I huddle closer to my laptop. I spent a large chunk of today coordinating with Beau for his next event, which is a beach party he’s throwing this weekend down at the yoga surface. We’ll try and drum up lead-up exposure via social media even though Roman wouldn’t approve catering a full dinner. Beau didn’t like that. He wears the same serious look as Roman does when he’s not getting his way, but he kept his disgruntled comments to a minimum like a true gentleman.

Because of all that—and the back-and-forth to Roman’s office to bicker about approvals—the meeting took up my editing time for the day. That’s one thing I’ll lose sleep for. Get behind on editing, and you’ll get behind on scheduling, and you’ll forever be playing catch-up. That’s not a good game in the social media business, so here I am, just past midnight, speed editing the waterfall photos. It’ll be a day and night theme for Thursday and Friday, leading into the party on Saturday, then follow-up.

I skim through the photos quickly, grabbing one here, another there, narrowing it down to a shot of the waterfall itself. Roman is visible in the lower third, his hands raised to his hair. It’s only a photo, but it makes that familiar heat build between my legs.

Again. And he only left fifteen minutes ago.

I apply my usual edits to the photo and hold the computer away from me to survey my work. My heart beats faster at the sight. This will get people’s attention.

The guilt comes next.

There are lines I didn’t want to cross. Not with the job I’ve taken, and not with Roman. But everything seems different now that we’re in this place. Now that the way I feel for him seems too large to fit in my chest.

If I’m going by Connor’s guidelines, I should stick with a waterfall picture, and nothing else. I shouldn’t edit it to make it stand out. I toggle back through the photos until I get to one with just the falls.

The moonlight on the water makes it interesting, but it’s missing that human element.

I toggle back forward, passing the photos of Roman on the way, chewing at my lip.

I have his permission to post what I want. But posting a killer photo will piss Connor off. I’m only under contract with him for another week.

Then what?