

Avery takes a small sip through a cocktail straw from the reddish-purple-colored drink in front of her. “Ooh, try that one,” she says, sliding it my way. “Delicious.” She clears her throat and continues. “I actually started my degree in nursing, but I had trouble with science. My grades were lackluster and one day, late in my junior year when I was forcing myself to study in the library, I stumbled upon a seminar. One of the tenured professors from the business school was talking about jobs that would be exploding in the next decade. Her name was Dr. Ruth Donovon. I just loved the way she spoke, with such confidence. She became my mentor and convinced me to switch my degree to business. She taught me everything I know.”

“You switched your major late in your junior year?” I ask.

“Oh yeah.” Avery bobs her head. “I had to do two extra semesters of school, but Dr. Donovon was very convincing. It’s worth noting, the Royalty Airlines story I just told you? She was the brand strategist they hired, who told them to switch their logo to purple. They personally thanked her at their annual executive meeting and credited her vision with their leap of one hundred billion dollars in revenue in their first year after the rebrand.”

“Goddamn,” my dad says with a grunt. “She must’ve been richly rewarded.”

Avery laughs as she picks up her drink once more. “She’s retired in a very nice house in Key Largo. We still talk about once a year.”

“You’re a smart man, Finn,” Dad says, pointing his appetizer fork at me before he stabs one of the cheese-stuffed mushrooms. “You got yourself a working lady. There’s nothing more appealing than a woman who can hold her own in the business world.”

My chest tightens as I take his words in the worst way possible. I wish this defensiveness would go away, but there’s a wall between Dad and me. That wall is called Mom. “There’s also nothing wrong with a woman who stays home to take care of your house, raise your child, and ensure you never have to lift a finger when you’re home.”

“That kind of woman comes with a hefty price tag,” Dad scoffs obnoxiously. “And a lot of lip.” He pops a mushroom into his mouth and chews vigorously. “Oh, these are fantastic. You have to try one, honey.” Dad scoots the plate of appetizers toward Avery. “They’re plump and juicy,” he says before I watch him shoot her a disgustingly flirty wink.