Angela, Carla - Full Exposure (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

CARLA ANGELA

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

‘Ridiculous! I mean, how does a guy think he’s going to attract a woman by giving her VIP access to his nostrils?’

Lake spun her laptop around on the glossy, white countertop to show the offending on-screen image to her friend, and business partner, Fenella. A determined flick of Lake’s chestnut plait over her shoulder served to emphasize her point.

Fenella, carrying a tray of freshly baked chocolate brownies, emitting an intoxicating aroma, peered at the screen from behind. Her blonde fringe, as always, skimmed her doll-like violet eyes, tangling with her inky lashes.

Fenella wrinkled her nose, which was currently decorated with a faint dusting of flour. ‘He’s not that bad. I think he’d be quite cute, actually, if it weren’t for the photo angle. I mean, he obviously took it himself. But his eyes are quite beautiful really.’

Lake snorted. ‘He’s into online dating. How dishy can he be?’

Fenella faintly arched an eyebrow, though there was a sparkle in her eye. ‘Careful! You know that’s how I met Bert. If he hadn’t put up an ad, we never would have met.’ She sighed and looked out dreamily in the distance.

Lake smiled at her friend teasingly. ‘Yes, but not every woman has the problem of being so beautiful that the only way she can get a man to notice her mind is by communicating first via numerous e-mails before actually sending a photo!’

Fenella rolled her eyes, though every word Lake had said was true. With Fenella’s supermodel-worthy appearance, she tended to attract only oily millionaires and vain gym junkies rather than the shy, thoughtful types who matched her gentle nature. Online dating had been a godsend for her.

Lake, with eyes the colour of melted toffee, was also attractive, though more in a tomboyish way, and she hid it well—always thrusting her russet-coloured waves under a baseball cap or covering up her body, toned from morning runs, in cargo pants and baggy tees. She was hardly one to talk about first impressions. But perhaps it was her way of shielding herself after her broken engagement to Chase—and her consequent broken heart. She far preferred playing Cupid these days than putting herself in the firing line.

‘Well, anyway,’ Fenella continued, ‘if I hadn’t signed up for online dating, you never would have come up with your new business venture, would you?’ Then she batted Lake’s hand away as it snaked over to the tray of brownies, though not before Lake managed to swipe one first. ‘I have to leave
some
for the customers!’ Fenella chided good-naturedly.

The best friends ran a combined photography shop and café, known as Framed. Fenella, who loved to bake and somehow still managed to maintain a lithe figure, ran the hospitality side of things, while Lake ran the photography side—the camera repairs, equipment purchases, digital printing, photo restorations, canvas printing, and the like. Lake was always saying that a picture spoke a thousand words and was happiest with her eye behind the lens.

Her new venture, an offshoot of their business, was styling people’s photos for online dating sites. When Lake had been there to support Fenella while trawling through the online prospects pre-Bert, she had been appalled by the sorts of photos many looking for love uploaded.

There were photos of men on motorbikes, with beers in their hand, seeking ‘classy women’; otherwise decent-looking fellas, like the up-the-nose guy (whose name happened to be Hunter), who had uploaded shots of themselves with bad, do-it-yourself camera angles and the dreaded red-eye effect; plus stuffy, over-styled shots of men, sitting on armchairs, holding their chin with their hands, trying to look pensive. It was horrifying.

Don’t even get Lake started on the writing. There were men who wrote descriptions of themselves without seeming even to take a breath—just an endless blur of words without any full stops. And others who started off with lines like, ‘My friends would describe me as arrogant, but I don’t agree,’ thinking that this would somehow attract a potential mate and not be like a red, waving flag. Still, it was the picture side of things that most concerned Lake. It appalled her.

She’d put a small ad online and up on the shop window, advertising her photography services, promoting the fact that she could up their chances of getting a hit with Cupid’s arrow via better quality, professional shots. And she had already had a handful of bookings. Mostly shy, bookish types, like Bert, and a few guys who just had no idea how to market themselves, so to speak, in the love game. The fellow, with the up-the-nostrils photo, was booked in an hour’s time.

Lake swallowed a chunk of brownie and then tapped her finger on the computer screen, leaving a chocolaty smudge. ‘I mean, does this guy think with a photo like this a girl, like, say,
her
over there might be interested? Or
her
?’

Fenella followed Lake’s chocolaty finger-pointing to a group of pretty, young things, gathered at a table, gossiping over coffees—skim milk, no sugar for all. Fenella sighed, wondering if she could at least tempt them with a brownie. As far as Fenella was concerned, too many women spent too much time worrying about their figures. But then she had nothing at all to fret about herself.

‘I guess not,’ Fenella said at last, her eyes resting back on the picture of the up-the-nostrils guy, with his sea-blue eyes and blond hair. Well, what she could see of his thatch of hair from the camera angle anyway. ‘You know, he looks quite familiar actually. Maybe he’s even dropped in here before?’

Lake snapped her laptop shut, tired of looking at his amateur picture. ‘Highly unlikely! He would actually have had to venture out of his house and away from
World of Warcraft
for that.’

Fenella shook her head, her fringe dancing on her forehead, reaching to place the brownies from their tray one-by-one into the back of the glass counter display—next to pink-frosted cupcakes. ‘Oh,
ha-ha
. Just because a guy tries online dating doesn’t automatically mean he’s a computer nerd. Bert, for one, prefers books to computer games.’

‘True. But so far your lovely fiancé appears to be the shining exception to the rule,’ Lake said. ‘By the way, you have flour on your nose!’ Then she reached over to dust it off, halting Fenella mid-topping up the display cabinet.

The brownies put away at last, Fenella dusted her hands. ‘So, are you at least getting a little excited about your photography exhibition on Friday night then?’ It was Lake’s pet project. Her pride and joy.

‘Excited probably wouldn’t be the right word for it,’ Lake mused, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘Shitting myself royally might sum it up better. What if no one buys anything?’

‘Oh, I have no doubt it will all go fabulously, and you’ll sell a bundle of things,’ Fenella said, shaking her head. ‘Besides, I’ll be there for support. And Bert.’

‘I know. It’s just it’s my first solo exhibition, you know! It’s absolutely nerve-racking. I feel so…
exposed.
’

Fenella winked at her. ‘And the exhibition hasn’t even opened yet. Oh, I’ve sorted out the catering side of things at the gallery, by the way, so you’re all set.’

‘Excellent. Thank you!’

The friends’ conversation was interrupted then by one of the girls from the gossiping group—with honey-coloured hair and fuchsia-painted lips—approaching the glass-front counter. She eyed the contents hungrily, like an online dater prowling prospective candidates in the cyber world. ‘Uh, excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to know how many calories are in those brownies, would you?’ The girl pointed at the chocolate chunks, now sitting innocently atop a white shelf behind the shiny glass.

In a swift movement, Fenella sliced a brownie in half and dangled it before the girl, clutched between silver tongs. ‘Oh, hardly any, I think,’ she said airily. ‘Try it! Maybe your friends would like one, too?’

The honey-haired girl nervously pried the rich slice from the prongs and bit into it, smudging her perfectly-applied fuchsia lipstick. ‘Oh…oh wow. That’s good. Really good.’ It was almost like she was having a mini-orgasm on the spot. ‘Not many calories, you say? Yes, I think I’ll grab another four thanks—uh, for my friends.’

‘Certainly,’ Fenella said, ducking behind the counter to retrieve the said brownies, happy her baked goods had once again found a home.

Lake jumped up from her stool, tucking the shiny, white slither of a laptop under her arm. ‘Enjoy the brownie!’ she said to the honey-haired girl, though she stopped short of asking her if she were single, as she may have a photo of a potential suitor for her in a few hours’ time. It wouldn’t be professional. In Fenella’s direction, she shot, ‘I’m off, okay?’

Fenella poked her head up over the top of the cabinet again, wielding her tongs. ‘Good luck!’

‘Oh, I don’t need it,’ Lake said confidently. ‘But
he
might. If he wants to find his love match!’

* * * *

Lake double, triple-checked the address. Yup, this was definitely it. She had to admit, it wasn’t what she’d been expecting. The last few houses she’d visited for her new online photography venture had been typical bachelor pads. The stench of stale beer and discarded pizza boxes had preceded them. But
this
…this was something else. It could only be
Daddy’s
house, surely. Not that of the type of person who took unflattering photos of themselves, with their nostrils as a main feature—albeit none-too-hairy ones—and thought it suitable self-marketing material.

The architecturally-designed, two-storey abode, set on landscaped grounds, had a Spanish feel, with white, rendered walls and an imposing entrance. A flight of steps, with black, steel handrails, led up to a ginormous, tan-coloured wood door, offset by spiky, bright green ferns on either side. Lake had to admit the building was
slightly
more palatial than her two-bedroom unit. Okay, it was a ton more palatial. But that didn’t mean the guy had a clue. Especially about finding a mate.

Sucking a breath in, Lake looked for the door knocker and then realized there was none, locating instead a sleek, little, gray machine with buttons to the left of the door. An intercom. She pressed on it then waited, drumming her fingers on the thigh of her cargo pants.

Almost instantly, the ferocious sound of barking started up, reverberating around the walls from inside the house. Paws could be heard bounding down a stairway. Oh dear! Lake was more of a
cat
person really. She fervently hoped the guy—
Hunter
, she reminded herself, not Mr. Nostrils—would do a good job of restraining his pet.

A deep, velvety voice resounded through the intercom. ‘Just a moment.’

Lake jumped in spite of herself. It was the first time she’d heard Hunter’s voice. They’d so far only communicated by e-mail. A lot of the guys in the online dating world had seemed to prefer it that way. She hadn’t expected his voice to sound so…
commanding.

‘Uh, okay,’ she said in the vague direction of the intercom’s speaker, not used to communicating via such a device. Her unit’s wooden door didn’t even have a knocker. In fact, it often swelled in the weather and had to be forced shut with her shoulder—that was more the kind of entry she was used to.

Suddenly, the handleless door swung open as if by magic, though more likely by remote control. It was like an open sesame to Aladdin’s cave or Hunter’s man-cave, so to speak.
Hunter’s daddy’s man-cave, likely.

Lake only had time to clock the grand hotel-like interior, including a floating wooden staircase, a black, man-like, metal sculpture to her right, and a contemporary, wispy, branch-inspired chandelier hanging overhead, when a ball of fur and teeth came barreling toward her, causing her to scream out at the top of her voice.