He leads me into a small, sunny office with its own skylight. On the desk is a brand new computer and a pencil cup, but Roman doesn’t say anything about that. He goes over to a shelf built into the wall and tugs out a camera bag.

“If you want to get started on photos, here’s what I have for the set-up.” He looks down at the bag as he hands it to me, and I can feel his eyes on me as I open up the bag.

Roman, it turns out, is no slouch in the photography department. It’s a top-of-the-line Nikon. They just released this model last year, and it puts my old 5200 to shame. To absolute shame. I bought the best camera I could afford when I struck out as a freelancer, but this—the features—

I realize my body is nearly vibrating with excitement in the nick of time to stop the gushing words from crossing my lips. It would have started with a high-pitched squeal, and that is not the kind of sexy, assured image I’m trying to project here.

So, I settle for a satisfied smile, look right into Roman’s eyes, and say, “Not bad.”

Out at the pool, Roman stands back, his hands in the pockets of the swim trunks I forced him to “borrow” from the lobby gift shop.

“I need a model,” I call to him, trying to keep my face and voice deadly serious. “We’ll lose out on the light if you don’t hurry.”

I praise myself inwardly for rolling with the punches of this day to an incredible extreme and fiddle again with the camera settings. Before I quit Global, they had me take a photography course, and I followed it up with another one once I left. Knowledge is power.

But so is convincing Roman to don a pair of blue swim trunks.

“We should hire this out,” he says.

I whirl around, hand on my hip. “There’s no time. The booking season has already begun. We need something to go up on the channels right away, and photos with people always perform better than photos without.”

He shakes his head. “There’s no way I can appear in promotional photos.”

I look him up and down appraisingly. “I don’t see why not.” He scoffs. “What is it? Did you lose all your confidence when you graduated?”

Roman hesitates. “Maybe someone stole it.”

I turn back to the pool to disguise my ridiculous grin. “I have no idea what you mean. Get in the pool.”

There’s no way he’s going to go for it. I’m testing my limits, going big because I have to go home in five weeks, but I know I’ve already found Roman’s.

But after a long moment, I hear a rustle of fabric and then a barely audible thwip as his shirt hits the tile.