From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Quinn showed up at my studio without warning.

I was fixing Denny’s collar for a shoot.

She stormed in, heels stabbing the floor with every step.

She’d ditched the thick glasses by now. Shed the small–town girl look completely.

Designer clothes, professional blowout, full face of makeup.

But I’m a photographer–I could see past the layers of foundation to the bone–deep exhaustion underneath.

Her eyes landed on my hands at Denny’s collar, fingers working the top button of his shirt.

mbrie

It was for the campaign brief. Client’s orders.

“So this is your little boy toy?” Venom in every word. “Unbelievable. You’ve already got a man and you’re still throwing yourself at other people’s husbands?”

Before I could say anything, Denny’s expression went ice–cold:

“The hell did you just say? You need to-”

He started to get up. I pressed down on his shoulder, kept him in the chair.

Couldn’t help it–the shoot called for cold, controlled intensity.

And Denny’s face right now? Absolutely perfect.

I lifted my camera. Started firing. Shutter clicking nonstop.

Quinn, realizing she was being completely ignored, snapped.

Ripped the camera out of my hands. Hurled it at the floor.

The lens exploded into fragments.

I knelt down, checked the body, kept my voice level:

“That’s destroyed. I’ll need the receipt amount, full replacement cost, plus a week’s lost wages.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” She looked down at me like I was dirt.

“Zach gives me his entire paycheck. How much could this cheap thing possibly be worth?”

13:19

From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer: Smile, Ex

4.3%

Chapter 7

“Twenty–eight thousand. I’ll send you my account details.”

“What?!”

Quinn’s eyes went huge.

“Have you lost your mind? You think you can shake me down like that? Absolutely not. Five grand. Take it or leave it.”

Guess the lieutenant’s wife isn’t as flush as she pretends to be.

I pulled out my phone like I was dialing 911.

Probably terrified Zachary would find out–Quinn caved immediately. Grabbed my wrist.

“Fine! Give me the damn receipt! You’ll have it within the week!”

Seven days later, the money hit my account.

Along with a text from Quinn.

[Consider that your payout. Stay the fuck away from Zachary. Or your real identity–plus your little setup with that model boy–goes viral tomorrow.]

Denny was still in school. His modeling work was just getting off the ground.

I wasn’t going to let her torch his future.

So I made the call.

When Zachary came by the studio, he brought warm croissants from that bakery I used to love in college.

He’d tucked them inside his jacket to keep them warm, just like old times. Still steaming when he pulled them out.

“Grabbed these on the way over. Here–see if they’re as good as you remember.”

On the way over?

He came from the south end of the city. I was up north.

I took a bite.

Tasted nothing like I remembered.

Couldn’t tell if the bakery had changed, or if I had.

13:19

From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer: Smile, Ex

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