Bachelor's Bought Bride / CEO's Expectant Secretary. Jennifer Lewis

was worth a try. He had a unique, hand-held style that made even the scenery come alive.

      “Hey, Gavin, how’s it going? Still getting cozy with the Rialto yacht people?” Logan Emerson materialized in front of him, wine glass raised.

      Irritation prickled Gavin’s neck. “Trying to.”

      “That account would be a really big score. I can already see those Rialtos sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge at halftime on Super Bowl night.”

      “That might be a tad predictable.”

      “I guess that’s why I’m an account exec and not a copywriter.” Logan chuckled and slapped him on the back.

      Gavin inhaled. Something about this guy really bothered him, and it wasn’t just his bad jokes. Logan Emerson had only been at the company a few weeks, but already he seemed to be underfoot all day long: in every meeting; loitering by the espresso machine; he even wandered into the damned men’s room whenever Gavin entered. Sometimes, like now, he’d be all smiles and jollities, but most of the time he just stood there. Watching.

      Maybe he was trying to soak up the Maddox modus operandi so he could beat the other account executives at their own game. Which wasn’t such a bad thing. At least then Gavin wouldn’t feel too bad about leaving Brock in the lurch when he quit to start his own company.

      Hopefully soon.

      He cast his eyes around the room and was relieved and pleased to see Bree, wine glass in hand, chatting with Elle.

      So far, so good.

      “Actually my undergrad major was English.” Bree took a sip from her delicate glass. Elle had snagged some white wine, then ushered her into a relatively quiet corner of the sleek bar, where they could talk. Bree felt a bit intimidated by her at first. Elle was so polished and put together in a tailored suit that showed off her slim figure. Her brown hair was sleek as sable and her blue eyes shone with intelligence and good humor.

      After a few minutes, though, she started to relax, answering questions that Elle seemed to have asked with genuine interest. “At the time I thought I might even pursue a PhD in English, but I took some time off to travel and changed my mind. Flaky, I guess.”

      Elle smiled. “Not flaky, thoughtful. A lot of people rush ahead with some big plan they’ve had in their mind for years, and end up painted into a corner doing something that isn’t their passion. I have to admit, I’ve always been mad about photography. I took a lot of classes in high school and college, but I guess I’ve never been daring enough to try to publish or exhibit my pictures. What got you started in photography?”

      “I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it was a total accident. My dad gave me a camera for my birthday four years ago. I actually think a client gave it to him as a gift, as he doesn’t know anything about them, but it was a top of the line Nikon, with a set of extra lenses. The kind of thing even a professional photographer would salivate over. I started fooling around with it—taking pictures of old oak trees in the park, and interesting buildings around Russian Hill and the Marina District.”

      Elle nodded, her blue eyes alight with interest. Bree felt a warm connection to her, even though they’d just met.

      “One day I was taking a picture of St. Francis of Assisi on Vallejo Street.”

      “Oh, yes. The one with all the doorways.”

      “You know how that woman in the blue coat is often there?”

      “Feeding the pigeons. Yes, totally!” Elle smiled.

      “Something about her intrigued me. She has such a sense of purpose. I have no idea why she’s there and I’d never ask. I’m far too shy.” She pushed a stray hair off her cheek. Somehow Elle had put her so at ease that she didn’t feel shy at all. “But I wanted to see if I could take a picture of that quiet dignity she exudes.”

      “What did you say?”

      “I just asked if I could take her picture.” Bree grinned. “I know now that I should have offered her two dollars and a model release form, but I was clueless at the time.”

      “And she said yes.”

      Bree nodded. “So I took the picture. Took only a few seconds—just her, standing there in front of the smallest door, her coat buttoned up to her neck like always, with that flock of pigeons at her feet. The shots came out pretty well, so I printed one and entered it in a small show at the local library. My image won, and people started making a fuss, so I figured I’d keep snapping away.”

      “I’d love to see that picture.”

      “You’re welcome to come up to my studio any time.”

      “Really?” Elle’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to! I’ve never been in a real photographer’s studio.”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.” Bree blushed. “But it does have a lovely view out over the rooftops. I’m around tomorrow, if you’d like to come by.”

      “Can I? I don’t have to be anywhere until five. It would be so nice to see some photographs that aren’t glossy product shots for a change.” She winked conspiratorially.

      “If I come in the morning, I could bring some pastries and coffee from Stella’s.”

      “You’re on. I can never say no to their bear claws. The address is 200 Talbot Street. The limestone behemoth with the wrought-iron gates. If you come around the right-hand side there’s a separate entrance up to my studio.”

      “Planning a secret tryst?” Gavin’s deep voice made her spin around. His gray eyes looked at her with amusement.

      “Absolutely.” Elle grinned. “I want to see Bree’s work before she gets too famous to talk to me. Did you know she’s been asked to shoot a portrait for San Francisco Magazine?”

      “Is that true?” Gavin tilted his head.

      “It is.” Bree blushed again, wishing she were actually as cool as everyone seemed to think she was. “I’m shooting Robert Pattison. They had a tough time deciding between Annie Leibowitz and me. I suspect I was cheaper.” Gavin’s dimples appeared. “They just called me out of the blue. Saw my pictures in Black Book.”

      “That’s awesome.” Gavin’s rich voice rang with admiration. “I’d like to see your photos, too.”

      “Form a line, form a line,” joked Elle, raising her glass. “But seriously, Robert Pattison? I wish I was a jet-setting photographer and not a lowly administrative assistant.” She did a mock pout.

      Bree very much doubted that Elle was just a “lowly administrative assistant.” She waved and chatted with everyone as if she was the owner of the company, not the owner’s right-hand woman.

      “Hang tough, Cinderella. You’ll get to go to the ball one day. But in the meantime, you’d better find your boss. I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

      “I’ll go track him down. Nice to meet you, Bree, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Elle marched smartly off into the crowd.

      “Brock has been a bit distracted lately.” Gavin leaned in until his delicious masculine scent stole over her. “A lot going on.”

      The clang of a spoon hitting a glass snagged their attention.

      Bree turned to see a gray-haired man in a conservative suit, wreathed in smiles. Amazingly, the entire room fell silent.

      “It’s our oldest client,” murmured Gavin. “Walter Prentice. We’re here to celebrate the launch of a new campaign for his company planned by Celia, one of our account execs. It’s going really well.”

      “It’s a great pleasure to spend an evening with the most impressive creative talent in the entire United States.” The older man’s voice carried through the crowded space. “In the years my company has worked with Maddox